A boy named Sous

Saturday was Shebaday. What did that mean? Well, mostly it meant that she didn't work on Saturdays. Dean was on shift at the diner and she had zero classes, and she gave herself the day off from paperwork and homework, too.

She even, sometimes, gave herself the day off from cooking.

She loved cooking. Adored it. It was her art. But that didn't mean she didn't sometimes want to just sit in front of the TV and eat three bowls of Corn Pops with whole milk in a row. There was a Galaxy Quest marathon to watch (Netflix meant there was always a Galaxy Quest marathon to watch), plus she'd found a collection of Australian cartoons that promised to be oblique, impenetrable, or awesome, or potentially all of the above. And a documentary about life in rural Russia called "Happy People" that she'd been saving for a lazy day.

She threw the windows open wide, put on eyeliner despite not bothering to change out of her pajama pants, grabbed a carton of milk, a box of cereal, and a giant bottle of cranberry cocktail, and settled in for veg out. Stevesie even obliged her by curling up on her lap and eating the pops that spilled over the side of her bowl.

Shebaday was the best day ever.

[ooc: expecting particular visitors, but also open]

So Priestly's class today had been cancelled in honor of Columbus Day. Which would be why Priestly was sitting at the kitchen island with his laptop, composing a long winded, honestly kind of insufferably preachy email to his study group about how terrible Columbus really was.

Because what else was he going to do with a random day off? Accomplish things?

Pfffft.

[ooc: expecting one, but also open to roommate/visitors if they're inclined.]

So apparently post-war on Dinah looked just a smidge clingy. Not that Priestly was objecting. Not even a little. He was still enjoying having her there and safe too much to worry about how much snuggling and petting was going on.

They'd marathoned Doctor Sexy yesterday, spent this evening watching bad kitchen reality shows, surrounded by junk food and soda (and veggies and water, because this was Priestly, here). Priestly had put several tiny braids in Dinah's hair and they'd done each other's nails, and then crashed out fairly early, Priestly steering Dinah over to the bed when she started falling asleep on the couch, reading a bit of Anthony Bourdain while serving as a body pillow before finally drifting off himself.

[ooc: for she who is mentioned in the narrative. Content note: will contain PTSD and memories/dreams of animal aggression and NPC character death.]

". . . the hell?"

Priestly, fresh from the shower, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, peered bleary-eyed into the medicine cabinet like it might do something exciting.

Which around here meant with no small amount of quiet terror.

He pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth and spit, then started carefully sifting through the rather full cabinet as though he was going to find a portal to another world -- you never knew around here -- but found nothing but the usual back wall.

And no hair dye.

None.

"I know I had at least a bottle of blue gel," he grumbled, sifting harder, then starting pulling stuff out. When that didn't turn anything up, he checked under the sink. Then behind the toilet. Then in the linen closet. He even went so far as to go out into the kitchen and check the fridge.

"Dean!" he bellowed. He had no idea if Dean was even home. "Did you throw out all my dye?!"

He as pretty sure that wasn't the case, but look, his hair was going to have to be natural colored today, and he needed someone to blame, okay?

[ooc: and thus begins Priestly's make-over. Open to anyone with a reason to show up.]

Priestly had been in a comma since passing out at the Perk yesterday. He had an acute brain tumor infringing on his occidental lobe in his cerebal palsy. It was very serious.

So he was laid out flat on the bed in his apartment. Still shirtless, of course, because clearly comma patients were more comfortable without shirts on. There were lots of machines making lots of mysterious noises connected to various nonspecific parts of Priestly's body, and that ever present hospital smell, despite Priestly's apartment not being a hospital.

How did he get here? Who cared? What, did you have some kind of carrying kink or something? He was just here, okay, and not in the clinic because of reasons.

God, if you don't like it, just don't read it.

[ooc: Priestly's not really going to be interacting here, but post is open for folks who want to come be emo at his side!]

Cooking shirtless wasn't something Priestly did a whole lot -- anyone who'd ever been spot burned on the pectoral by drops of flying hot oil would understand why -- but the occasion seemed to call for it, this time.

Also, somehow despite the adventures of yesterday, he was still feeling pretty hot and twitchy, so shirtless was definitely the way to go.

"So," he said, flipping a pancake with an expert flick of the skillet -- yes, he was TOTALLY showing off, why do you ask? "How do you like your eggs?"

[ooc: For the lovely lady promised breakfast, and potentially the roommate should he wander in.]