(no subject)
Chase had been finding new and impressive ways to be reckless, given the fact that there were no conventional means of doing so, or at least not the ones he was used to, on the island. There were versions of beach parties and clubs, but none of them had hard drugs or four lane highways.
He lived with a fucking dinosaur, it made everything else seem tame. Then again, Old Lace was more like a giant cat (that could eat your head) than anything. Sometimes he felt bad about the fact that she was confused and dismayed by his drunk-ass self, but then, dinosaurs probably didn't have to binge to forget about things. Not that he had any idea of what they did do, but it wasn't imbibe alcohol.
He walked into the Stark hill mansion, unaware of the way his expression had deadened from the first sight of the stairs. The last time he'd been there had been Halloween.
"Stark?" he called out. The door shut behind him, and a disembodied voice that kind of sounded like that dude from A Knight's Tale said, "Whom shall I tell the master is calling?"
Chase blinked at the ceiling, looking harassed.
"....What the hell did you just say to me?"
"Mr. Stein," the cool voice replied, "welcome back. We are enormously pleased to have you here fully clothed. Mr. Stark is in the workshop, which is in the opposite direction of the bedroom. I believe you already know where that is."
Chase stood, gaping, before he gritted his teeth together and huffed a little, and started stalking through the house. It reminded him vaguely of his family's Malibu place, in the daylight. It made his mood worse.
"Uh, Stark?" he called again as he ambled down a hallway that, indeed, went the opposite direction from the other part of the house, thank God.
"You around, man?"
He lived with a fucking dinosaur, it made everything else seem tame. Then again, Old Lace was more like a giant cat (that could eat your head) than anything. Sometimes he felt bad about the fact that she was confused and dismayed by his drunk-ass self, but then, dinosaurs probably didn't have to binge to forget about things. Not that he had any idea of what they did do, but it wasn't imbibe alcohol.
He walked into the Stark hill mansion, unaware of the way his expression had deadened from the first sight of the stairs. The last time he'd been there had been Halloween.
"Stark?" he called out. The door shut behind him, and a disembodied voice that kind of sounded like that dude from A Knight's Tale said, "Whom shall I tell the master is calling?"
Chase blinked at the ceiling, looking harassed.
"....What the hell did you just say to me?"
"Mr. Stein," the cool voice replied, "welcome back. We are enormously pleased to have you here fully clothed. Mr. Stark is in the workshop, which is in the opposite direction of the bedroom. I believe you already know where that is."
Chase stood, gaping, before he gritted his teeth together and huffed a little, and started stalking through the house. It reminded him vaguely of his family's Malibu place, in the daylight. It made his mood worse.
"Uh, Stark?" he called again as he ambled down a hallway that, indeed, went the opposite direction from the other part of the house, thank God.
"You around, man?"