(no subject)
Who: Chelsea St. Clair (YOUNG COOK) and Leo Cole (SLEEPING BEAUTY'S PRINCE)
What: Some revelations and flying fists.
When: Friday night.
Rating: R - violence, cursing, etc.
Leo and Chelsea, as strange a team as they would seem, came as a package deal. Not a package deal as in "we are attached at the hip" or "you get Leo, you get Chelsea" - but more as a handy little bonus. Leo's Friday night happened to have a drunken slur and a Chelsea stuck on, so in opposition to some of his nights - falling asleep slightly drunk and bored - he was reaching out. Human contact, and all that, they said it was good for the soul.
He didn't much believe in souls anymore.
The fact remained that Chelsea was over. Some obscured 70's music (a radio station in the middle of a Janis Joplin block, if precision is more your style) wafted around the East Village apartment as if it were a pleasant aroma. Alcohol was always a staple when it came to the Prince and the Cook; Chelsea was the drink mixer, between the two of them, but Leo didn't keep much of that thing around. He peered into the refrigerator, extracting two plump Heineken bottles from inside, and kicked the door shut with his heel.
"So what were you saying? About your brother?" Leo asked passively, resuming where they'd left off in the conversation before he'd run off to grab the beers. He handed one to her without much thought, and sat down on the couch, before cracking his own open and taking a drink. Leo settled back into the cushions. It had been a long day - week, actually. He was hard pressed to find a time where he really relaxed, but he was trying. It was nice. Really.