<strong>Name:</strong>Terry Hunter (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=264761.msg13074475#msg13074475)<br/><strong>Time / Location:</strong>Tuesday, June 6th - Afternoon, Brightman Residence<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>Destiny t-shirt (https://pbs.twimg.com/media/BqmpTPkCAAAGX-x.jpg:large) and blue boxers<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Open to Tae<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Another Lazy Day<br/><hr/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/Setting%20and%20RP/black-metalhead-2.jpg?1490501433475&amp;1490501435218&amp;1490501437401)</div><em>Beep! Beep! Beep!</em><br/><br/>Terry's daydreaming was brought crashing back to reality as the oven informed him of reaching preheating temperature. Stifling a yawn he grabbed the pizza pan and slid it into the oven, closing it just in time to jump at the loud pounding at the door.<br/><br/><strong><em>"Yoohoo!  Avon calling!"</em></strong><br/><br/>"Who the fuck is Avon?" he asked himself quietly, scratching the back of his head. He could feel some of the stubble of hair growing back. He'd need to shave it again. He didn't even bother to try and think of who might be at the door, though even if he had he wouldn't have recognized the voice. It was more chipper and less sarcastic, arachnid sass than it had been before. His feet lazily carried him from the kitchen down the hallway, the stairs leading to the second floor and the entry to the study both on his left, with the entrance to the living room to his right and the kitchen behind. He opened the door, quirking an eyebrow for a moment at the oddly dressed girl before him.<br/><br/>"Can I help y-" he began before recognition dawned on him. Her hair was different, she didn't have the goth black lipstick on, and the bright colors of her outfit provided a new sort of visual aura to her, but the glint in her eyes, the smile and... well, yeah, the legs... all gave away that he was being visited but Tae.<br/><br/>"Oh," he said rather unceremoniously. He stepped back, opening the door wider for her. "Come on in," he said, his voice catching up to his own wakeful state. "I just put a shitty frozen pizza in the oven." As she entered he closed the door behind her, absorbing her attire in more close detail. A "classic" sense of fashion, one might say, though he had no doubt with a twisted sense of post-modern irony shoved in. Even so, it was enough to start making an individual out of her in his mind rather than a newer iteration of a crazy ex-girlfriend archetype.<br/><br/>"What's that?" he asked, leading her down the hall to the kitchen. He stood to the far end of the island, leaning forward on his elbows in a casual position. Any paranoia -- well, nearly<em>anything</em>he had shown in terms of emotion or energy -- seemed a bit zapped at the moment.