<div class="floatleft">(https://68.media.tumblr.com/07b3b218e3c7ec1d98c8d96d512301e7/tumblr_n0ku4ksXaB1tsq9keo1_1280.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name</strong>: Taegan "Tae" Petrov (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=264761.msg13073346#msg13073346)<br/><strong>Time &amp; Location</strong>: Evening | Eames' Residence<br/><strong>Wearing</strong>: Nuclear Potluck (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/eb/a2/86/eba28698bdab916ef29589ab92e8a8b6.jpg)<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Terry Hunter<br/><strong>Content</strong>: House Burning!<br/><br/>Tae peered off into the distance as she wandered the sidewalk in the direction of Terry and Gavin's place, her mind occupied with other things as her feet worked on autopilot.  She was carrying a plate of two dozen cookies wrapped in pale green cellophane and tied off with a pink and green-striped, fluffy ribbon.  She was glad the walk was so short, 'cause her arm was already getting tired of carrying the plate, and she knew damn well if she had to do it much longer she'd abandon it on the sidewalk.  The idea had seemed so cute when she'd thought of it, back when the only effort required on her part was telling her housekeeper to bake some cookies and put them on a plate.  Now she was having to<em>carry</em>the damn things and it suddenly seemed like a lot of hassle for a stranger.<br/><br/>She huffed when she finally turned up the Brightman drive and her ordeal was almost over.  She stopped at the front door and reached up with her free hand to check that her hair was still neatly French-braided, the thick rope of black hair dangling down her back to her waist.  A brief pat reassured her, so she knocked loudly and called out.  "Yoohoo!  Avon calling!"  Smirking, she waited with her cookies, taking the opportunity to glance around the outside of the house a bit more.  The last time she'd been there, it'd been dark and she'd been distracted by a new person to torment and befriend!<br/><br/>She knew that Gavin Brightman was a widower who used to be a big deal in Hollywood, but ever since his wife had passed he'd sunk into utter obscurity.  Part of her wondered if he had any cool props from movies he'd worked on stashed somewhere in the house, and another part of her immediately decided that any props he had couldn't be<em>that</em>cool if they'd ended up with<em>him</em>.  Of course she'd seen him around the neighborhood, ever so very rarely, and the guy was pretty clearly a loser.  She liked older men, but Gavin Brightman had none of the sex appeal that Greg Eames had.  Plus, who wanted to sleep with a sad sack who was<em>still</em>a mopey failure like ten years after his wife had died?  Lame.  She wouldn't even pity fuck a dude like that.