Towering Pines - Brightman Residence (Robinson Rd)
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Capone on 05-04-2017, 04:34:47</h2>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Towering Pines - Brightman Residence (Robinson Rd)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Capone</strong> on <strong>05-04-2017, 04:34:47</strong>
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				<div align="center"><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size">Brightman Residence</span><br>In the Acacia Circle Cul-de-Sac off Robinson Road</div><br><hr><br><div align="center">(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/Setting%20and%20RP/Suburban_tract_house.jpg)</div><br><div align="center"><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td>(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/Setting%20and%20RP/54ff82282ac26-living-room-green-window-de.jpg)</td><td>(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/Setting%20and%20RP/landscape-1465239399-industrial-kitchen.jpg)</td><td>(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/Setting%20and%20RP/study_room_01_by_bahergh-d53gcum.jpg)</td></tr><tr><td><div align="center">Living Room</div></td><td><div align="center">Kitchen</div></td><td><div align="center">Study</div></td></tr></tbody></table><br><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td>(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/Setting%20and%20RP/man-cave.jpg)</td><td>(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/Setting%20and%20RP/natural-walnut-home-office-furniture.jpg)</td><td>(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/Setting%20and%20RP/54ff274855e4f-64-master-bedroom29-xl.jpg)</td></tr><tr><td><div align="center">Basement</div></td><td><div align="center">Office (Above Garage)</div></td><td><div align="center">Master Bedroom</div></td></tr></tbody></table><br><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td>(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/Setting%20and%20RP/cf3111130426c707_1308-w500-h400-b0-p0--traditional-bathroom.jpg)</td><td>(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/Setting%20and%20RP/terry-bedroom.jpg)</td><td>(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/Setting%20and%20RP/terry-bathroom.jpg)</td></tr><tr><td><div align="center">Master Bathroom</div></td><td><div align="center">Terry's Bedroom</div></td><td><div align="center">Terry's Bathroom</div></td></tr></tbody></table><br><em>Of note: Terry keeps his main guitar and spare in his bedroom, but amps and other music equipment are kept in the garage, which presently holds his motorcycle and Gavin's car. Terry keeps his Xbox One hooked up in the basement lounge in order to keep from disturbing his Uncle.</em></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Towering Pines - Brightman Residence (Robinson Rd)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Capone</strong> on <strong>05-04-2017, 14:31:28</strong>
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				<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 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>It was half-past two or three in the afternoon, yet Terry had only just gotten out of the shower. Even then, he only put a half-hearted effort into his attire, a pair of plain blue boxers in place of real pants and an old t-shirt proclaiming that a wizard had come from the moon. He had only woken up a few hours ago, which was becoming more and more a habit.<br><br>He had a bit of a late start on Saturday morning, but considering he had been out late it was generally for good reason. While it was certainly the craziest of nights he'd had in a while -- though still nothing compared to some of his College mischief -- it was enough to leave him in a good mood. He had spent the day going through the entire house, grabbing whatever clothes his Uncle Gavin had lying around and tossing them into the wash. He grabbed errant books, papers, and other such clutter, organizing it as best as he could, stacking items and placing them in any spot he thought they belonged in the study, his Uncle's room, or his Uncle's office. With laundry and basic items taken care of, he began the long, arduous process of dusting, vacuuming, and even scrubbing down the kitchen.<br><br>By time Terry had finished that evening, Gavin had called to inform him that he'd be in the city for a bit longer a stay. Talks were going well, evidently. Great news for his Uncle. Terry settled himself down into the basement lounge, got in touch with his band-mates on the Xbox One, and together they spent the evening running Raids in Destiny.<br><br>As the next two days went by, however, the good mood began to dissipate. He strummed and practiced on his guitar a bit on Sunday, but didn't want to become another noise violation. It just wasn't the same practicing in his bedroom, though, or with the garage door closed. In the end, he spent most of the day playing video games or watching Netflix. Monday? Well, that was all he had done on Monday.<br><br>He sighed, looking through the freezer for something to eat. Terry wasn't much of a cook. About the only chef he ever apprenticed to was that imposter with the name Boyardee. Evidently his Uncle Gavin wasn't much of a cook these days, either, seeing as the freezer was filled with hot pockets, frozen dinners, chicken patties, and frozen pizza. It was a bit disheartening, but at the same time supremely convenient. Terry grabbed a box of the frozen Digiorno, yet another imposter of a product. "It's not delivery" is right, and if there were people out here on the West Coast that were confused enough to believe this stuff was that good then they have never had <em>real</em> pizza.<br><br>Terry set the oven to preheat as he hunted for a proper pizza pan, avoiding the clanging and banging of pots and pans best he could. Sitting the pan upon the island, he unsealed the frozen "pizza", placed it onto the pan, and... leaned back against the counter, waiting for the temperature reader on the oven to inform him it was hot enough.<br><br>"What should I do today?" he asked himself softly, gaze blank. He <em>should</em> practice his guitar. He <em>should</em> search for more work, <em>just</em> in case any of the listings were different from last week. He <em>should</em> perhaps see what else around his Uncle's house he can do. Hell, maybe he should even leave and go see a movie.<br><br>Instead, he was probably just going to game and Netflix again...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Towering Pines - Brightman Residence (Robinson Rd)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Bibliophilia</strong> on <strong>07-04-2017, 06:08:01</strong>
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				<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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; A brief pat reassured her, so she knocked loudly and called out.&nbsp; "Yoohoo!&nbsp; Avon calling!"&nbsp; Smirking, she waited with her cookies, taking the opportunity to glance around the outside of the house a bit more.&nbsp; 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.&nbsp; 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>.&nbsp; Of course she'd seen him around the neighborhood, ever so very rarely, and the guy was pretty clearly a loser.&nbsp; She liked older men, but Gavin Brightman had none of the sex appeal that Greg Eames had.&nbsp; 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?&nbsp; Lame.&nbsp; She wouldn't even pity fuck a dude like that.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Towering Pines - Brightman Residence (Robinson Rd)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Capone</strong> on <strong>08-04-2017, 01:34:43</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<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!&nbsp; 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.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Towering Pines - Brightman Residence (Robinson Rd)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Bibliophilia</strong> on <strong>09-04-2017, 11:00:12</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<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>She grinned at his apparent confusion, and she skipped through the door without seeming to notice his unenthusiastic greeting.&nbsp; "Taegan...in case you don't remember.&nbsp; It's not like we had a deep, intimate chat like it was something off the Hallmark channel.&nbsp; You're Terry.&nbsp; I remember, 'cause of Crews.&nbsp; And <em>no</em> that's <em>not</em> racist.&nbsp; I'm like one-eighth Cherokee, which means I <em>can't</em> be racist."&nbsp; Her smirk could have been taken for self-importance or amusement, depending on whether one was inclined to take her words at face-value or assume a heavy dose of irony.&nbsp; She didn't seem inclined to clarify it, either way.<br><br>"Oh, yum.&nbsp; Shitty pizza's my favorite, right after cold fries and right before liver."&nbsp; She snickered and followed him into the kitchen, where she could unceremoniously drop the plate of cookies on the island, before hopping up to sit on a stool, or convenient countertop, whichever was closest.&nbsp; "Cookies.&nbsp; Peanut butter dark chocolate chunk and oatmeal with dried cherries, Greek yogurt chips and almonds, so hopefully you're not allergic to nuts."&nbsp; She peered around the kitchen as she swung her feet, then glanced back at him with a grin.<br><br>"Dude, I so did <em>not</em> expect to catch you in your boxers looking and sounding like you just rolled off the wrong side of a hang-over.&nbsp; Late night?&nbsp; Even <em>I've</em> been up for a couple of hours, and took the time to get dressed up all pretty to officially invite you to the neighborhood all proper-like."&nbsp; Her smirk widened and she rocked a bit, leaning forward to eye his crotch in the boxers openly.&nbsp; "Still...Can't complain.&nbsp; If i'm gonna be looking at a dude in his boxers, you're a better option than most of the other dudes under forty in the neighborhood."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Towering Pines - Brightman Residence (Robinson Rd)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Capone</strong> on <strong>10-04-2017, 03:54:41</strong>
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				<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> Tae<br><strong>Content:</strong> Playing Host<br><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>Terry wasn't sure what to make of his brand new company. Just the effort required to keep up with everything she was saying was firing off neurons and nerve-endings, forcing his brain into a proper upright position. Hell, by time she was hopping up on the counter he was <em>still</em> trying to figure out if that one-eighth Cherokee (it was <em>always</em> one-eighth) was a joke or if she were serious.<br><br><strong> "Cookies.&nbsp; Peanut butter dark chocolate chunk and oatmeal with dried cherries, Greek yogurt chips and almonds, so hopefully you're not allergic to nuts."</strong><br><br>Terry shifted upright slightly, his hand rising and about to instinctively grab at his own sac and shout "Deez nuts!" like he and his friends often did. He didn't know when they actually started making the joke, as they were later to the party than everyone else. Perhaps it started out as something ironic, to make fun of people saying "deez nuts" in the most pointless situations it didn't matter. "Hey Matt, does the weather say it's gonna rain today?" "Deez nuts!" But somehow it just became another thing, an in-joke that was more about sharing it than it actually being funny.<br><br>"I don't seem to break out in hives when <em>you're</em> around, so I think I'm good," he retorted. Of course, inside he was cringing. God, what an awful retort. Leaning forward he lifted the wrapping from the plate to retrieve a cookie, already forgetting half of what she said was loaded into this cluster of diabetes.<br><br><strong>"Dude, I so did not expect to catch you in your boxers looking and sounding like you just rolled off the wrong side of a hang-over.&nbsp; Late night?&nbsp; Even <em>I've</em> been up for a couple of hours, and took the time to get dressed up all pretty to officially invite you to the neighborhood all proper-like. Still...Can't complain.&nbsp; If I'm gonna be looking at a dude in his boxers, you're a better option than most of the other dudes under forty in the neighborhood."</strong><br><br>Terry chewed on the cookie as she paid him what he was going to take as a compliment. Honestly, if anything her attire only showed just how little he could read the girl. Perhaps she was simply testing to see if he'd blush and grin. "Aw, shucks Tae," with an embarrassed scratch behind the back of the head. Or if she was seeing if he'd begin peacocking and offering to show her more or some other obvious flirtation.<br><br>In truth, he couldn't really concentrate on any of that anyway. He'd only had store bought cookies his whole life, with the exception of when someone's mom or a girlfriend decided to bake some chocolate chip cookies or something similar. Simple recipes without experimentation. The fudge and peanut butter flavors melted in a fashion that made Reese's peanut butter cups seem like dry husks of "astronaut ice cream".<br><br>"You didn't make these," he said, leaning forward on his elbows once again as he took another bite of the cookie, unconsciously blocking the view of his crotch from her view. "You murdered some poor old lady around the block, raided her wardrobe, and then stole these from her counter." He put on a mocking expression, one of faux melodrama. "These were for her <em>grandchildren</em>, Tae!" He shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth. "You monshfa!" he spoke through peanut butter and crumbs.<br><br>Once he had swallowed he reached for another. "As for a late night, well..." he shrugged. "I dunno. Just wasn't expecting company. And nothing really crazy." He took a bite of the second cookie, sighing. "Pathetic, actually." He shrugged. "Not like there's much to do in a neighborhood like this anyway."
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