He's worked hard, damn hard these past few months that he's been in this city and he's saved his pennies like Scrooge. So he decided to get his ass out of that shitty Hotel, with the shitty clientele and that shitty Jr. and find a place...a decent place, one that Lola would love to have but would lose in about a month with her cocaine ways and cocktail fuck-ups.

Daisy, all dolled up in some of his most respectable outfits, a slate-grey mini skirt and a simple white T shirt, with his trademark shawl and chunky boots, makes his way inside. A duffle bag and small suitcase in hand, and looks around for anyone who'll help him relocate to this posh place.

Walking into the lobby where Daisy seems to be lost, Jacques was quite a striking man to look at. He’s the sort of thing that is found on the cat-walk; a pretty-boy with impeccable taste in clothes and the money to buy them. Dark slacks, a shirt under a pinstripe vest, under a comfortable suit jacket and a pair of leather loafers made him look lean, tall and expensive. His dark blond hair was long enough to hit his jaw if he let it, but he constantly combed it back from his face with his hand, tossing it out of his eyes; an gesture he did while coming to a halt nearby the only other person in view.

Blue eyes stare at Daisy from a 6.2” (approximate) height. “You’re looking lost.” Says the young aristocrat. He’s from old world money, old world towns, New Orleans French quarters - or what was once. Shifting his gaze from Daisy to the suitcases and back again, he raised a brow upwards. “Are you here for someone?”

Slipping a hand into his trouser pocket, he regards the other casually, even as he appraises the other; quirking his mouth at the chunky boots and shawl. Bad taste. Maybe he could do something with her.  

--Last edited by Jacques-Marcel on 2009-02-14 03:42:01 --

Daisy’s head turns at the sound of Jacques approaching. He lowers his suitcase to the floor and adjusts the strap of the duffle bag more comfortably over his shoulder. ‘Nope, not lost.’ He replies as a strand of inky hair falls over one eye. ‘I’m jus’ where I was planning on bein’.’

Daisy shrugs single-shoulderedly, ‘naw, I’m looking to rent one of the apartments, if they’ve got anything available. Do you know who I can ask about rentin’?’ A shake of his head and the hair is tossed aside. If you were to look beyond the smudged eye-liner and cheep lip-gloss, beyond the second-hand clothes, if you look real good, you’d see he’s not like the others...he is no weed.  

--Last edited by Daisy on 2009-02-14 17:12:18 --

“If you’re looking at renting a place here, I’d suggest heading to the Real Estate. You’re not going to find a landlord walking around the premises advertising to walk-ins.” He replies with a mild raise of his brows. “This isn’t a Hotel, ma’am.”

From his pocket he slides out a cigarette packet. It’s not a case as rich types tend to carry around, but an store purchased pack that he now flips open to remove a slender cigarette. He holds it between two long fingers and tilts the packet towards Daisy in a silent offering.

“Or is it that you need a place to stay tonight?”

Daisy will let him finishes his talking before he begins, he shows no indication that he finds this boy on the smug side, rather he’ll speak to him the way he is being spoken to...all haughty-totty, mocking him even though he knows he shouldn't. ‘My dear young man I never said this was a hotel, nor did I ask for a room for the night, did I?’ Lola sure taught him how to act.

He looks down at the offered cigarettes but makes no move to take one or even acknowledge it further...whoo boy...he’s going to be sleeping in the park tonight, but it’ll be worth it! ‘I want a place to live. Now since you are the one so interested in me I am assuming that you are the landlord. So if you want my cash then I’d like a room with a view, if not then it’s time to say ...Hasta La Vista...’ an arrogant gesture of fingers though hair, just like he saw Jacques do before, before he adds, ‘baby.’

He watches.
He listens.

In the meantime the cigarette packet is returned to his pocket and the cigarette he held is now placed behind an ear, like an architect would with a pencil.

“If you want a place to live, then you best learn how to acquire it properly. You’re acting like this is a hotel. You can’t walk into an apartment complex and expect to see a landlord. I don’t know which gutter you’re from, girl, but where ever it is, and whatever you have been doing there, has caused some permanent brain damage.”

“Your smarts match your dressing sense, which is to say, you have very little.”

“Real Estates list places for rent, not apartment lobbies. Get off the crack and you might find such things easier to comprehend.”

All the while Jacques’s voice hadn’t changed much in pitch. He didn’t come across irritated or annoyed. If anything he is vaguely amused at the little bitch before him.

‘Would you like to know which gutter I am from?’ Daisy blinks once, ‘the same one you crawled out of. I shudder to think we may even be related.’ Then he cracks a smile.

He looks down at his clothes then back up to Jacques. ‘You don’t seem to be John Galliano, and I’m not here for a fashion show, so I don’t think either of us should really talk about just how silly the other is dressed, don’t ya think?’

Daisy shifts his weight on his other leg, the duffle bag adding pounds to his skinny frame.

“Good luck.”

Jacques doesn’t continue the verbal banter. It’s gone downhill to high-school grade. Some people never learn. He’d tried to be helpful. So much for good intentions.

While he waits for the elevator to arrive, he lights up his cigarette and openly watches Daisy without so much as another word.

Daisy’s usually nice and bubbly...but doesn’t everyone have a dark side, a mean streak that sometimes pops up when you don’t want it to, and bares fangs and claws?

He just watches the other, not much older boy, then drops the duffle bag to the floor with a heavy thud; and as if nothing happened he simply says, ‘so...have you got a free apartment?’

Blowing out a stream of smoke, tilting his chin so that it blows towards the ceiling and away from head height, he shook his head. "I told you what to do if you want an apartment, twice now." Ash was flicked onto the ground without much care for it.

"If you needed somewhere to stay tonight I have a spare room." There was a definite but there. Daisy has left a sour taste in the air and Jacques has no care for it, or patience for it today. The pause gives chance for the other to reply, maybe make amends, plead a case or otherwise state that he has other arrangements. That Daisy is here with a suitcase and bag indicates that he had hoped to move into a fully furnished apartment right away. He sure had high hopes.

Perhaps Daisy is the one lacking sense when he nods and accepts the room, ‘that will work for tonight.’ Perhaps it is Jacques. Neither of them know what the other is, Daisy could be the poster child for some Emo-waif-tart, and Jacques looks like some fresh Prep school brat, but they both could be messed up killers...or worse. Daisy looks at him long and hard, one of them isn’t very sane...is he?

‘How much do you want for one night’s rent?’ He picks up his duffle bag and suitcase and steps closer to the other. This close up Daisy smells sweet, like cherry candies and Amaretto and flowers.

"Keep your money. I don't need it." Daisy does though, that much Jacques can tell. The elevator opens up and the cigarette is crushed out and dropped into the floor tray before he steps into the lift with a press of a button to the highest floor.

He rides with one hand in pocket and regarding Daisy from the opposite side of the small, moving, metal cubicle. "I'm Jacques." Not quite Jack sounding, but similar, and very French. The young man may have a few years on Daisy. But he isn't very old at all, maybe twenty-two or twenty-three.

Daisy steps into the elevator and leans against the wall eyeing Jacques. ‘Everyone expects a payment for a service the offer, maybe you don’t need my bent pennies, but I am sure you will want to take something from me.’

Daisy nods to him, ‘you can call me Daisy.’ Then he reaches out, an offered hand, ‘it’s clean.’ He teases, waiting to see what Jacques will do.  

He considers this and he knows most of it to be true, but there's a little quirk in his brow and while he takes Daisy's hand to shake it politely, he replies, "Maybe this is your lucky break, Daisy. Even those that live in the dark must see the light in order to know the difference."

"The question is whether seeing a ray of sunshine makes the darkness more tolerable or torturous after ward."

The warmth and softness of his grasp is taken from Daisy's hand and he slips his hand back into his pocket. And while Daisy smelled of sweet things, Jacques had the faint scent of expensive cologne; nothing overpowering but worn in good taste, as it should be.

‘Lucky breaks are what I give myself,’  he replies as he fixes the slipping strap from his bag. ‘Don’t worry, I have seen the dark and the sunshine...’ a small smirk playing on his lips as he adds, ‘sunshine.’

"Mmm." A non-committal sound is given, that speaks nothing on what Jacques may, or may not, think.

When the doors to the elevator open up he steps out and, after a momentary debate, steps back to pick up the suitcase so Daisy doesn't continuously struggle with both bag and suitcase. It's the southern gentlemanly thing to do, even if Daisy had given him sass earlier. Some people were like that. Gutter rats that bit anyone that came near them as a matter of survival. Sometimes these things can't be helped.

With Daisy's suitcase in hand, Jacques walks down the length of the hall towards his apartment. Producing keys from his pocket he stuck them into the two locks and opened one after the other, before pushing open the door and waits for Daisy to head inside.

Daisy steps out and looks at the other boy as he takes his suitcase from him. He raises a brow, pausing, then speaks, ‘thanks.’

He follows Jacques to the apartment pausing as the door is opened to look over his shoulder. ‘After you,’ he requests, being the polite guest.

It’s a bachelor pad with style.

The L-shaped sofa still smelled of new fabric and the rug beneath it looked freshly rolled out. An entertainment system housed a decent wide-screen television with the complete works of sound system and players. A coffee table was low in height and polished timber, matching the timber of the entertainment unit. Floor lamps were tall and matching. In the far corner was a desk with a laptop sitting on it and a high back leather chair. The balcony doors and windows had a view of the street and its easy to imagine Jacques kicked back in the chair, ignoring work and basking in the sunlight.

An open kitchen separated from the living area with a breakfast bench which housed two stools; black and cushioned. By the look of the kitchen this is a renovated apartment with stainless steel appliances and shiny white-goods, including a microwave, coffee machine and one of those fridges with a water/ice dispenser in the middle of its door. Its clean. All crockery is away. When Daisy gets around to it, if he does, he will find all the crockery matches and isn’t some mismatched set often found in young men’s apartments.

The bathroom is small. A clean mirror over a hand basin, with a cabinet beneath; housing a few hand towels, shaving products, men’s moisturizer, and several toothbrushes still packaged. The shower head is over a deep bathtub, enclosed with a frosted waterproof curtain hanging from plastic rungs on a metal rail.

The toilet is separate, located in the small door next to the bathroom.

A guest bedroom is fitted with a double bed and a set of drawers with a built in robe. The bed is made with fitted sheets of a high thread count, and a quilt that is warm for winter and cooler in summer; its design is simple; cream with a chocolate strip across the bottom.

Jacques master bedroom is a little bigger and what Daisy glimpses of it, on the tour of the apartment, is a black and white quilt design on a large bed, bedside tables, a tallboy and a small walk in robe. Clearly Jacques was not inviting the other into his room and closes the bedroom door in a unspoken, out of bounds, gesture.

Daisy’s suitcase is placed n the guest room by the closet.

“Smoking on the balcony only.” Says the pretty-boy before turning out of the bedroom and heading for the kitchen to start brewing some coffee.

Daisy walks around the beautiful apartment, he inhales the scent of cleanliness and new furniture. Looking out the window for a moment, he regards the city spreading out before him. He touches his nose to the chilled glass and blinks. His head arches, forehead touching the glass as he looks down...down... When he pulls back there’s a small imprint left on the window. He quickly lifts his hand and wipes it away, then steps back.

The guest room is gorgeous, and looks inviting. Daisy smiles lightly and tosses his duffle bag inside. It lands with a rude thud against the bed. ‘What, we’re not sleeping in bunk-beds, you on top of me?’ He teases as he runs his fingers though his hair.

In an instant...there it is...the sight of it AMAZING! The shape, the colour, he is drawn to it like a moth to the flame almost floating until he reaches the laptop. His gaze falls on it, his fingers move up quickly, instinctively to the top of it.

Inches from it...so close; but he swiftly pulls away and swallows down a moan. His jaw clenches, muscles tightening. As if just bitten by a pet Daisy steps away and follows Jacques to the kitchen.

This place was immaculate, too much so. Daisy watches the other as he leans against the fridge, eyeing him up and down, biting his tongue to keep from asking what is on his mind.

Coffee beans are poured from a small bag into the machine as Daisy busies himself in the apartment. The laptop is sleek and silver, plugged into the wall behind the desk by a cord that keeps the battery charged. There is nothing else on the desk, everything else is stowed away in one of three sliding draws to the right.  

By the time Daisy makes his way into the kitchen the coffee is brewing and Jacques is reaching to grab a mug from one of the above cupboards. He grabs one mug and wraps his fingers around another before glancing over his shoulder to where the girl leans against the fridge, “Do you want a coffee?”

Either one or two mugs make their way onto the counter where a small, square canister with ‘sugar’ printed across the front also waits for the coffee to be brewed. A polished teaspoon is taken from a drawer and placed down before Jacques turns to the fridge. Motioning the other out of the way with a small hand gesture, he murmurs a quiet, “Excuse me.” so he can fetch the milk from within.