niteo_logs | (no subject)

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Characters: OU!Nathan

metalcfo
When: November 26th
Where: Apartments
Rating: PG?
Summary: Nathan moves to Charles' room. Uh-oh ahead.

Nathan looked around the small apartment that he was given when he first came here. There wasn't much in it that he didn't already have when he came here. Well, to be honest, the only thing was the phone he had discovered in his pocket. Well, you couldn't say that he didn't leave the room kind of clean and a little more fixed up than what it was before.

Well, whatever. He was going to bunk with Charles now. He'd see how it would go.

"Uh... Dammit, I forgot to ask what room number."

Charles. Room number.

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Why the man had agreed to let the singer stay in his apartment was beyond him. Nathan snored, had horrible living habits and made messes. Everywhere. Charles could feel the headache coming on already. Why why why.

As his PDA buzzed, the manager glanced at the device and sighed. Room 206. Nothing like having to remind the man where he was. Not like he wasn't only two floors up. Charles was sure Nathan would forget his room in Mordhaus if it wasn't attached to his office.

Nathan quickly left his apartment and up the two flights of stairs. Well, one couldn't blame him for not having a map to this place and wanting to hide from zombies and freaky little girls who considered you toys.

And he didn't cause too many messes. He didn't leave too much trash and dead things around. Besides, he'd probably do whatever Charles told him to do seeing as he was the one who had an idea what was going on.

With how quiet it was, it was no wonder Charles had heard Nathan coming down the stairs. He had always had good hearing, which was surprising given how loud life with Dethklok was. But Charles always managed to hear everything that went on around him.

It was an honest surprise that Nathan hadn't bothered the older man about cooking, laundry or basic survival needs. Then again, Charles did think for a while that the singer had died from exposure or starvation as he knew Nathan was too proud to ask for help unless he absolutely needed it. Stupid man.

Well, duh. Why bother being quiet when it was already quiet and unless someone was doing something like rocket science, who was going to complain? He and the other members of his band were loud anyways. Stopping at the door of room 206, he knocked loudly. He had learned that just because someone said the door was open didn't mean that it was open all the time.

As for not asking about basic needs and survival, well, he couldn't ask. Not when a little foraging found him some cans and hey, rubbing two sticks together wasn't that hard.

"Yo. Charles. It's Nathan."

What part of the door was... Never mind. Charles was sure this was the first time since meeting Nathan that the younger man actually knocked. Maybe the singer finally learned boundaries? "It's open."

Charles sat there at his table/desk/thing, a note pad in front of him and his chin resting in his palm and a makeshift pencil in his hand. Nothing like half burning a stick and wrapping it in worn fabric to make an acceptable writing implement.

"Dude, you're still.... Manager like and all," he said, looking around as he walked in. Of course, what else would he be? Charles was pretty much destined to be the puppet master of sorts since he was little. Not that anyone would ever say that.

"I need to keep my mind sharp still. Even in a place like this." There was the familiar arch of a brow. Charles lifted his head and set down his "pencil" to give the younger man his full attention. "Did you bring anything with you?"

Nathan rummaged through his pockets and took out his phone. "Just this weird thing, and my tape recorder. Got some new ideas on it. Uh.... I got my DeathPhone (TM) and some gum and a rubber band."

Pretty much junk and nothing else.

It took every ounce of strength in the man's body to not jump on Nathan and strangle him. Why did Nathan never have anything useful on him? "Nothing from your, ah, room? If you're going to be living here, we need to pull together resources. Is that really all you have?"

"Well... I could get the cans I found, and that pocket knife. It was kinda rusty but I scraped it off okay."

Hey, don't blame him for not having much on him. He was okay with living in squalor, even after living like a king at home, but he supposed he couldn't blame Charles for wanting to have a bit of security. Who knows when more zombies or ghosts or worse would come around?

"Yes. Yes Nathan. Go. Get your other things now before you forget about them." He would not drop his head against his table... Thing. He would not.

A sigh escaped the man's lips and with one fluid movement, glasses were placed on the table and fingers went to hold the bridge of Charles' nose. It was almost like being home. Even if it was a very, very far off 'almost.' The more supplies they could have between them the better.

"Uh...... okay be back," he said, darting out of the room and then coming back within five minutes. He also grabbed some of the other things he had stashed around and almost forgotten: a ratty but still usable notebook, what he hoped would be a working pen, some boxes of what he hoped would be foot (it all was in weird text), and those cans he mentioned.

"Still open?" he called when he got back.

Charles was right about personal space and learning boundaries. Some people were bitches.

"Still. Open." Now that he was officially a roommate, Nathan didn't need to ask if he could come in. That would now be reserved for changing time, washing and, ah, personal time. Away from the table, the older man was trying to clean up the couch area for Nathan to sleep. The bed was big enough for two but there was no sharing going to happen in the manager's mind.

"I, ah, have the couch almost ready for you to sleep on. It's fine enough for now."

"Couch?" Nate grunted. "I have a bed back in my old room," he added, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. He wondered how many times he would have to go back and forth. Moving wasn't this hard, was it? He probably could take over Charles' bed somehow, but that would be a little low, even for him. A bed was something very, very nice to have in a weird place like this.

Okay, looks like he'd be napping on the couch tonight.

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I'M SORRY NATE IS DYING