|
|
|
April 19th, 2010
09:33 pm - fall out boy
It has--not been the best day ever. Alex got called in for a meeting with his advisor this morning, the upshot of which was that he is failing at almost every single one of his classes, and is definitely not going to be graduating at the end of the year unless he magically starts to get A's in about five different classes in about three weeks. Since Alex has typically been a fairly decent student, his advisor really has no idea why this is happening, and Alex kind of shies around the issue, making vague faces and half-hearted excused about his epilepsy, which, it must be granted, is rather worse right now than usual.
Then he discovers a very justifiably snide letter in his mailbox from his Calculus professor wondering whether his presence will ever grace that particular classroom ever again; and his mother, somehow magically alert to any of his potential failures even across the Atlantic, telephones to demand what he has been doing lately, to which he has no pleasing answer.
The end result is that when Anna gets back to the apartment, she will find a very drunk Alex waiting for her, sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of her rum that is only half full any more, and the letter from the Calc professor in front of him.
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/mood/opiummmm/foxies/sad.gif) depressed
|
August 14th, 2009
10:59 pm
Cont'd from here.
Alex ends up on the street, cursing and weaving. At first he starts in the direction of home; but then he realises that the last thing in the world is for Emory to see him like this, let alone any questions about why he's drunk and half-undressed. He stops, leans against a wall for support, and fumbles for his cell phone.
After a few moments' unsuccessful attempts he manages to dial Mordred's number correctly.
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/mood/opiummmm/foxies/scared.gif) distressed
|
April 10th, 2009
11:56 pm - the heart is a lonely hunter
Alex, his family has probably noticed, is being mopier than usual right now, mostly because he hasn't seen either Mike or Anna in quite some time. When he got home from work (at five a.m.) he didn't bother with his usual overly-cheerful and deeply annoying clatter in the kitchen, and now, at three p.m., he is still in bed with the covers pulled firmly over his head. Even the smell of biscuits for lunchbreakfast has not inspired him to emerge.
Current Mood: lonely
|
March 21st, 2009
08:48 pm
It's Saturday afternoon, and for once Alex is off, recovering from his Friday night third shift by having gotten up about five minutes ago. Now he's wandered into the kitchen in pajama bottoms and nothing else to poke around for breakfast-like substances.
He slept on his hair wet, and it looks ridiculous. That seems like a pertinent detail for some reason.
Current Mood: sleepy
|
January 3rd, 2009
12:44 am - who's gonna tell you things aren't so great?
After Mordred falls asleep, Alex extricates himself delicately and goes back to the kitchen, where he makes himself coffee. He does it the strong way, the Turkish way, running it through the filter three times, and then empties an entire bottle of rum extract into it.
Then he sits in the chair near the wall, his eyes half-closed, and drinks it.
Current Mood: sad
|
December 20th, 2008
11:39 pm - if you call, I will answer, and if you fall, I'll pick you up
It's eight p.m., and Alex isn't working, for once. The tiny apartment is warm, the heat turned up. It's just past dinner. The fall semester is over and they have Annika all day now, which always makes him happier (it always makes him happy when the three of them are together) and irrepressibly annoying: he has the radio turned to Christmas carols.
The find-Mike's-brother network has been in effect for several days now, so Alex's cell phone is always on, even at night. Right now, though, he isn't really expecting any calls. His whole attention is taken with the obviously vital exercise of poking the fake Christmas tree dubiously and making sure that all of the ornaments Annika made from preschool onward are fully displayed among its branches.
Therrre we go.
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/mood/opiummmm/foxies/happy.gif) cheerful
Current Music: God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen - Sarah McLachlan
|
December 17th, 2008
05:04 pm - i'm awake, you're still sleeping
Alex gets in close to four in the morning--no jacket, a thin shade of stubble, his tie unknotted, his shirt badly buttoned, and smelling of cedar, scotch and smoke. He is also stumbling with exhaustion. The door puts up a small argument over being opened, and when he gets inside he immediately collapses in the first available chair, letting his backpack slide to the floor.
It's been a very long night.
Current Mood: exhausted
|
November 18th, 2008
09:35 pm - meet cute
He showed up at the prescribed time, nine-fifteen exactly, dressed a little nicer than maybe his usual shift necessitated--a worn silk button-up over his undershirt, and a loosely knotted tie, all of which gave the impression of being dashingly dishevelled.
After fielding off a catcall from the bartender on second shift, and flirting briefly with the youngest waitress, he scanned the room for Mike and headed over.
Current Mood: cheerful
|
September 6th, 2008
02:09 am - business /is/ pleasure.
cont'd. from here.
Alex unlocked the door to the little loft apartment and ushered them both inside, into a wide room with a big skylight, and an even bigger bed (Rob the bartender had necessities). Everything was in this one room, from stove to couch to bookshelf to closet, with a bathroom the only thing separate, but it was plenty big enough space to house everything comfortably.
He surveyed it, smiling again (always), and let his hand rest at the small of Mordred's back. "He even cleaned. It's fate."
Current Mood: giddy
|
August 15th, 2008
09:06 pm - Set Scene
Alex was home from work, which meant it was about four in the morning. He unlocked the door and slipped into his apartment, throwing his backpack (with wallet, subway pass, pictures of daughter to show customers so inclined, etcetera) on kitchenette table, and pulled a can of ravioli out of the cabinet over the sink (being a very discerning diner) and a beer out of the refrigerator, and went into a drawer for the can opener.
He was trying to be quiet, sort of, but he was still making enough noise to wake any occupants of the apartment.
Current Mood: calm
|
August 13th, 2008
11:31 pm - Application
You:
Name: Soujin
Contact: ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) miss_soujin
Character:
Deity Name: ?
Pantheon: Mortal
Current Alias: Alexander Moore
Apparent Age: Early forties.
Occupation: Part-time bar-tender.
Personality: Alexander has always been the kind of person who is deceptively easygoing right up until the moment you say the thing that causes him to punch you. On your part this is probably a comment about a) any of his lovers or b) his mother. In a way it’s funny. You can be doing this totally on purpose, and for the sixth time in the last half hour, and he will still get flailingly furious.
This can certainly be considered a flaw.
In all other areas, such as himself, he is willing to endure a great deal of tormenting, although he will sulk is private. Otherwise he is loyal, but not stupid; loving to a fault, which frequently turns out to be the case; and vainer than he lets on.
He suffers from tonic-clonic, or grand mal, seizures, as a result of his idiopathic epilepsy. This has always made him very touchy regarding caretaking in a relationship, because he hates that people have to take care of him. As a result he tries to take care of other people all the time to balance his own dissatisfaction.
History: Alexander Moore was born in America about forty years ago. His father, a staunch New Yorker, went to Turkey and met Alex’s mother there, married her, swept her back to America, which she hated, and had two children with her. When he died, the eldest moved back with his mother to Turkey. Alexander, the younger, stayed in New York, where he tends bar and receives a regular allowance from his mother, which annoys him. Being polyamorous and pansexual and very fond of people generally, he usually has at least one healthy relationship at any one time.
At one point, unluckily enough, he made the acquaintance of a lovely woman detective, and had a brief fling that culminated in a child. At this point he apparently noticed that he was going with a very scary woman, and he broke off the relationship and took custody of their daughter, Annika.
He has since taken up with a nice young man named Emory, with whom he raised Annika, and is very happy, which means that he pretty much deserves whatever’s going to happen next.
PB: Alexander Siddig
Image Link: http://www.sidcity.net/gallery/albums/syriana/normal_Berlin_PhotoCall_021006-2.jpg
Journal: the_desirous
Sample Post: Alex's apartment was shoved into a corner somewhere, off a street near the bar, above a Chinese restaurant and a Hallmark store. The windows were hard to open and there were dead bugs on the outside sills, except for the one by the kitchenette, where there was a windowbox full of lovingly tended pansies; or at least they were lovingly tended when it occurred to him, which explained why right now they were subsisting solely on rainwater and pigeon fertiliser. He'd been sick yesterday morning and was sick now, lying in bed with the blanket pulled up over his face and a glass of water on the nightstand.
"Papa?"
He groaned, and pulled the blanket down just enough to look at Annika standing in the doorway. "Papa's having trouble again, starlight. Can you get your own breakfast?"
She had turned six last week. She was used to having breakfast made for her, toast cut into shapes with the spring themed cookie cutters he'd gotten at a craft store three years ago, big plastic pastel ones that she could use too, so they could make cookies together. Somewhere along the way it had evolved into the toast-cutting. He didn't remember when.
She nodded, and disappeared from his door. It wasn't anything new, for him to be sick--God knew he'd been sick for years and she was used to it, and there were only Papa's friends over half the time to help out--Papa's friends were women and men who shared his room and were very sweet to Annika, or they didn't remain friends for long--and she'd gotten used to the fact, but he never felt any less guilty about it.
Half an hour later she came back in and sat on the bed to eat her toast. She didn't say anything, because she knew he was too sick to want to say anything back, but she sat on the bed, and he reached out from under the blanket and she stuck her hand in his, and he squeezed it. "Good girl," he said.
He promised himself for the seven-hundreth time that to-morrow when he could get up he'd see the doctor and try to find a new medication, one that really worked.
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/mood/opiummmm/foxies/working.gif) busy
|
|
|
