vdistinctive: (spar-face)
Eliot was perfectly happy to do his own demolition and carpentry, but he knew just enough about electric and plumbing to get himself in trouble and he knew it. So this was contractor week. Which left Eliot at something of loose ends. What the hell did he do with himself all week when he wasn't trying to rebuild a diner or a house, anyway?

He'd considered working on putting in his new garden, but it was pretty much exactly the wrong season for planting, and frankly, basic landscaping didn't interest him in the least. So today he was out front, running through forms from at least four different martial arts styles, in between answering questions like "Yes, I know the shower in the master bath is going to be the size of a small bedroom" and "Yeah, sure, you can pretend the second floor's going to be one giant server farm if that makes you feel better about the number of outlets you're putting in."

Really, it was like these people had never worked on a dream home for an obscenely rich criminal throuple before.

[ooc: open! Eliot is once again perfectly accessible from the street.]
vdistinctive: (bicep-face)
The house was gutted down to studs, many of which had been rearranged to make the new configuration of rooms the team had agreed on. Eliot was working on framing the new upper story now, which meant a hard hat, tool belt, gloves, the works.

Seriously, he had this whole men-at-work carpenter look down up here. He hoped his partners appreciated it. Lord knew he did on the few occasions Hardison got down and dirty with a maker get up. He wondered how much Hardison would fuss about the sawdust if they tried to fool around in (a carefully cleared area of) the construction site. . . .

Work was happening, if a little slow. Since the carpenter kept distracting himself with idle fantasies.

[yeah I dunno. Open! Eliot should be visible from the street while he works. . . .]
vdistinctive: (safety-face)
The diner was all fixed up again, which meant it was time for Eliot to finally turn his attention back to his house. The house. Their house, this time from scratch. They had plans, a new way to divide up the space the building gave them, even expand on it (no one would mind an extra floor, right?). But before they could start on that, the old and busted stuff had to go.

So here Eliot was, with a sledge hammer and crowbar, dressed head to toe in safety gear, including a heavy duty air filter because five sharks meant a whole lot of exposed insulation that had quite possibly gone to mold by now.

Really, he definitely should have started on this shit much earlier.

Anyway, too late for regrets now. It was time to gut this bastard of a house, top to bottom.

Eliot shook himself out, bouncing on his toes, and cracked his neck. He took a deep breath, made sure the air filter was fitted snugly over his mouth and nose, and then let out a muffled "HOOAH!" and ran in.

This was going to be fun.

[Open!]
vdistinctive: (crack team-face)
Everyone was on the island and in one piece, even if their homes weren't. There were no classes to worry about, and Eliot had finally stopped ranting about whether or not he needed to hire contractors to fix up Luke's.

It was time for a family dinner night.

"Okay," Eliot announced as he wiped his hands dry on a dish towel. "We've got spaghetti and farfalle -- bowtie pasta, Parker -- marinara and alfredo, both meatless, and meatballs for the carnivores. Everyone has to take at least a little salad, and there's wine or soda to drink. Please tell me someone remembered to set the table."

The "table" in question was some leftover counter top from rebuilding Luke's kitchen, propped on two saw horses, but that was okay. It matched the "kitchen". Which was several camp stoves arranged on a salvaged desk.

They really maybe needed to think about getting an actual house to live in again.

[for thems what know, up early to be nice to scheduling!]
vdistinctive: (note taking-face)
The radio had said a hurricane was headed Fandom's way. The fact that that was such a normal thing had thrown Eliot off -- he'd've expected to first hear about it from, say, the Baltimore news station, or possibly the Weather Channel, not off-hand at the end of a squirrel-reported morning radio gossip show. But the radar satellites had confirmed it: a hurricane had developed off the coast and was looking to make landfall around Fandom by the weekend.

Eliot had done the whole "hurricane" thing before -- there was this whole thing in Tortuga, with a kidnapped corgi, a restored tall ship, and a very large quantity of C4 -- but this was his first as a property owner, so he was taking it seriously. At present, he was outside the house on Godiva, checking out the windows and trying to decide how best to batten down the hatches in preparation, while Val danced around the yard in circles, chasing a butterfly.

His shopping list so far included bottled water, toilet paper, propane for his camp stove, plenty of candles and matches, extra batteries for the radio and flashlights, and possibly a small generator if he could find one, so Hardison didn't cry if the power went out and his laptops stopped working. Also milk, bread, and eggs. Because whatever happened, you could bet his partners would be fussing at him to make them breakfast anyway.

He wondered if plywood would be overdoing it. He always saw those pictures of people hammering plywood over their windows in hurricane prep news stories. . . .

[Open!]
vdistinctive: (pleased-face)
Eliot had handwavily spent the week looking up tips for teaching guitar. He was self-taught, himself -- other than the tips he'd gotten from Kaye-Lynn during his very brief tenure as a country music sensation -- and it was a skill he'd picked up young enough that he didn't 100% remember how he'd gone about it. It was good to review some of the bare basics for himself, and besides, it'd been forever since he and Kathy had had their regular teaching sessions. He'd rather missed them.

He'd picked up a fancy auto-tuner so they wouldn't have to spend their whole first lesson on tuning by ear -- they could cover that later -- and a variety of beginners chord books in different musical styles, since he wasn't sure yet what kind of music she'd want to play. Probably not the early American standards or country-western classics that he'd first learned. Though he'd probably try to sneak some Hank Williams or Johnny Cash in there somewhere.

He was, in fact, warming up with some Johnny Cash while he waited for Kathy to arrive. He really had been everywhere, after all.

[ooc: for Kathy and the partners, though if anyone else has a burning desire to visit, that's okay too]
vdistinctive: (ot3-face)
Trudy had said Eliot and his family were going to be her guests, so he wasn't allowed to cook dinner. He'd said she shouldn't have to cook it either, and they'd both refused to make everyone eat leftover funeral casserole.

So Eliot pulled the rental car — rental van, because four adults was a lot to fit into a sedan and renting a van was almost tradition — into the lot of a little mom&pop Italian restaurant.

"There's Tru's car," he said as he set the parking break and turned the car off. He looked back towards Kathy and Parker. "Y'all ready for this?"

[ooc: FAMILY DINNER TIME! For those who know, and epic slow play.]
vdistinctive: (over the shoulder-face)
Eliot had come up to start working on his garden for the season, but got sidetracked. First by what sure as hell felt like an impact tremor (it was a very distinctive variety of earthquake). And then by the fact that his usually largely unobstructed view of land along the horizon line in the direction of Baltimore was now a largely unobstructed view of absolutely nothing along the horizon line.

"That don't bode well," he grumbled. "That don't bode well at all."

[can be open, sure!]
vdistinctive: (thinky-face)
The house was dark when they got back, and eerily silent. Val was still off being dog-sat by Kanan, and the place hadn't been empty this long since before Hardison and Parker moved in.

Which was fine, and normally not even something Eliot would notice. But all his nerves felt scraped raw just now, and the house didn't feel right dark and quiet anymore.

Funny. There was a time when dark and quiet was all he'd ever wanted out of the world.

"Parker and Sparkle are supposed to be gettin' in soon too, right?" Eliot asked Hardison. "Maybe I should make something for everyone for lunch."

You can't always get what you want )

[ooc: NFI, OOC welcome. Preplayed with the inimitable [livejournal.com profile] age_of_the_geek, [livejournal.com profile] whoisalicewhite, and [livejournal.com profile] myownface. Our baby little family plot is done.]
vdistinctive: (chef-face)
The house had been quiet all night. The family spent about another hour at the hospice with Emerson's body before Trudy finally let them take him away, then everyone had gone back home. It was too late to call most people with the news, so there wasn't much to do that night but try -- and fail -- to sleep.

Morning broke to a large breakfast, what Eliot had managed to accomplish with his sleepless hours. Ellie and Cassie both picked at their food, Ellie barely managing to eat anything, but Johnny happily cleaned their plates for them. Trudy's eating was more dutiful than enthusiastic, though she managed to look up and nod at Eliot and give him a small smile of thanks.

There was a lot to do, when someone died )

[ooc: NFI, OOC welcome. Preplayed with the marvelous [livejournal.com profile] age_of_the_geek. Almost done!]
vdistinctive: (tight-lipped-face)

Trudy

Trudy jumped a foot when her brother suddenly appeared at the passenger side door of her car. "Oh my god. Don't do that."



What could he say? Eliot was a lurker. )

[ooc: NFI, OOC welcome. Content note: off-screen NPC death. What, did you think I was going to be NICE to Eliot?]
vdistinctive: (tight-lipped-face)
Eliot wasn't sulking. He was laying low. He didn't feel right leaving Trudy to clean up after their father's mess, but until Emerson Spencer had the grace to actually die and stop cluttering up the damn world, there wasn't a whole lot he knew of that he could do, other than stay out of the way.

So he was laying low.

Not low enough to avoid being taken to school by his niece )

[NFI, OOC welcome. Preplayed with . . . myself.]
vdistinctive: (teary-face)
Eliot had dallied as long as he possibly could at Trudy's house, getting her family set up for lunch (most of them had already eaten breakfast) and chatting with his nieces and nephew, telling them increasingly outlandish, invented stories about his 20 years away. He even made it so far as offering to help Jake clean out the garage before Trudy managed to glare him down and remind him why he'd come all this way in the first place.

So it was mid-afternoon by the time he made it to the hospice. He half-expected -- or maybe it was half-hoped -- that when he asked for Emerson Spencer, the man behind the desk would just stare at him blankly. Instead he smiled and pointed out the way without having to look anything up. He hurried down the hall before she could start telling him what a lovely, amazing person his father was. Emerson Spencer had always been a pillar of the local community; the whole town probably still saw Eliot as the ungrateful kid who'd ditched his family first chance he got.

He knocked a couple times on the door and tried not to think too hard about how this was where he'd stalled out the last time he'd tried to reconnect. He wondered what was happening with his father's house, if Trudy was going to have to sell it. For the first time in a long time he thought about just how much work went into picking up after someone when they died; his job usually ended when the brain activity did.

Bad timing. Don't think about being an assassin. Or a disappointment. Just open the door, go in, and say --

"Hi, Dad."

This was sure to go well )
vdistinctive: (hair in the-face)
"Right, so." Eliot stood by the rental car at the end of Trudy's driveway, suddenly realizing that this was it, this was Hardison's 'meet the family' moment. "Trudy said Ellie stayed at the hospice with Pop last night, but Cassie and Johnny and Jake'll be here -- and Trudy of course. . . ."

The moment of truth! Or -- one of them, anyway. )

[ooc: NFI, OOC welcome. Preplayed with the wonderful [livejournal.com profile] age_of_the_geek.]
vdistinctive: (puppy-face)
Eliot had Val out for their daily run, cutting through the park, when Val suddenly broke into a fit of barking and bolted towards some trees.

"Val!" Eliot caught a flash of green scales in the underbrush and sighed. "Stop fussin' at that thing and get back here!"

Too late. Val was having a glorious time doing battle with a small mob of gremlins. Like owner, like puppy. Eliot rested his hands on his hips and settled in to catch his breath and wait for her to be done.

Which was when Sparkle happened by )

[ooc: NFI. Preplayed with the incomparable [livejournal.com profile] myownface.]
vdistinctive: (jacket-face)
Eliot considered swinging by the diner to get his spare change of clothes, but honestly, all he wanted was a nice, hot shower in his own damn bathroom. He'd been in worse spots, certainly, and for much longer.

But he wasn't sure he'd ever been in weirder.

Val went barrelling over as soon as he put his key in the door, and he swooped down to scoop her up and let her lick his chin even though he had god only knew what still stuck in his beard. "Honeys," he called. "I'm home!"

[ooc: for thems as live here]
vdistinctive: (inner light-face)
Eliot could hardly believe he'd managed to talk Hardison into this. Sure, he'd managed it last year, too, for their first anniversary, but that was April. This was February. It wasn't super cold out -- there was no snow on the ground, and it spent enough time above freezing every day that nothing had iced over -- but it wasn't warm, either.

At least Hardison couldn't complain too much about pollen, this time of year.

Parker, of course, was totally down with the plan. She liked it when the boys initiated the romantic ideas, and she was up for anything that might involve s'mores and/or swinging around from trees. Eliot had even recruited her, along with some very well paid rickshaw drivers, to help him set everything up. A simple -- if lavish -- tent in the woods wasn't going to cut it this time. This time they were going to have themselves a whole cozy yurt.

It wasn't a large structure, not for just the three of them. It was just large enough to accommodate a king-sized air mattress, several piles of plush pillows and cushions, and a portable generator, all arranged around a modestly sized indoor fire pit with enough room to keep anything from catching fire. Warm paper lanterns and fairy lights lined the crease where the ceiling met the walls, the floors were covered in soft, warm rugs, and every lounging surface was covered in cozy warm furs and fleeces, as well as more typical fabric blankets.

"Right," Eliot said, as he pulled a box of matches from his pack and got the fire in the pit started. "So once this sucker warms up, there's only one rule: no clothes on in the yurt."

[ooc: for the partners, and up early for slowplay purposes.]
vdistinctive: (contemplative-face)
Eliot had slept in.

He was having a quiet morning, a sort of quiet he hadn't had much of since he'd started spending most nights in bed with Parker and Hardison. He closed his eyes before stepping into the kitchen, feeling the morning sun on his face and just breathing in the peace of the moment.

Now. What to make for breakfast?

He grumbled faintly under his breath when he opened the fridge and found the entire thing filled only with orange soda. He could have sworn he had eggs and bacon. Or at least a six pack of beer. "Dammit, Hardison."

He tried the cabinets, figuring he could at least make himself some oatmeal, and had to dodge an avalanche of fortune cookies, only to find that all his dry goods had been replaced with sugary breakfast cereals. "Dammit, Parker."

He had not anticipated this side of cohabitation. He probably should have.

Val ran up to him, barking excitedly. She bounced up on her hind legs and did a little doggy pirouette like a circus dog, then ran over to the back door, beaming at him over her shoulder.

"Yeah yeah." Eliot followed after her. "Keep your damn pants on."

[ooc: for one. NFB, please, for reasons which will become clear]
vdistinctive: (over the shoulder-face)
So. Hardison and Parker were officially going to be moving in. The first rush of "yes, please, be where I can keep an eye on you and make sure you're not turning into creepy zombie versions (or alien bug versions, or any other kind of creepy versions) of yourselves" had worn off, and Eliot was starting to realize what that actually meant, logistically. The house couldn't just be his place, anymore. He had to make sure that they had the space to make it their own, too. It wasn't as if Eliot's house was small, but, well. He'd been living there for coming up on three years now. It had stuff in it.

So today, Eliot was cleaning house. He'd cleared out the dining room (never used, they always ate in the kitchen, so that'd be great as, like, an office or study or something) and was now tackling the basement.

Which would be how a box full of bear traps ended up on his front stoop.

He had no idea what he was going to do with those.

[open!]
vdistinctive: (action trio-face)
"I loaned Kanan one of your scarves, by the way," Eliot said as led the way into the apartment. "The sweater the island landed him in is even stupider than mine." He switched the lights on and gave the kitchen and living room a cursory scan. "You sure you two even want to crash here, tonight? Y'all been extra -- tense about this place lately."

You know, since Hardison got trapped in here by a giant evil cat-Kenzi. Not that Eliot could blame them. His talk with Sophie had helped with the 'useless in my own skin' feeling, but he wasn't exactly cured of all fear or anxiety from the events of last weekend.

[ooc: for the bf and gf!]

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