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Room 407; Late Sunday Morning [ 09/20 ].

Having some time to kill before he stopped being lazy and tried to make it down to the gym as usual for a Sunday, Cal was lounging on his bed a little, glancing through the paper while trying to think of ways to improve. There was also a mostly empty pack of bubblegum beside him, as he was trying to make improvement on his own regarding the biggest bubblegum bubble he could manage. Like you do. Sometimes, it was just important to challenge yourself in things that mattered.

It was when he stopped reading the paper again to focus on the next big bubble that he seemed to be on the cusp of achieving that goal. Just a little bit more and he would have easily surpassed his last largest bubble, being careful not to rush it, put too much air in it, cause it to pop...

And then suddenly something smacked him in the face with incredible force, blinding him with not only pain, but also blood from his nose and the clinging shreds of what had just seconds ago been a bubble.

Cal managed to gain vision again just in time to see a squawking and confused goose fly out the window. He gingerly wiped the heel of his palm under his nose, drawing it back away with blood, and that's when he noticed all the pink, sticky gum clinging to his long hair.

"Son of a bitch."


[[ and herein marks the beginning of the end for the hair. The involvement of the goose is, naturally, all mouthy_merc's fault. Door and post are open, although I'm on SP today, although not nearly as cripplingly slow SP as usual. ]]

Room 407; Saturday Eveing [ 09/12 ].

Any time now, the doe-eyed girl would be coming around to Cal's room so that he could, as promised, show her all about DVDs and how they worked, which, hopefully, would lead to the reasonable after effect of watching a movie together. He was nervous enough that he'd double checked to make sure he had the technology for it, while still wondering if they should park in the common room instead anyway for comfort's sake. Part of him would be grateful for the public arena alleviating pressure, but another part of him still coveted the privacy, adding to the continual swirl of thoughts and emotion that seemed to be invading him since he returned. Especially after Thursday...

...he wasn't going to think about Thursday. He was going to try not to, anyway, and just focus on the here and now. He didn't even know what kind of movie she would even be interest in watching, so he covered all his bases and got three. Zombies, romantic comedy, or blockbuster superhero because his mun thinks she is just hilarious.

So then it was just a matter of waiting for her to get there, and, in the meantime, reminding himself that it was just watching movies. He shouldn't be nervous.


[[ door's closed and he's expecting someone, obviously, but that's no reason that others can't come and bug him, either, so post is open before Hayley in the timeline! Whee! Up early because it can be, bitches. ]]

Room 407; Late Saturday Morning [ 09/05 ].

Eventually, Cal had fallen asleep last night, and he would have figured that that meant sleeping in a lot later than this, but no cigar. That was okay, though, he figured he could be productive instead.

Stop laughing. He was going to make a plan to go and see if he could get his other job back at the diner, too, one of these days.

And he was seriously going to have to talk to Merlin about how he was decorating this place. Seriously? Streamers? Flowers? At least there wasn't glitter.

..okay, the flowers were actually kind of nice. There was a very thoughtful bunch of them right by his typewriter as he settled down to hammer some keys, although he was half worried that they might be laced with some sort of weird ass poison or powder or stuff that would have some really bad consequences. But they were so pretty that he was going to take his chances.


[[ expecting a once and future king, but door and post are open for anyone else who might want to swing by because I'm actually around today and am very squeeful of this fact. ]]
Cal went to the fridge when he got to the kitchen, snagging up a carton of milk and forgoing a glass to put it in. Instead, he went straight to the table, pulling out a chair and dropping down into it with a tired sigh, and began chugging the drink straight from the cardboard spout. This almost immediately pulled a small sound of disapproval from his mother, but she didn't say anything, she just asked, "Packed?"

About half the carton was gone before Cal responded, and wiped the milk from his top lip with the back of his hand. "Yup. All ready to get going bright and early in the morning."

"And you're sure about this, Callie?" Tessie asked. "We could still get you in on a late admission to a school closer to home."

"Mom," Cal frowned at her, trying to keep a whine out of his voice. "We talked about this. I don't feel comfortable here, and I like it there..." Cal knew that his mother's reservations were seeded more in the fact that it was so far away and not that it was just so weird, because both of them understood that he would feel infinitely more comfortable someplace...weird.

Tessie dried her hands on a dishtowel, moving over to Cal sitting there and lifted a few strands of the thick, shoulder-length hair with her fingers. "I know," she said. "It's just been nice having you here to help with Yia Yia since you got back from Turkey, and I'll miss you."

There was the faintest of pauses, a moment of recognition for the comforting intimacy. But then Tessie added, "We can still make it to Sophie and get this trimmed, Callie."

Over the summer months, while living his father's debt in the homeland, it seemed that Cal Stephanides had gone back toward reviving his dream of one day living in his hair. It had made great progress, cascading past his shoulders, and he even felt comfortable with it since a lot of men did have long hair; it was the seventies, and he had found something natural in its length as he traveled the arid hills of Turkey. He felt connected to the earth. He felt strong, like Sampson. And now, again, as she had all summer, Tessie Stephanides had flashbacks of when Callie was just thirteen and a girl and she constantly had to pick through a rat's nest of tangled, sometimes chewed hair.

Protectively, Cal put his hands to his head to pull his hair back from his mother's fingers. "I like it," he said. "Yia Yia doesn't mistake me for Papou with it long like this."

"Your yia yia won't be around to make the mistake," Tessie reminded him and sighed, shaking her head as she tried a tact that might strike a little harder. "You'll never get another girlfriend if you keep your hair like that."

"Maybe I don't want another girlfriend." A blatant lie, but anything to get Tessie off the hair.

"Short hair's the style for any respectable male, Callie, both now and in the twenty-first century."

"Are you finished?"

A few final, frustrated strokes. Then, plaintively: "At least tie it back. Keep it out of your face."

Sing, oh Muse, on how some things just never changed.


[[ BEHOLD, THE RETURN OF CAL IS NIGH! Some dialogue taken from page 306 of Middlesex because I'm a nerd. OOC = yay ]]

Room 407; Tuesday Afternoon [ 05/05 ].

Well, to be honest, a sombrero hadn't been a part of the entire packing plan, but it was there on Cal's head so he was going to embrace it, one last bit of Fandom insanity before leaving for the summer. It was kind of nice, really. And there was a wee tiny mariachi band providing music, too, and he finished putting the last of his meager belongings in his suitcase and then packing up the old Underwood, which had really just been collecting dust.

He did use it to type up a note for his roommate, though:

Merlin,
The room's yours for the summer. Keep it safe, don't burn it down, please take care of any lingering smells before I get back in the fall. I would leave for you all my pornography for you to enjoy, but I don't actually have any, because, unlike you, I'm not a total pervert. I'll try to bring you back something cool from Turkey.
--Cal.


And, yeah, that? Was pretty much that.


[[ I wasn't even going to do one of these for Cal, but then I thought up that note. Mwa ha ha. Open of course! Last one for him until fall. Though I may be slow (what else is new, right?) ]]
The travel through time and (air)space hadn't been so bad, and Cal realized that there were a lot of great things about going to California in a plane instead of hitch-hiking across America to get there. One, it was shorter and you realized you gained about three hours, despite the fact that they were already kind of going in the past, anyway (it was all still the future for him, thank you). And there weren't creepy men who picked you up and tried to get you drunk, just a cute redheaded girlfriend-for-at-least-another-week.

A girlfriend who was now off doing a bunch of college interview stuff, without a need for her little moral-support cheerleader to be breathing down her neck and making her nervous, so that left Cal with free range to explore a really cool and fairly big funeral home.

Of course he was going to poke around and try to find where they kept the dead bodies first.

Duh.


[[ Funeral home totes modded with permission, hum. NFB for distance and NFI unless you're in L.A., 2000-something, laaaaa ]]

Room 407; Wednesday Evening [ 04/15 ].

Cal hadn't really expected swordfighting to be so...tiring. He was more than happy to just get back to his room, flopping on his bed with two bottles of Faygo, one for himself and one for Dinah when she got here. At least he hadn't tripped, though, and people seemed to really enjoy it. Dinah and Amber were good. And, really, he had to count himself pretty lucky as being the guy getting to cross swords and act with two cute blondes.

One who should be arriving....eventually. Cal was just going to close his eyes a moment. Rest them, so to speak, until she got there.


[[ expecting one, but post is open, though the door is closed. Details of the conversation between Dinah and Cal to be NFB, plz! ]]

Room 407; Saturday Evening [ 04/04 ].

So, he'd done some research and played messenger-boy, and then went and researched some more, so Cal figured he'd covered enough bases that, if he wanted to go back to his room, no one would give him crap about it.

There was a fleeting moment of wondering if there was something severely wrong with the fact that he'd thrown in his help to avoid people getting on his back than to actually help for helping's sake. After all, it would be cool if the whole thing was figured out, but, if not, it was no skin off hi--

Okay, it would be skin off his nose, and probably a lot of other places, but he could be cool with that. After everything he'd been through, zombies were not a bad way to go.

So he went back to the room, laying out on the bed and looking up at the ceiling, not really thinking about anything, waiting for one of the other to occur.


[[ door and post are open! ]]
Sitting at his desk, Cal let out a long, distracted sigh. A blank sheet of paper stared back at him, and he supposed he should be grateful. He had put out at least a story lately, and it was a good one, with the proper awful ending of the two main characters, impossible lovers, dying horribly of cholera after they were married. But now his mind was just as blank as the paper that taunted him and he sat sulking at the typewriter, as if that could inspire it to write for him.

So far, it wasn't working.


[[ mostly for the Ears, but the door and post are open if anyone wants to drop by before the roomie does *resists ominous music and/or plotting laugh ]]

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lay your head down.
not_a_mused
Cal Stephanides

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