Meanwhile, the residents of the apartment who had not decided to randomly drive out on unnecessary errands had finished breakfast and cleaned up, miraculously without and fights and/or mishaps. However, Scott had learned that most likely meant a bigger calamity would come. And he seriously did not want to be there when it happened, so he resigned himself to packing.
While Scott was not rich, he sure did have a lot of stuff. Sighing, he went into the gigantic guys' room (sexist females!), and braced himself for what he was sure would be history's longest unpack session ever. Which, of course, it wasn't, but Scott would never admit to that. Although his many hair care products did take a lot of time to load into the bathroom cabinet.
Just as he was smoothing the wrinkles out of his camouflage duvet, Christian waltzed in, took one look at his army-themed nook of the bedroom, and nearly screamed.
"Goodness! And I thought you were a decent Catholic! Look at this! It's all'violence-oriented!'" Christian allowed time for the full weight of his displeasure to sink in before launching into a lengthy anti-violence speech, which had something to do with having given up on Delia and Josh and Scott should be a good example and what happened to the man who knew the joys of 'Hallelujah!'? Halfway through, Josh appeared in the doorway, trying to hold in his laughter. When Scott frantically signaled for Josh to get him outta there, he merely shrugged and gave a look that clearly read, 'It's out of my hands, but it sure is entertaining.' The fact that the lecturing entertained Josh sealed the knot. He wasn't going to take this. And so World War III began.
****
Delia lounged back in the living room sofa, surveying as much of the first floor of the apartment as possible. She was coming to love this place, and she hadn't even lived here too long. For her to love anything (besides Scott) in this amount of time had to be a record. But really, who could blame her? It was pretty nice. The gang had opted for jazzing up the place a bit rather than live in a house without lots of funky things. Magda and Krystyn had fought for months (or so she was told) over who got play interior decorator. It had ended up being both.
Just then, Gigi, the other animal occupant of the apartment sashayed up to Delia and daintily dropped a bright red rubber ball onto her lap. Delia grimaced. The judges of the 'Snobbiest Pet' award would be hard pressed to choose between Gigi and Jezebel, although, in her opinion, Jezebel could beat that insufferable mutt in anything and everything. Her opinion wasn't influenced at all by the fact that she owned Jezebel, of course. Delia threw the ball, fervently wishing it would fall out the window and off the fire escape, and watched the black French poodle elegantly rush after it. (How the dog managed, no one will ever know.) Delia had decided to ponder how the heck two animals living in a penthouse apartment could have such high-class attitudes when Krystyn came in.
"Hey Delia, d'you by any chance happen to know if Magda keeps a diary?"
"Nooo." she replied, in the tones of someone who isn't quite sure the person in front of her is sane, and doesn't want to push her luck. Krystyn, seeing this, reassured her.
"See, I figure, the only way I'm ever going to understand her is to get some insight to her psyche. Then I can charge Josh, Scott and Christian for translating Magda-ese. If you help me find it, I'll give you some of the proceeds." Delia's ears perked up at the words 'give' and 'proceeds'.
"I'll help, but do you really think Magda would write in, or for that matter, even do anything on a regular basis, besides her 'Homie' routine, of course." Krystyn visibly deflated.
"No, I guess not." She brightened. "But maybe if we search her room, we can find a clue to the inner Magda." Her voice took on a dreamy tone towards the end. Delia quirked an eyebrow.
"Have you been watching that weird psycho-thingy channel again?" Krystyn looked highly affronted.
"No!" Delia studied he face.
"You lie."
"What? How can you tell- I mean, no I don't!" Delia gave her trademark 'Ha! I knew I was right!' look, and grinned.
"Your lips. They always twitch when you lie."
"Do not!"
"Wanna bet? I can call the cable company." Krystyn sighed and admitted defeat.
"Okay, yeah. They had a special on aromatherapy, and after that, I was hooked!" She lowered her voice, "I think they send subliminal messages or something, 'cause I was like, in a trance, or something! Don't tell Chris!" Delia laughed at the trance part, but agreed not to tell Christian. Silently, they crept into Magda's room. Or, at least Delia was silent.
"Ouch! Stupid rug!" Krystyn glared at the rug as if it were solely responsible for her fall, then hoisted herself up and gazed around at Magda's room in awe.
It was an awe-worthy kind of place. The walls were painted a different color each (lavender, yellow, sea green, and pale pink) and splattered in various other shades. The paint was of the special magnetic kind, and magnetic letters spelled out odd phrases, a good deal of them having to do with giraffes and paperclips. The white carpet looked as if Magda had taken buckets of dye and spilled them in colorful, loopy patterns, which, in truth, she probably had. The bedspread was dyed in splotchy patches that couldn't really be called tie-dye. An easel and canvas with multicolored dots painted on it resided in the corner, and furniture was oddly shaped, modern pieces made of a light-colored wood. A calendar labeled Phunny Phrases displayed the page for several months before, and some of the knick-knacks looked dangerous. Magda's fish named swam merrily in her miniature shopping mall that sat at the bottom of her tank. A red fuzzy butterfly chair faced the window, which was cut in a squiggle. All in all, the room was eccentric as Magda.
"No wonder the landlord hates her," Krystyn breathed, staring at the window, carpet, and walls. Delia nodded, thinking it strange they had never ventured into Magda's room. She had guarded it like a fortress, and they had never thought to invade when she was out. Plus, the Mr. Bubbles doorbell always kind of scared them off. But still.
Snapping out of her trance, Delia began rummaging through the nightstand. Krystyn took the desk.
"AAH!"
"What?"
"It bit me!" Krystyn shook off a pair of wind-up chattering plastic teeth.
Delia rolled her eyes and continued searching, careful to put everything back in its proper place. She was soon interrupted, however, by another yell.
"What's that?" Krystyn shrugged
"I dunno."
The two raced into the guys' room and found the source, namely, two red-faced, pissed off males called Christian and Scott.
"Angry men," remarked Delia, "How fun."
While Scott was not rich, he sure did have a lot of stuff. Sighing, he went into the gigantic guys' room (sexist females!), and braced himself for what he was sure would be history's longest unpack session ever. Which, of course, it wasn't, but Scott would never admit to that. Although his many hair care products did take a lot of time to load into the bathroom cabinet.
Just as he was smoothing the wrinkles out of his camouflage duvet, Christian waltzed in, took one look at his army-themed nook of the bedroom, and nearly screamed.
"Goodness! And I thought you were a decent Catholic! Look at this! It's all'violence-oriented!'" Christian allowed time for the full weight of his displeasure to sink in before launching into a lengthy anti-violence speech, which had something to do with having given up on Delia and Josh and Scott should be a good example and what happened to the man who knew the joys of 'Hallelujah!'? Halfway through, Josh appeared in the doorway, trying to hold in his laughter. When Scott frantically signaled for Josh to get him outta there, he merely shrugged and gave a look that clearly read, 'It's out of my hands, but it sure is entertaining.' The fact that the lecturing entertained Josh sealed the knot. He wasn't going to take this. And so World War III began.
****
Delia lounged back in the living room sofa, surveying as much of the first floor of the apartment as possible. She was coming to love this place, and she hadn't even lived here too long. For her to love anything (besides Scott) in this amount of time had to be a record. But really, who could blame her? It was pretty nice. The gang had opted for jazzing up the place a bit rather than live in a house without lots of funky things. Magda and Krystyn had fought for months (or so she was told) over who got play interior decorator. It had ended up being both.
Just then, Gigi, the other animal occupant of the apartment sashayed up to Delia and daintily dropped a bright red rubber ball onto her lap. Delia grimaced. The judges of the 'Snobbiest Pet' award would be hard pressed to choose between Gigi and Jezebel, although, in her opinion, Jezebel could beat that insufferable mutt in anything and everything. Her opinion wasn't influenced at all by the fact that she owned Jezebel, of course. Delia threw the ball, fervently wishing it would fall out the window and off the fire escape, and watched the black French poodle elegantly rush after it. (How the dog managed, no one will ever know.) Delia had decided to ponder how the heck two animals living in a penthouse apartment could have such high-class attitudes when Krystyn came in.
"Hey Delia, d'you by any chance happen to know if Magda keeps a diary?"
"Nooo." she replied, in the tones of someone who isn't quite sure the person in front of her is sane, and doesn't want to push her luck. Krystyn, seeing this, reassured her.
"See, I figure, the only way I'm ever going to understand her is to get some insight to her psyche. Then I can charge Josh, Scott and Christian for translating Magda-ese. If you help me find it, I'll give you some of the proceeds." Delia's ears perked up at the words 'give' and 'proceeds'.
"I'll help, but do you really think Magda would write in, or for that matter, even do anything on a regular basis, besides her 'Homie' routine, of course." Krystyn visibly deflated.
"No, I guess not." She brightened. "But maybe if we search her room, we can find a clue to the inner Magda." Her voice took on a dreamy tone towards the end. Delia quirked an eyebrow.
"Have you been watching that weird psycho-thingy channel again?" Krystyn looked highly affronted.
"No!" Delia studied he face.
"You lie."
"What? How can you tell- I mean, no I don't!" Delia gave her trademark 'Ha! I knew I was right!' look, and grinned.
"Your lips. They always twitch when you lie."
"Do not!"
"Wanna bet? I can call the cable company." Krystyn sighed and admitted defeat.
"Okay, yeah. They had a special on aromatherapy, and after that, I was hooked!" She lowered her voice, "I think they send subliminal messages or something, 'cause I was like, in a trance, or something! Don't tell Chris!" Delia laughed at the trance part, but agreed not to tell Christian. Silently, they crept into Magda's room. Or, at least Delia was silent.
"Ouch! Stupid rug!" Krystyn glared at the rug as if it were solely responsible for her fall, then hoisted herself up and gazed around at Magda's room in awe.
It was an awe-worthy kind of place. The walls were painted a different color each (lavender, yellow, sea green, and pale pink) and splattered in various other shades. The paint was of the special magnetic kind, and magnetic letters spelled out odd phrases, a good deal of them having to do with giraffes and paperclips. The white carpet looked as if Magda had taken buckets of dye and spilled them in colorful, loopy patterns, which, in truth, she probably had. The bedspread was dyed in splotchy patches that couldn't really be called tie-dye. An easel and canvas with multicolored dots painted on it resided in the corner, and furniture was oddly shaped, modern pieces made of a light-colored wood. A calendar labeled Phunny Phrases displayed the page for several months before, and some of the knick-knacks looked dangerous. Magda's fish named swam merrily in her miniature shopping mall that sat at the bottom of her tank. A red fuzzy butterfly chair faced the window, which was cut in a squiggle. All in all, the room was eccentric as Magda.
"No wonder the landlord hates her," Krystyn breathed, staring at the window, carpet, and walls. Delia nodded, thinking it strange they had never ventured into Magda's room. She had guarded it like a fortress, and they had never thought to invade when she was out. Plus, the Mr. Bubbles doorbell always kind of scared them off. But still.
Snapping out of her trance, Delia began rummaging through the nightstand. Krystyn took the desk.
"AAH!"
"What?"
"It bit me!" Krystyn shook off a pair of wind-up chattering plastic teeth.
Delia rolled her eyes and continued searching, careful to put everything back in its proper place. She was soon interrupted, however, by another yell.
"What's that?" Krystyn shrugged
"I dunno."
The two raced into the guys' room and found the source, namely, two red-faced, pissed off males called Christian and Scott.
"Angry men," remarked Delia, "How fun."