He had been laying on the couch, watching TV, with a forgotten cup of coffee on the drink appropriate table. He had his socked feet propped up on the arm and the remote balanced on the fabric of the blanket that covered his torso. His feet stuck out at the end, chilled but not uncomfortably so, and was watching an infomercial about this handy dandy printing press. It was only three easy payments of $99 but Zeth still felt like it was a pretty decent deal. He couldn't actually see himself making tshirts but he did like the idea of having Team Zeth shirts. They could even make Team Lucian shirts later on, perhaps?
It was the hair rising on the back of his neck that snapped him out of his relaxed musing and made his grey eyes roll in his head. JESUS CHRIST! DOESN”T ANYONE KNOCK? He bitched in his head.
“I'm in here. But since YOU didn't have the decency to knock, I'm not getting up and playing Good Host of the evening.”
He prodded mentally to see who had entered his realm so dismissively but the guards around the others persona were weaved tightly, locking him out. Fine. Just get this over with, alrighty? I want to know how to order this press.
