Padding to the desk on his socks—his fingers twitched at the mere thought of bare feet on cold wood—a pair of boxers and a ratty tee, Jesse had only wanted to figure out how Ms. Greene was treating his cats. She was a nice enough lady to agree, of which is approved wholeheartedly of, but she had the nasty habit of turning the volume of the television higher than was socially acceptable. At least she was Internet savvy enough to e-mail him without any major errors or failures. Sure, the old lady easily made mistakes while typing, but he had seen far worse atrocities (read: Andrew’s poor texting skills).
And it wasn’t like his cats could e-mail him, or tweet him ‘chasing a mouse. don’t worry, it’ll be taken care off before you’re back’ (his cats weren’t that thoughtful anyway). Well, perhaps they could, Jesse reasoned logically, by lounging on top of the keyboard (and how is that even comfortable) and accidently pressing the right keys in the correct order with their paws. But that seemed rather implausible, even for intelligent creatures such as cats.
Jesse took a seat on the wooden chair and just as he booted up Andrew’s laptop to check his mail the screen flashed on, with bright light glaring at him in the semi-dark room. Right. He screwed his eyelids half-shut, hoping it wouldn’t take too long for his eyes to adjust to the sudden burst of light.
God, he despised the sleep mode sometimes.
After blinking a few times the glare seemed to be reduced to pleasant beam, so Jesse grabbed the mouse again to click on the Firefox browser. He momentarily glanced over his shoulder at the moving lump under the sheets to see a black mop of hair appear at Jesse’s pillow. No actual response presented itself when he was waiting for audibly mumbling when Andrew groaned with satisfaction into the aforementioned pillow. He did, however, snuggled into it.
Then Jesse looked back at the laptop screen. And did a double take. And another one, just to be sure he wasn’t off somewhere in la-la-land (if la-la-land had been taken over by malicious killer ninja chickens, instead of being all rainbows and dwarves and suspiciously formed clouds).
Title: Pairing: Mark/Eduardo Summary: “Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival.” C.S. Lewis Disclaimer: See part 1 for the disclaimer
He knew of course what Livejournal was; the movie used it to post mark’s drunken messages. Basically, you could use it as your personal journal and rant on it and also interact with others (like every other social network) in communities. That was all Jesse could recall.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The very brief anonymity of roboticspider | Andrew/Jesse | 1/2
Date: 1/14/11 05:52 pm (UTC)----------
Padding to the desk on his socks—his fingers twitched at the mere thought of bare feet on cold wood—a pair of boxers and a ratty tee, Jesse had only wanted to figure out how Ms. Greene was treating his cats. She was a nice enough lady to agree, of which is approved wholeheartedly of, but she had the nasty habit of turning the volume of the television higher than was socially acceptable. At least she was Internet savvy enough to e-mail him without any major errors or failures. Sure, the old lady easily made mistakes while typing, but he had seen far worse atrocities (read: Andrew’s poor texting skills).
And it wasn’t like his cats could e-mail him, or tweet him ‘chasing a mouse. don’t worry, it’ll be taken care off before you’re back’ (his cats weren’t that thoughtful anyway). Well, perhaps they could, Jesse reasoned logically, by lounging on top of the keyboard (and how is that even comfortable) and accidently pressing the right keys in the correct order with their paws. But that seemed rather implausible, even for intelligent creatures such as cats.
Jesse took a seat on the wooden chair and just as he booted up Andrew’s laptop to check his mail the screen flashed on, with bright light glaring at him in the semi-dark room. Right. He screwed his eyelids half-shut, hoping it wouldn’t take too long for his eyes to adjust to the sudden burst of light.
God, he despised the sleep mode sometimes.
After blinking a few times the glare seemed to be reduced to pleasant beam, so Jesse grabbed the mouse again to click on the Firefox browser. He momentarily glanced over his shoulder at the moving lump under the sheets to see a black mop of hair appear at Jesse’s pillow. No actual response presented itself when he was waiting for audibly mumbling when Andrew groaned with satisfaction into the aforementioned pillow. He did, however, snuggled into it.
Then Jesse looked back at the laptop screen. And did a double take. And another one, just to be sure he wasn’t off somewhere in la-la-land (if la-la-land had been taken over by malicious killer ninja chickens, instead of being all rainbows and dwarves and suspiciously formed clouds).
He knew of course what Livejournal was; the movie used it to post mark’s drunken messages. Basically, you could use it as your personal journal and rant on it and also interact with others (like every other social network) in communities. That was all Jesse could recall.