tyler_gone: (listening and impatient)
Ghanima had called and, in a minimum of words, let Tyler knew that her in-class conversation with Miss Walters had not gone well, and she would appreciate some distraction and a few words with Tyler.

Which he could provide. "Distraction," it turned out, was also spelled "bottle of scotch," but so it went. He set things up in the living room -- and hey, he even found crackers and cheese to go with the scotch -- and waited for his co-organizer.

[OOC: For one, unless the housemates need him. Ghani modded with permission.]
tyler_gone: (listening and impatient)
This is the list of things Tyler wasn't thinking about: Ghanima Atreides, Tony Stark, mirrored studios at the gym, Triela, Lindsay Boxer, Marla Singer, crazy brunettes, infomercials, fight club, capitalism, sex, training, what, if anything, he should teach at the school this term.

This left him a choice of alcohol or explosives as things he could think about. He picked violence. That was why Monday found him out in the back garden of the house, building a better mousetrap. Or a better Molotov cocktail. All the same, right?

[OOC: For that guy. Yeah, him.]
tyler_gone: (sometimes I look cute)
Tyler hadn't meant to fall asleep on the couch the night before, but it had happened. He'd been watching some bad softcore movie on Cinemax and somehow when he closed his eyes it had turned into a dream about a baseball field filled with gently bouncing naked people.

It was, possibly, the nicest night's sleep Tyler had had since childhood, at least until he woke up to something moist on his face. "Ew, Tony," he said, not opening his eyes. "What's with your breath?"

Lindsay's dog Martha licked him again, panted and yipped, and Tyler's higher brain finally came online enough for him to realize this wasn't Tony. "Mommy was too busy to feed you, huh, girl?" he asked the dog, as he padded into the kitchen in his boxer shorts and t-shirt to pour out a dish of dry dogfood.

He started the coffee and blinked hard, trying to get naked flesh out of his head.

[OOC: For the housemates or anyone who would come a-knocking this early.]
tyler_gone: (Just my luck)
Tyler was (surprise) awake early the morning after prom, and, when he stepped onto the porch with his coffee, he noticed the back yard was starting to look like a science experiment in how many weeds could be grown in how small a space. Feeling the need to actually do something about it, he yanked on some old clothes and set to work gardening.

[OOC: For ... me, please. Apologies for spamming your f'lists.]
tyler_gone: (really rather intense)
Due to sheer boredom, Tyler had helped the pony up the stairs to his room.

Tony hadn't even complained too much.

He slumped on the floor of his room, back against the wall, flipping through some book about diseases and scratching the pony's ears every so often. He was wearing his new t-shirt because it was really freaking soft.

Definitely not the most exciting day before Christmas Eve Tyler had ever lived through, but at least there weren't any Salvation Army carollers to annoy him.
tyler_gone: (Team Awesome)
Tyler was on the couch in his new place, watching the third hour of a "Mythbusters" marathon. Every so often, the pony beside him would snort and roll his eyes.

"Bad science?" Tyler asked absently. Even with Tony as a pony, this kind of quiet time was weirdly nice, and much too easy to get used to.

Tony snorted in agreement, shaking his head to agree with that or maybe just because he had his damn forelock covering his eyes again. This time the being a pony was lasting far too long for his liking. He rested his head against Tyler and sighed sadly.

Tyler sighed back and brushed his fingers through Tony's forelock. "If you're still like this on Christmas, I'll stick antlers on you and claim you're a miniature reindeer," he said, not putting much heat into the teasing.

Glaring as much as a pony could manage, Tony nipped at his leg. He wasn't wearing any ridiculous antlers. Or ribbons.

And no pictures, please!

Tyler whapped lightly at the pony's jaw, annoyed by the bite. "No antlers?" he tried instead. "You are one picky little pony."

It was easy, curled up on the couch, to shift into a daydream. )

Which is exactly what he did when he snapped out of that little fantasy. He gave the pony an uneasy look, wondering what had just happened, as he changed the station to G4.

"This is the first time I've been glad you're a pony right now."

[OOC: Preplayed with the splenderiffic [livejournal.com profile] not_ironmaiden. Just our little contribution to IAWL.]
tyler_gone: (Try me)
Boxes. Tyler was sure his boxes had multiplied between the time he moved out of 33 Apocalypse and when he got to Lindsay's mansion. And no matter how many he unpacked, there still seemed to be more.

Which was why he was doing the sensible thing and sitting on the couch, watching the History channel, and drinking a beer. If he ignored the boxes long enough, they might even unpack themselves.

It never hurt to be hopeful in Fandom.

[OOC: For one, but open to housemate if she wants.]


tyler_gone: (Default)
Tyler Durden

April 2015

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