13 Griffin Way, Sunday Afternoon

[tyler_gone]

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.]

Comments

[not-ironmaiden.livejournal.com]

That might be why the pony was now trying to bite his shins. What? Tyler deserved it!

[tyler_gone]

"OW!" Pony teeth were fucking sharp.

"Okay, okay, you're not cute. And I am going to" -- Tyler actually had to stop and think, here -- "Call Pepper. And then go get pony ... stuff. Once the Internet tells me what that is."

[not-ironmaiden.livejournal.com]

Snorting in agreement with that, Tony did not in fact eye the dropped beer woefully. Nor did he sniff at it. It was on the ground and therefore disgusting.

[tyler_gone]

While he wasn't doing that, Tyler was leaving a message that was not in any way worrisome.

"I'll get some beer for your trough," Tyler decided, omitting that it would be nonalcoholic beer. He was hoping Tony wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

[not-ironmaiden.livejournal.com]

Tony gave him a look to say he sure as hell better. Last time he was a pony, Steve wouldn't let him near any alcohol.

And then he and that bear-man drank in front of him and laughed. Bastards.