Never meant to be one step down on the podium.

[prettier_eyes]

[ n a m e ; ]	(Jerome) Eugene Morrow
[ c a n o n ; ]	GATTACA
[ g a m e ; ]	homeless now and probably forever

{ ACTION / NETWORK / VOICE / WHATEVER WELCOME }

Comments

[prettier_eyes]

Personal problem, that. Honestly, Eugene couldn't care less about what Ed gets up to, he just needs a few moments' privacy to finish regaining his composure, finish his cigarette, and get downstairs.

Fortunately, that doesn't take terribly long. By the time Ed gets out, he'll be settled again, apparently none the worse for wear from his trip down the staircase. Or from Ed trying to kill him earlier. He's seated calmly in front of a pair of enormous stainless steel doors, arms folded in his lap.

Whenever Ed returns, he'll be greeted with a faint smile-- born more from politeness than anything. Squint and you could call it a grimace, easily.

"I won't have it said I'm a poor host," he says simply, and opens the door. It's a surprisingly complex maneuver on wheels, pulling it whilst pushing away from it, but there's almost a practiced showmanship to his motion.

The refrigerator-- for that, of course, is what it is-- billows a cloud of frosty air, but it's obvious before the smoke clears what's housed within it.

Blood. Lots of it, sealed safely and hermetically in little plastic packs. This would be a fortune, where Ed is from; and because it's Eugene's, it's worth quite a bit here as well.

Leaning in, he pulls one from its place and holds it out, still not sure if this is real or if he is humoring a madman. Either way, appeasing him seems safer than trusting his clearly wavering resolve.