#tlwtask01

Her apartment wasn’t a sight for sore eyes, surprisingly, as that was expected for a place on the inexpensive side of the market in a city like New York. Deciding that a six hundred and twenty square foot apartment in Hell’s Kitchen would be home for a while wasn’t a difficult choice, her place in Paris cost her both arms and a leg considering her salary at the time. Her dad had to put money in her account more often than not for things that were, admittedly, not necessities, but the luxury of having a full-course dinner every now and again rather than frozen pizzas and nuggets was something she refused to pass up.

The offer of a position with the New York Times to cover a variety of stories that would keep her within her comfort zone was impossible to pass up. Sure, she wasn’t particularly fond of them when getting out of her most dangerous and heart-wrenching gig — it had left a foul taste in her mouth for months — but New York wasn’t Paris and that was all that she needed since November. It was a triggering atmosphere sometimes, between the attacks themselves, the overflowing police presence, and the lingering question that most asked. What if it happens again? WHEN will it happen again?

In spite of this, she’d grown to love la Ville Lumière and the people she had met, the nightlife and the ambience of the dix-septième arrondissement. She thought that maybe, despite what she considered overwhelming negatives, it could be home, but she simply wasn’t convinced in the end. So here she was, unpacking yet again and not knowing for certain where to start. It was times like these when she’d call her sister or mom for guidance, but she’d figure something out, she always did. Besides, she was sure that she’d be interrupting something, what with Shea getting engaged a couple of weeks prior and their mother already becoming an unofficial wedding planner. The thought of the paralegal and the artist feuding over colour combinations and flower arrangements made Leia laugh heartily. 

They were two completely different people in personality and taste, though they were both too stubborn to be dissuaded from what they set their mind to, much like the rest of the family. Lei simply reminded herself to check on them later that night before she dove into the organizing process. Cutlery in the drawer, plates and glasses in the above cupboards, pots and pans in one small pantry... The kitchen itself took her twenty minutes, the whole apartment took her about two hours.

With a sigh, the brunette collapsed onto the couch, feet on the coffee table and hands laying on her abdomen. She'd have celebrated her efforts with a bottle of merlot once her muscles and mind were ready, but she settled on a half hour of television for the time being. Thankfully, subtitles and mental translation weren’t necessary, not when her mother tongue was the dominant language here. It wasn’t that she struggled to understand French, she was the daughter of a woman born and raised in Québec and she was fluent in it, it was simply easier to relax every part of herself in the proper sense of the word.