#wallacey

wallacey

sicksunsets

noroiz

candycrushingiant

nasechan

notthegodloki

mistifications

wallacey

"Yes yes, I've got the number of the client. Yes it's written here on a sticky note. I've put it here! Please have more father in me, father- I'm not so forgetful you know!.... Yes... Yes sir... Father I'm twenty six, you don't have to keep telling me to eat my vegetables you know. Miss you as well..." And with the short conversation, Steven had his pen scribbling around the pale yellow sticky note. He adjusts his reading glasses for a moment before studying the number. 

"This is the number..?" Silently he hoped he had gotten it right, his father was rambling on about different things, throwing himself off topic as he was addressing the numbers. Steven sighs, glancing at the time. "Is it already this late?" He shakes his head, embarrassed to have stayed up for so long. "I'll send a message- he did say it was a mobile. If he doesn't get back to me then I'll simply have to call another time."

To: Unregistered number Sent: 2/6/14 | 11:23 PM

He hasn't slept in a few days, he's been too busy building an empire around the city. For now it was meeting after meeting. After all he needed to know what was going on in the companies he had invested in. At the very least he seemed satisfied with it all. But he was tired.

Steven wasn't exactly the most social person- only when he needed to be he, and with the constant meetings with frustrating people who didn't seem to know what they were doing half the time without financial advise- he was more tired than he would like to admit. Tired, and perhaps a little hungry.

"I forgot to cook dinner again.." He mutters lowly before shifting through all the documents scattered across the dining room table. Silently glad that he and his roommates had a big enough space and wealth among themselves to keep their apartment decorated and nice. Actually, the thought of clashing designs and thoughts with both Wallace and Lance left him with a throbbing headache. Both of them were absolutely ridiculous, and sometimes impossible to deal with.

Now that he thinks about it, he doesn't remember ever assigning any chores to either of them. Well- of course they could simply hire someone to come in and do so, but Steven had severe trust issues with someone rooting around through his things. Especially with his display of precious stones- which lead him to lock his room every time he left it. And he would sooner protest the idea of hiring someone to clean their apartment versus doing it themselves.

The thought of chores seemed to strike him as funny as the lack of fantastic smelling cuisine seemed to force his stomach to growl at him. He had neglected both breakfast and lunch and it wasn't very good to go a day without at least one meal of decent proportions. 

"I seem to have forgotten to start dinner again- I haven't even thought about what to make at all.." He would bounce off ideas with his roommates, since he usually cooks for three; however, it seems that he'd much rather be spontaneous. Besides- they both could be craving two very different things, and making extra would be a bit of a waste. Especially if either wasn't very found of leftovers. He sighs and stands. Gathering all his files, stuffing what was already organized into a folder and setting it back down on the couch. He'd just announce what he was making before making it. Were his roommates even home? Not that he particularly cared anyway, they ate at all hours of the day most of the time.

After the opening of his nightclub, Champion, Steven sent out a text to all the contacts that he had. With the exception of Volkner, who was the DJ on some nights. He sent out invitations to try out and experiment his new night club. However, he felt that his own partying days were long gone. He only wanted to know how others felt about it.

So, as he silently sent the last message of invitation to Wallace, he leaned back in his chair. He sat up in the office, feeling the bass of the music under him. The lights were bright, but the office windows were tinted dark, for that mysterious effect. No one could see inside, but Steven could look down from the outside- if he felt it was necessary to do so.

In the back of his mind he knew he should really be looking over his collection- but he had to divide his time. He spent far too much time at his museum to begin with. He didn't want to seem strange- at least, stranger than he already seemed to be. Hopefully, Wallace would answer him, and at least then he could have a test subject for his nightclub.