A Night In/Can You Not? | Allie, Leontes, Karmichael, & Lyanna | Closed
The house hadn't been busy until a few hours ago, when she had realized there wasn't much time left to prepare for the night. She had been in and out all day for miscellaneous menial tasks, and at approximately 4:00 p.m, the memory of who was coming tonight hit her like a ton of bricks. At that point she had dropped everything and rushed home to prep, forgetting about all of the other chores she had to do that day.
Now, with only a half hour left until her friend's arrival, the living room was alive and moving. All of the items she had dumped in the place were flying through the air quickly and up the stairs in a kind of marching band procession, one object after the other gliding up and into her room. At the top of the stairs sat Karmichael with a grin on his face as he plucked his own belongings out of the line and placed it to the side. His hair was as unruly as always and he had a four leaf clover painted on his cheek, despite it being two days after the holiday. This was not to say that he hadn't taken a shower yet; no, Lyanna had made certain he'd washed himself in the time between now and St. Patrick's. But he had yet to let go of his 'Irish pride' and had been flaunting it ever since the holiday had started.
Which explained why 'Shipping Up To Boston' was blasting in the house and filling every corner of the building with sound. Every now and again Karmichael would join in the chorus, either quietly or crowing it loudly over the music so that he could be heard. The police would have arrived by this point if Lyanna hadn't split her attention between cleaning and settling a kind of cone of silence over the house so the neighbors would not become irritated.
Still, that did not stop her from having the sound pound her eardrums and distort her focus severely. Sometimes, when it hit a particularly loud section of the song, the items would clatter to the floor as she lost her concentration. Karmichael didn't seem to care. In fact, he enjoyed testing how long she could hold on to the spell for. His way of testing and teasing her apparently.
The time was nearing, though, and she did not have time to deal with his distractions any longer. In a fit of fury, she let the objects drop once more and focused on the docking station from which the music was playing from. With her green eyes narrowed, she hissed something under her breath, and in the middle of the chorus the music abruptly cut off as the docking station was crushed and torn apart by an invisible force. Karmichael hung on to the note a little longer before he realized the song had disappeared, at which point he yelled an indignant 'hey!' down the stairs to his witch. She shook herself to release some of the tension in her body and began again in the silence that followed.
A few minutes later the door to her room shut with a loud bang and she laid down on the hardwood floor, feeling drained and dealing with a new pounding in her skull that was perfectly in sync with the music that had been playing before. The room was clean, though, so she was glad for that. Karmichael came down the stairs and stepped over her body without a single care, heading into the kitchen and then down into one of the two cellars they had. When he came back up he was holding a six-pack in one hand and a some 150 year old bottle of red wine in the other. He handed the bottle to her and placed the pack in the fridge, but not before taking out one for himself and popping the top off on the corner of the island counter in their kitchen.
At that point Lyanna let the wall of silence dissolve from around the house and got up off the floor, carrying the bottle back into the kitchen and placing it on the counter for later. "Now we wait," she sighed, running a hand through her blonde hair as Karmichael pulled himself up on the counter and sat with his legs swinging a bit, the beer clutched tightly in one of his hands. His blue eyes scanned the living room for a second before he noticed the bit of chalk on the floor beside the rug underneath the coffee table. He didn't say a word... yet.
