Russian Raclette || the-wandering-foreigner & hypoplasiacordis
It is kind of late when Law returns home; the extra clsses his Professor insisted on doing today had just dragged on and on and he was fairly surprised to see one of the small grocery stores on his way home still open. He strides inside and buys instant meals and a bit of fruit mostly; with nothing but a microwave and a sink it’s hard to cook anything else than alphabet soup and ramen.
--
Contented now that he’ll have something to eat tonight he heads back to the apartment complex, two small bags filled with groceries in his hand. He takes them up to his apartment and dumps them on the table before fiddling with his Wifi for a few minutes, trying to get it to work- it doesn’t. Sighing, he gives up and strolls back into the kitchen, blindly reaching into one of the bags and pulling out a pack of noodles. He boils some water, pulls the wrapping off the dry noodles and throws the package in the overflowing trash bin, mentally noting himself that he should probably take that out once he’s finished eating.
Law quickly finishes the bowl’s worth of food, reading the messy notes he’s made in class and the assigned pages in his books, only to find out that he knows most of the subject matters already, anyway. Sighing, he puts the now empty bowl in the sink, shrugs his coat on and picks up the more than full garbage bag, scrunching his nose at the stench.
On his way out he grabs the keys and flicks the lights off, closes the door behind him (and checks if it’s shut properly, you can’t be too careful), and makes his way down the stairs to the dumpsters behind the apartment complex. He’s already thrown the bag, hoping that he’d meet the dumpster’s opening (it’d be a damn shame if it didn’t) when he notices that something’s moving in the general direction of his toss. Shit.
>Oi!<, he calls out, taking a few steps forward, >Duck!<