Productivity was a...
funny thing. After days and days of nothing but utter procrastination and doing nothing but setting fire to your time and laughing while things worth doing burn before your very eyes, finally getting over yourself and forcing your mind to cooperate while you sit down and do something good for once was like an oasis in the desert. It could also be compared to a snowball rolling down a hill – once you start, you either keep going and going until you crash or stop dead in your tracks before you really even get anywhere. At least, these were how things worked for the professor of Lyeant. Sure, sitting on the couch and playing first person shooters while munching on a half empty bag of Doritos was all fun and games while it lasted. Sure, mixing and making music then blasting it on full volume while everyone else in town was asleep just to be a troll was cool. But there was something refreshing about finally getting off his lazy butt and doing what any good professor does on a daily basis. Collect data. Crunch the numbers. Make history. Live up to your name as the most famous researcher in the region. And it was
because breaks from his typical routine were so refreshing that they only happened far and few, because, well. Waking up with your face smashed into your keyboard with dozens of papers having been scattered everywhere due to your late night crash usually isn't what you'd call a party.
He'd have the imprint of his space bar stuck on the side of his face for a week, he swore.
But to every bad thing, there was always a plus side to be found. His just so happened to be that, had he slept in a little longer, the imprint would have lasted just that much longer. And sure, it wouldn't last
nearly as long as his groggy mind's exaggeration, but it would still last longer than any “cool kid” like him could handle without a little embarrassment. Even though cool kids don't get embarrassed. Darn it. But his slipping up of his own life choices were the least of his worries, much less your's. No, instead, it'd be better to turn our attention to what was
really important: the green and tan Pocket Monster - face sparkling with irritation and foot tapping impatiently on the floor – that was trying to awake it's current owner from his slumber. Haru wasn't exactly the best alarm clock, though, and Zach rarely ever had a reason to get up earlier than two in the afternoon, so all in all, this entire situation was all headed for disaster. But it was necessary for the failure of a professor to get up two hours earlier than usual. After all, he had a guest on her way and what sort of gentleman would make a lady wait?
“
Nnn...” the blond grumbled, groggily flapping his arm in the general direction of his aunt's old partner in an attempt to scare him off. “
Ya' can't be hungry now... you're s'posed ta' be self... suff... suffi... heck it, i'm tired...” However, as he had gotten very used to after years of dealing with the temperamental grass-type, his words evoked a sudden rage in the creature and it promptly bit into the pale flesh of the moving hand in response. A sudden yelp echoed throughout the young man's duel office and room, more papers being tossed carelessly to the floor as he shot up from his desk in shock and clutched his now throbbing hand to the white t-shirt covering his chest. This was the response he
always elicited from it whenever he said something especially similar to Professor Pine. It seemed innocent enough, talking a little too much like a family member, but sometimes he couldn't help but think that her prized Pokemon was the one who took her death the hardest. He couldn't use her silly slang at all around the house without getting the shorter being into a big huff or getting injured in the process. “
Gah, I'm up, I'm up! Happy now, you little monster...?”
Despite his words, however, the red-eyed man was still rather exhausted. The bite had shaken him into a strange sort of alertness, but he was still rather foggy in the head as he made his way down hall and after his evil little assistant. And
it was supposed to be the level headed one back in Lyeant's early days. Regardless, it wouldn't hurt to check what the Pokemon was so hung up about. Obvious it had to have been important enough to force them both through the endeavor of trying to get him up. Pressing himself up against the door and looking through the peep hole as always, he was surprised to find a not-so-empty road before him. Strange. People didn't usually come in the morning, late in the morning as it was. Rubbing his eye with the back of one hand and straining to get a better look, he was even more surprised to see that it wasn't a rookie trainer or some stranger come for tips or an autograph or something. No, instead, it was Cecilia standing just outside his home. Black-haired, green-eyed, and five-foot ten inches of beautiful glory and all. … Or... something like that. Cut him some slack, he just woke up. Except all of that tiredness from earlier seemed to dissipate into thin air, the thought of his old friend standing at his door step snapping him into alertness better than being attacked by his own assistant. He was about to open the door until he realized that he was still wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. There was no way in
heck he was going out there to see her in his sleep apparel.
“
Gimme a minute!” he ordered through the door, thinking he did a good job making himself sound shill, relaxed, “chillaxed” even except not really because that's such a lame word and he's such a lame guy but at least he can hide it. Most days. However, what he did next was pretty much as far from “cool” as he could have gotten at the moment. It was, like, Logan uncool. It would be a little difficult to keep up a facade while running down the hallway and tearing through each and every one of your drawers in the pursuit of clothes. The shirt was off in a minute, replaced by his typical record shirt. Pants, though, were another matter. Where were all his pants? Had the pants fairy come in the night and nabbed them all? Upon attempting to “face palm” in response to his own stupidity at forgetting that the only pants he
had were going through the wash, he also realized that his shades were missing from the bridge of his noes. The face that he was running around in his underwear and a shirt was completely forgotten as he stormed around the room, trying to remember where he set them. The moment his fingers came into contact with the black lenses, he made his way back to the front door, hastily putting them on, and opening the door.
“
”Morning, C.C. What are you doing here?” the blond asked casually, leaning up against the frame of the doorway and folding his arms. Oh, yes, he was the cool kid. It was him. At least, that's what he thought until he remembered he was still without pants. Looking down at his boxers – face turning all shades of red in horror and embarrassment – he cursed loudly and retreated back into his domain, screaming a quickly condescending “
Paaaaaaaants!”, only stopping when he'd yanked up black denim over his legs high enough to give himself a wedgy. “
You can- You can come in!” he called, loud enough that she should have been able to hear him from the front door. “
Sorry about... all of this. You caught me at a... kind of bad time.”
Cool as ice, no doubt.
i'm just going to... apologize. for everything. i'm sorry. XD
