whiskey, smoke and aces high

It's too bad. When did it get cool to be so sad? We're spinnin' backwards, did we all go mad?
Yeah, we're only human but w?'ve got hands and hearts and noses,
So stop and sm?ll the fucking roses

Remi had said he wasn't into doing stuff in public, but you know what? If an empty elevator was considered public he'd happily break his own rule, because right now he's not at all disappointed that nothing happened at his apartment if only because somehow the smell of gasoline and the untouchability of Ronin in his leathers makes this all better. Tempted to tug Ronin back into the elevator, Remi follows, taking one of those wide awkward side-steps to try and ease the sudden bulge in his pants.

Stepping inside the musician is hit with a number of very competing smells that seem to snap him out of his horny-teenager-dazy. Slightly, anyway. "God, don't light any candles in here." He mumbles under his breath, noting just how flammable the components of each smell were. Shrugging out of his leather jacket (Ronin seems to have cornered the market on James-Dean hair and biker gear, leaving Remi feeling woefully poser-like in comparison), he lays it on the back of the sofa which is notably missing a dog.

Looking at the aisles, Remi's eyes narrow slightly, before he chuckles and presses his tongue against the inside of his cheeking. Rounding on Hallway, he folds his arms across his chest with a brow raised. "Do you live with someone? Because you'll absolutely not convince me that you paint."

ThE RoCkStAr