[He's a little surprised, and blinks at her as he moves to close the door behind them--and lock it, just because. He's not nearly secure enough with this place to assume it's safe to leave open, even for a quick visit. On one hand, this sounds like official business--inasmuch as anything is official business, for his class--and while he does want to know, he's not thrilled about the prospect of serious informational meetings, that sounds boring . . .
But then again, he's kind of flattered she would actually think to come to him for one, and maybe that makes it worth it. And he does want to know.
He closes the door and leads her over to the sofa. His apartment's not huge by any means, and he has no sense of interior design; it's been furnished by someone who went through the catalogs and picked things they thought looked cool, rather than things that went together in harmony. Cool or useful, that is. A lot of what's here is stuff that Leon didn't realize he needed until he went to use it and didn't have one, so he went and added it wherever he could, in whatever style caught his eye. It's a mishmash of contemporary, industrial, and . . . tacky, that's one way of putting it. And despite all that, it's a little sparse, too, as if he has no idea what sort of thing one uses to fill the space in one's own apartment--because he doesn't, of course.
But everything's comfortable, on the other hand, because what's the point of not being comfortable at home? There's a black leather sofa that's plush and oversized, definitely big enough to sleep on (or, possibly, do more active sorts of things on). In front of it there's a coffee table on casters, some coasters, and then everything he hasn't cleaned up after himself yet: a videogame handheld, his CereVice, a drained but unrinsed coffee mug from earlier, and a photograph.
He heads that way and nods to it, and then rather than stop at the sofa himself, steps around it and into the kitchen area.]
Hey, you want anythin'? I don't drink a lot o' tea, but I've got other stuff. Coffee?
no subject
[He's a little surprised, and blinks at her as he moves to close the door behind them--and lock it, just because. He's not nearly secure enough with this place to assume it's safe to leave open, even for a quick visit. On one hand, this sounds like official business--inasmuch as anything is official business, for his class--and while he does want to know, he's not thrilled about the prospect of serious informational meetings, that sounds boring . . .
But then again, he's kind of flattered she would actually think to come to him for one, and maybe that makes it worth it. And he does want to know.
He closes the door and leads her over to the sofa. His apartment's not huge by any means, and he has no sense of interior design; it's been furnished by someone who went through the catalogs and picked things they thought looked cool, rather than things that went together in harmony. Cool or useful, that is. A lot of what's here is stuff that Leon didn't realize he needed until he went to use it and didn't have one, so he went and added it wherever he could, in whatever style caught his eye. It's a mishmash of contemporary, industrial, and . . . tacky, that's one way of putting it. And despite all that, it's a little sparse, too, as if he has no idea what sort of thing one uses to fill the space in one's own apartment--because he doesn't, of course.
But everything's comfortable, on the other hand, because what's the point of not being comfortable at home? There's a black leather sofa that's plush and oversized, definitely big enough to sleep on (or, possibly, do more active sorts of things on). In front of it there's a coffee table on casters, some coasters, and then everything he hasn't cleaned up after himself yet: a videogame handheld, his CereVice, a drained but unrinsed coffee mug from earlier, and a photograph.
He heads that way and nods to it, and then rather than stop at the sofa himself, steps around it and into the kitchen area.]
Hey, you want anythin'? I don't drink a lot o' tea, but I've got other stuff. Coffee?