It's The Little Things That Get to You

[Obelisk]

Life had been running smoothly for a good while and Jericho just knew that something would happen to end his run of fortune. He'd won his most recent case and his client, a man accused of second-degree murder, had walked free. It hadn't been easy; Jericho had to pull out all the stops on that case, staying up until ungodly hours of the night and morning pouring over law books, searching for loopholes and outs. It had helped that his client had been a charismatic, handsome man. People would never admit to it, but good looks and charm went a long way in every aspect of life -- including court. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, but that's how things worked.

The win had netted the lawyer a large sum of money and he was already contemplating over how to use it. He could buy a new vehicle; he was tiring of his current one. It wasn't flashy enough, it wasn't loud enough, it just wasn't enough. He wanted something better. He always wanted something better because he was great, wonderful, he won impossible cases, he deserved better. Maybe he'd buy some expensive painting or piece of art, not that he appreciated the aesthetics of it, he only cared for the status it gave him. Yes, he could buy these things because he had the money, the power. What's that, you can't? That's too bad. It was a sick pleasure he garnered from having a one up on everyone else, but that's how he'd been raised.

Jericho, if anything, was obsessive over competition. If his neighbors bought a boat, he'd by a bigger one, like the one he had now sitting in his garage. Incidentally, Jericho didn't even know the first thing about boating. The only reason his lawn was ridiculously gorgeous -- a myriad of flowers, trees, decorative rocks, fountains, bushes, a gazebo-- was out of competition with the neighbors. Not that the neighbors were aware of said competition, though. To Jericho, everything was a contest, and he'd run himself ragged before he'd let anyone else win.

Yes, life had been going really well and Jericho was almost satisfied -- almost but never really. It had been his first time home in weeks. The case had been so involved that it had required him to stay in the city and rent a hotel room for its duration. It was nice to be home now, though, and as expected his beloved parrot was in prime and healthy condition. The only one he trusted his home to was an elderly woman. He really didn't consider the woman a threat. Someone who bakes you cookies and regularly drops by to say hello even when you were a jerk of a man, couldn't do any harm. She was sweet, she meant well, and Jericho actually liked her. He still didn't pay her as much as she deserved. Not that she needed to be paid in the first place, the woman was loaded from the insurance collected on the death of her husband.

It was nice to be home, right. Even when home was cold, unfeeling, and lacked the personality of the homeowner. His house was beautiful inside, decorated in a modern scheme, much of it black and white, with appropriate accents of color. A red chair here, a vibrant painting there. It was nice but it looked like it came straight from one of those interior-decorating magazines. Which made sense since he'd hired one, an interior decorator that is.

Even his bedroom lacked a personal touch, but it was his favorite room in the house. Safe, secure, his. It was nice to sleep in his own bed for once and slept he had, dressed in silk navy-blue pajamas, (initials embroidered into the fabric no less). It was the following morning that Jericho had discovered that bump in the road, that little annoying problem that would ruin his "life is good" run. He'd turned his bathroom sink on to brush his teeth, except it hadn't turned on. He had fiddled with the knobs and still nothing more than a small drizzle. It was always the little things that grated his nerves the most.

He showered. He dressed in "casual clothes". Casual for him was slacks and a dress shirt. He'd brushed his teeth at the kitchen sink. Then he'd flipped open the phone book and called the plumber. Now he was waiting in disgruntled silence, watching the news but not really watching. From her cage in a different room, his parrot squawked, singing out curses in Romanian.

[KOCHI-KOCHI]

Nero had been enjoying his day when he got the call. Well, what HE referred to as enjoying the day. It had begun with a nice long rest after a day of making wine barrels, that sort of sleep where your entire body was spent and you couldn't move a bone except to crawl into your bed and pull the itchy but comfortable blankets around yourself and pass out as soon as your head hit the pillow. He had woken up to the sound of a rooster.

This would drive most people insane. But Nero NEEDED to be up at the crack of dawn, and that's why he got the sad excuse for a bird. That, and it was nice to have a chicken coop out back. The man pulled himself out of bed nude and didn't bother getting dressed as he went down the creaky wooden stairs that were so worn down by feet they didn't make splinters. Out the back door, peer at the rising sun and grab some eggs from under one of the hens. The sun was nice. He had knocked holes in the walls and made some massive window infront of the stove, so that when the grease hissed out and landed on his hip the vision instantly calmed the urge to swear.

After his morning exercise routine on a tattered rug, Nero checked the clock and ran upstairs to his closet full of uniforms and pulled out his little postal worker outfit before heading out. Atleast for this he got to use the mail truck. It took him all morning, it always did, but this time just as he was pulling into his driveway one of the few pieces of technology he owned started to vibrate pleasantly in the front of his pants. Oops. Must have drifted in his pocket.

Oh well, work was work. Some plumbing job. Nero recognized the area the guy mentioned, some super upscale place. But everyones crap broke, and everyone needed a plumber. Well, not everyone, most of the people in the area Nero lived in knew how to fix their own damned pipes. It was only these people who needed his services.

His pickup truck didn't suit the area. The paint that was once white was now chipping off. Mud covered it. Dents everywhere. No hubcaps.No fender. The back window was a board off wood, he hadn't gotten around to replacing it. And the only seat was held together with duct tape. It's partner was dead, so covered in vomit from him having to drive people home he said to hell with it, the stuff had soaked through and he couldn't deal with the scent anymore. He checked what he had written on his palm before putting it into park.

A tattooed hand tucked his stained and dirty wife beater into his pants, past the tool belt, and before he headed up to the door he remembered to grab his tool box. And then with a few strong loud knocks he announced his presence, liking the way the echo of his fist sounded.

[Obelisk]

Nero was right about one things, Jericho hadn't picked up a tool in his life. He'd only ever paid people to fix things and it had never occurred to the man to try it himself. Jericho didn't even own any tools. The only physical labor he ever did was when he obsessively cleaned every nook and cranny in his house. He'd actually developed quite the knowledge of just which products worked best on what and used in conjunction with what kind of scrubbing cloth. In fact, maybe he should start to clean right now, it always made him feel better.

The knock on the door stopped him mid-rise from the leather couch and he fell back into it, startled. That had been quicker than he had thought. He knew it was the plumber because no one else came to his door, save the elderly woman. Jericho was reasonably certain it wasn't her, however, because she tended to go on walks during the current hour. And, yes, he was aware of his neighbor's habits, as freaky stalkerish as that may have been.

He rose again and managed to stand this time before making his way towards the door. Before opening it Jericho gave pause to do a once over of himself. He smoothed over his shirt, straightened his belt, ran his hands through his still-damp hair and made sure his eye patch was in place. It wasn't perfect but it'd have to suffice, besides he was only going to be dealing with a plumber. It wasn't as if he was dealing with an important person; he wasn't out to impress.

Jericho opened the door, planting a falsely polite smile on his face, for appearance's sake. That smile faltered the instant his eye rose to the "plumber's" face. For a moment Jericho's faced fluttered from sincere confusion to wanting to speak, back and forth. It settled into a mildly perturbed look and Jericho at last managed some words, his voice gravelly and carrying with it an incredulous tone.

"You're my mailman." A simple fact. He'd seen Nero on numerous occasions and had taken notice of the tall, well-built man's appearance. He was out of uniform but he was unmistakable. Jericho's green eye dropped to the tool belt sitting around Nero's waist. You didn't need wrenches (he was pretty sure that was a wrench) and screwdrivers to deliver the mail. A logic conclusion. He was still a might confused though.

"Mailman by morning, plumber by afternoon?" Jericho commented dryly as his eye left the man's tools and flicked back to his face. Nero really was tall, especially up close. The lawyer's jaw clenched, cheek twitching. " Is this a new occupation of yours or do you actually know what you're doing?" Back to business. He wouldn't have some amateur fiddling with his pipes, oh no.

[KOCHI-KOCHI]

It was always an unusual experience when the door first opened. The life of a plumber, Nero decided, was an strange one. People NEEDED you, required your services, or their house would go to hell, so you were a necessary thing. But they didn't really want you there, you were an invader, a pest. Going into their house and seeing their soft unprotected underbelly. People who never even had company over were forced to open their door for the plumber. Not even the pizza boy got to set his foot on the otherside of their protective doorway. It was the best when it was a married couple, though, with the wife thanking you for coming so quickly and the husband looking at you critically and mumbling, 'I could have done that.'

This man wasn't one of those. Nero's blue eyes didn't wander his form, no, they stayed directly on his face and didn't budge. Only polite. What he could see was an impecibly groomed human being, an UNHAPPY looking one. Probably a doctor or business man or something. Couldn't help but glance down at what he was wearing, yeah, those thoughts were confirmed. Atleast he wasn't wearing a full out suit or some nonsense. The eyepatch though.. that was interesting. Poor guy looked like he could use some warmth in his life, and lifting his gaze to quickly glance around the entrance his thoughts were confirmed. Christ. How could people live like this?

"Yeah, i'm your Postal Service Worker, at your service." The plumber used his official title, the politically correct and non-offensive dubbing. His empty strong hand rubbed the heavily and rather resplendently tattooed arm, fingers subconsiously moving through the grooves of his muscles and massaging it. Woah. Way to try and make a guy nervous, buddy. But it wasn't going to work on Nero, nothing could make his warm friendly smile die.

"Don't worry, Sir, been messing with peoples plumbing longer than i've been poking around in their mail." A charming deep laugh that spread throughout the air and seeped into ones skin, added with the effect of his rich dark voice it was steamy enough to thaw the coldest of hearts. "You said something about your sink?"

Memory was shuffling papers around, searching frantically for who this person was. Couldn't remember seeing him, but this neighbourhood most certaintly was on his route. One of the other people on this block was a nice old lady, made him cookies once and thanked him for being such a nice young man. There was a boat or two. But this man. He'd only seen him through the windows and never had a chance to introduce himself.

This place could use some damned colour to it. Maybe he'd sneak a potted plant or something into the mail for him. A flower or something. That would be an improvement, for sure.

[Obelisk]

It wasn't just that Jericho didn't trust that Nero had the credentials, the man was just nervous about letting someone into his home. The carefully decorated and meticulously clean house of his was his castle, his little empire all to himself. Everything was in its rightful place. Within his house was absolute order and just by closing the doors he could shut out the chaos of the outside world. Letting someone in meant allowing chances for his peace and order to be disrupted in. He needed Nero, though, needed him to fix his damned sink so that everything was working again. Just knowing that something was off was enough to pick at Jericho's nerves, enough to put him on edge. It was only a sink, some might say, but just as his life was a construction project, so was his house. Everything needed to be working.

" I'll just have to take your word for it then," He said, trying not to sound too convinced, even though he was inclined to believe the man. Even Jericho, cold as he was, wasn't immune to the charm of others. The old woman had won him over with something as simple as homemade cookies and a sweet smile. Though maybe those really weren't simple at all, those kind gestures. Jericho himself had never really managed to return the favor.

" You don't have to call me sir. My name's Jericho. Though I'm sure you already knew that." Of course he did. He had to know, he handled his mail everyday. It hadn't occurred to Jericho that some people didn't give a rat's ass about the business world or the major players in it. His arrogance really was astounding. The man stepped aside, allowing access into his home.

"This way. It's the bathroom sink that's not working." Jericho explained as he walked, leading the man upstairs. The door to his room was closed, he always shut it after leaving or entering. He didn't do that with the other rooms. Perhaps he liked to consider his room a separate entity from the rest of his house. Whatever the reason, that closed door lent him some peace of mind.

Being a territorial person, it irked him to have Nero in his house and would irk him further to allow the plumber into his own, personal quarters. There was no getting around it. Jericho could practically hear the broken sink mocking him. He twisted the knob and lead Nero across his massive room and into his massive bathroom.

"I'm not sure how long it's been like this. Could've started a few days ago, could've been weeks." It wasn't like broken pipes was akin to diagnosing an illness, but Jericho really had no idea what to say. Silence even made a man like him uncomfortable, maybe especially a man like him. He now had someone he'd never even spoken to before lingering in his space. He stood at the doorway to the restroom, making no indication that he'd leave. It was clear that Jericho intended to hover around and watch Nero's every move. The mailman-plumber might also moonlight as a thief. Besides, he had to make sure Nero didn't make too much of a mess.

"Be careful of those cabinets; they're solid cherry wood, you know." Smug bastard, proud even over something as trivial as what his bathroom cabinets were made of.

[KOCHI-KOCHI]

Jericho? With a bit of worry he went over the name in his memory, brows furrowing and creasing in the center as he tried to recall a single interesting package with his name on it. Nothing. Nothing at all. He felt cruel for not being able to cite some friendly comment or even remember the guys last name. Especially when he seemed to sure that Nero would know.

Oh well. He let him into his house anyways. It wasn't really THAT bad. The coldness of the decoration was a bit off putting, but it wasn't as though he would bother changing anything. The cleaness was actually quite nice, Nero couldn't have kept his old house as tidy as this if he wanted to. No time, always busy with something. Right, that's what he was there for, not looking over Jericho to assess the man as they walked.

"Not sir? What about Esquire?" The side of his mouth quirked, incredibly pleased with himself for finally remembering SOMETHING. Not a doctor, a lawyer. Lawyer, right. Could remember the offical looking legal envelopes. Enough being a mail man, back to being a plumber.

Nero clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, looking at the cabinets in question. "Oh? I used to make cabinets." The calluses of his fingertips met with the wood, drawing them over the smooth surface till they fell to the bottom and pressing up against the groove where the door met with the rest of it. Smile grew back onto his features, hand drawing up to scratch at the hair on the side of his face while he spoke in a still very smoky but now amused tone as he glanced over his shoulder. "They don't line up. Nice cabinets, poorly installed."

As for the pipes, the tattooed man busied himself instantly. Toolbox was dropped on the ground with a loud clang and he peered at the sink, moving things off of it's ledge haphazardly with no regards for their safety or hygiene. A wrench here, a firm grip there, unscrewing something there. He didn't mind if Jericho watched and hung around, any company was nice company and Nero as a rule liked all people. Nor did he blame him for sticking around, a slightly dark skinned guy with grubby clothes that hugged his chest with muscles and a scraggly pony tail was too stereotypically 'bad' to not attraction suspicion.

"Didn't drop any rings or anything down here you want me to get out, Jericho?" Nero just wanted to say his name, see how it sounded, 'taste' it.

[Obelisk]

He leaned against the wood of the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the plumber go to work. For perhaps the first time that day, Jericho gave a smile, the gesture almost made him look boyish, young despite his mature age. There was nothing like stroking Jericho's ego to lighten the man's mood. Of course Nero knew who he was, the man delivered the mail to one of the city's most well respected lawyers after all. Well respected but not well liked.

"Oh? Did you now?" The smile turned into something more of a smirk; he almost looked devilish. " A reverable jack-of-all-trades, are you?" That smirk of his faltered the instant Nero commented on the unevenness of his cabinet doors. "What?" Jericho almost seemed taken aback, as if the news was something truly dreadful and horrible. To a man like Jericho, one who needed everything perfect, uneven cabinet doors were devastating.

"Well, Jack, maybe you can fix those while you're down there, too. I'll pay, of course." If Nero wouldn't do it, Jericho would get someone else that very day to come in and fix it. If the problem wasn't rectified that day, it would grate at his nerves and annoy him through the course of the night. The little things. One could only imagine how Jericho reacted when something actually bad occurred in his life.

The sound of his name on that smooth baritone of Nero's was almost foreign. He'd never really particularly liked his name, felt it was strange, others had felt so too-- at least in elementary school. Jericho was the type to remember every little injustice against him, even when it was from a time he was more worried about coloring inside the lines with crayons than winning cases. Now, instead of being mocked, his name was spoken most often in spite or in a business-like manner. Most preferred to call him Mr. Vãduva, even when Jericho insisted against it. Titles like "sir" or Mr. Vãduva made him think of his father and that was never a good thing. Ill-feelings there, ones he liked to avoid.

"What did you say your name was?" His tone was milder, as if hearing his name in that friendly, unthreatening baritone had tamed his wilder instincts. Jericho was always on guard, always defensive. In his line of work one tended to learn adopt that nature and Jericho never really bothered to check himself, to remember that everyone wasn't out to bring him down. Nero wasn't a threat. He should at least try not to be rude. He shook his head, just then remembering to answer the plumber's question.

" No. No rings. Nothing... unless Mrs. Johnson was up to something in here." He shook his head, nearly laughing at himself, settling on a sheepish smile. There was no way the old woman had stepped foot into his room, much less his restroom. That woman knew how to respect privacy. " Never mind that."

[KOCHI-KOCHI]

"My name?" He repeated the question in a hum as though pondering whether or not he was going to answer, flipping a wrench around between his fingures as he contemplated the issue with the sink. "Nero."

No rings? Right, of course not. Only one persons mail came to this address. No wedding rings to have fall into the black pits of their plumbing. "Mrs. Johnson?" The plumber smiled over his shoulder, supporting himself with a hand behind his body so that he could lean back and look up. "What a swell lady. Baked me cookies."

It seemed this lead to an epiphany, and he went back to crouching on the balls of his feet and assaulting the poor sink. This only lead to some frusterated grunting and scratching his head, digging his fingernails through the coarse black hair. "Shit. Between this and your cabinets, this could take a while. You got anything to drink?"

Did he have anything else to do today? Nero went through a mental checklist, rubbing at some metal connections till he wiped the grime off so he could better see. He was going to install that new door in the back of the house, but that could wait, and there was nothing else to draw him away from curing Jericho's woes in any way he could.

"And yea, I guess you could call me a jack of all trades, I don't like to stick with one thing for too long." Idle scratching at the side of his nose, smearing some mysterious black onto the bridge as he went back to work. Clink clink, clank clank, SMASH SMASH- "Oh fuck-"

Wrong move, Nero. One of the smaller pipes burst and water jetted out violently, spraying anyone and anything in it's reach before the man had a chance to clamp a hand over it and secure it back into place hurriedly. But the floor was already soaked, along with him and anyone unfortunate enough to get caught in the chaos.

[Obelisk]

So Nero got some of Ms. Johnson's cookies as well. Jericho was almost jealous. She, as old and different as she was, was pretty much Jericho's only "friend." Or, rather, she was the only one he was on a friendly basis with. Plus, her cookies were damned delicious. Jericho was wise to stuff that childish thought into the dark recesses in his mind and offered Nero a smile.

"She sure is, Nero." Testing his name as the plumber had his. He'd never actually heard the name before so it was strange to his ears. At least he wasn't alone in the odd names category. Jericho's nose wrinkled and he felt his skin crawl at the black sludge Nero wiped on himself. So dirty, so unclean. He'd have to sanitize the entire room after Nero left. There were probably icky greasy fingerprints all over now, sitting on his cabinets, his floor, his pipes.

Nero wanted a drink? That meant that Jericho would have to leave the room and go to the kitchen. That meant he'd have to leave this man alone in his bathroom and bedroom. He might steal something. A watch, a checkbook, some of that lavender scented goat's milk soap he imported from Italy. His cheek muscle twitched once again as he clenched his jaw, contemplating. He sided against paranoia and decided that the man at least deserved a beverage for his work.

"Fine but don't ---" Cut off when the piped exploded and his floor was covered in a deluge of water. He could only watch in horror as the flood raced across the marble tile of his bathroom floor and towards the lush carpet of his bedroom. Wet carpet, soaked down to the foam. A breeding ground for germs and mold and nastiness. Jericho almost squeaked, but instead made a muffled sound of horror. A sound caught in the back of his throat, strangled.

Before he even thought of what he was doing, Jericho was in the spray, kneeling down and reaching back, back into the cabinets. Even he knew that the knob that could turn on and off water flow was somewhere back there. The spray was cold and soaked him and his overly expensive clothes thoroughly, but Jericho didn't care. His mind was on his carpet and stopping the goddamned water before it ruined his entire house. His hand found purchase on the valve and he turned it quickly. The spray died down and eventually stopped all together.

In the drip drip silence of the bathroom, Jericho was absolutely still. Kneeling in front of the sink, soaking wet, Jericho's eye was wide and his nerves were shot. This mess, even though it was just water, he couldn't deal with. He had to clean it up.

"I....I'm g-gonna get some towels." He stated, teeth chattering, and stood robotically, walking out, leaving Nero alone. Nothing else mattered except restoring order, making things right. Jericho returned with a stack of old towels and through them down, kneeling to the ground to start soaking up the mess with one of the cloths. He pushed it around, hands shaking and not just from the cold. His nerves were frazzled and he was on edge, feeling something akin to that fight or flight sensation someone got. Lightheaded, unable to think clearly. Only able to focus on one thing.

"You were supposed to fix things. Not make them worse. It's everywhere. My carpet is ruined." He almost sounded rueful. Never mind he was shivering and soaked. Never mind Nero was in the same state. This mess needed cleaning up. " Some plumber you are. Jack of all trades my ass." More angry now, more accusatory. He was pushing around a towel that was far too soaked to be of any more service, but Jericho didn't notice. He was too upset. Things weren't supposed to be like this. He hated surprises, loathed chaos. Stupid sink. Stupid plumber. Stupid....things.

[KOCHI-KOCHI]

Nero felt bad. Genuinely. Bad. It was as though his internal organs were rotting and turning in on themselves, stomach inverting and trying to push itself up out of his throat. Too nice to make someone look so utterly... There wasn't even really a good way to describe Jericho at the moment. Distressed? Yeah. Sure. Like a little girl with bumblegum in her long pretty hair. That's exactly what this lawyer was. Too late the get the gum out and everything was already ruined, but still mourning over their loss and doing a splendid job of making everyone around them feel like shit.

He didn't even MIND the water. Sure, his clothes were soaked and it was cold and unpleasant but...

Christ. Don't be such a fucking baby. It's just water.

Thoughts were too mean for him to express even through his face, and any sneer was repressed. Desire to inform him that water never killed anyone (And even if he DID drown, Nero was a lifegaurd) was instantly crushed when his blue eyes fell on a shaking hand. Woah. This guy had issues.

"Sorry, things like this happen sometimes. The carpet will dry out with a heater. It'll be fine." Voice was soft and remorseful yet still had that smoky liquid quality to it, although a bit strained with seeing the man in this state. It was disturbing as hell. "I'll even call this one on the house, huh?" A weak smile, moving to take the utterly soaked towel from Jericho. Poor guy, control issues or something, tweaking out over a simple mess.

Maybe after this he'd take him out to a bar to let loose. Pay him back for making everything worse. Although right now he just needed to fix this sink, get the floor dry and calm this man down before he snapped and killed EVERYONE. Just how did he get that eyepatch, anyhow? Some poor plumber got a drop of water somewhere and took his eye in defense during a violent assault?

Shudder.

[Obelisk]

Jericho yanked the wet towel back, overcome with a sudden rush of frustration. Teeth gritted he seethed out, voice nearly cracking. "Fine? Fine?! I'm sorry but our definitions of fine don't line up." The sopping wet towel was then thrown childishly into the water spread across the tile. The resulting splash made the overly controlling man cringe and it was enough to make him realize just how much of an ass he had just made of himself. No one was supposed to witness one of his little episodes. Then again no one ever really entered his house and caused havoc enough for him to have a mental meltdown.

"I'm not insane." Jericho said quickly, green eye flashing up to look Nero in the eye. " I just don't like messes." Didn't like messes enough to completely wig out about water of all things. To Jericho his explanation sounded weak and he started to wring his hands, willing his nerves to stop their goddamned embarrassing shaking. Okay, so maybe he was a little manic. Everyone had their issues, right? Besides Jericho thought he managed to keep his under wraps and for the most part he was always in control. That's what it was all about, control.

Then for a complete and open moment, Jericho looked utterly and hopelessly lost. He had no idea what to do next. He wanted to clean but if he started he'd just get overwhelmed again. Nero didn't need to see that. He'd have to wait until the guy was gone until he cleaned up, that way he could piss and moan and bitch and speak nonsense all he wanted. No one was supposed to know. He wasn't supposed to feel vulnerable in front of his plumber/mailman of all people. This would be, like, seven more psychiatrist's appointments, Jericho just knew it.

"I'm cold," Spoken as if just realized. "You're cold too. And wet." He threw one of the dry towels at Nero. "Dry off. Then fix this." He didn't even look at Nero as he spoke and stood up. Apparently he was going to act like that little episode hadn't even happened. Jericho was the one in control again, Jericho was the boss. Yeah.

" You'll get paid for your work. I'm no crook." Offended, almost. Jericho pinched the bridge of his nose and bit back a groan, settling on a heavy sigh. A towel wouldn't suffice. Nero's clothes were soaked, too.

"You must have extra clothing in that junk-heap of yours." Jericho was, of course, referring to Nero's rundown truck. " I need." He didn't know what he needed. He looked around, searching, as if the walls of the room had the answer. " A drink." His words hopped from one thing to the other and it was obvious that he still wasn't off the high of his meltdown. He rubbed at his face, the eye patch feeling sickly wet pressed against his skin.

"No, you need a drink." A revelation. "Go downstairs. The kitchen is stock-full of alcohol. Get something. Anything. Just go. I'll clean this up. Then you'll fix things." A good plan. He'd wanted to ignore the mess and had for a good five minutes there. His OCD had kicked in again, though, like it always did, a sickness, and he couldn't leave it alone. At least he wasn't shaking. Or plotting the plumber's death.

[KOCHI-KOCHI]

If there was one thing years of working in the service industry told him, it was to not argue with people like Jericho Vãduva. You'd have to be stupid to bite the hand that fed, especially when that hand was shaking. ESPECIALLY not when he was being offered a drink.

Towel was caught and he rubbed it through his messy hair, listening to the orders he was being given in complete silence, just watching the man. No offense was taken at his truck being titled so, he simply nodded and headed back out through the house to give the poor guy his space.

Nero tried so very hard to not drip excessively when he made his way to his crappy vehicle, but it was nearly impossible to not get some water in various places. Once there he searched through the compartment behind the back seat, but he only managed to find a pair of pants. Of course he had no qualms about changing into the old clothes by the side of the road and throwing the wet pair over the back of his chair.

Back into the house to hover around in the kitchen anxiously. Hopefully Jericho wasn't getting a shot gun or something up there. Maybe he was finding an axe instead, because the guy didn't look like he knew how to handle firearms. The cold from the fridge was horribly unpleasant, snorting in displeasure while hunting till he found a beer. Nero leaned against a counter, letting the taste of hops and yeast soak into his tongue and enjoy the soothing quality at the back of his throat. Maybe this wasn't so bad. Wait, no, it was pretty awful. And to top it off, he couldn't help but noticing that his wet shirt was getting the hem of his pants dark with moisture. Ugh. Nero pulled it off over his head and started to wring it out in the sink.

One thing was for sure, the plumber wasn't going back into that bathroom untill Jericho got some booze into his system. That man seriously needed to let go once in a while.

[Obelisk]

He knew he'd kept those old towels for something. Jericho had busied himself wiping the floors clean until they were dry and spotless. He threw the wet towels into the bathtub; that would have to suffice for the time being. As for the carpet, Jericho placed more towels on top of the wet area, stepping on them to soak up as much liquid as he could. The rest would have to air dry. With each step he took in cleaning up the mess, the more and more Jericho relaxed. He was able to let go of most of the anxiety that had made him look like a complete lunatic in front of the plumber.

While Jericho was dressing, getting into some dry clothing, he knew without a doubt that the plumber would be gone when he went downstairs. He wouldn't blame the man, Jericho wouldn't have stuck around either. He just hoped Nero hadn't made off with any of his belongings during the process.

Dejected but at peace now that the watery pool of doom had been dealt with, Jericho exited his room. Maybe he'd talk to his parrot. That always made him feel better. Havlah had picked up a wicked tongue, though, but thankfully most of the curses she knew were in Romanian.

He was looking down at his hands when he made his way to the kitchen. Looking up, Jericho jumped, heart leaping into his throat. Nero was still here. Now if that wasn't a surprise. The plumber had stuck around and was standing in his kitchen half-naked. His cheek did that nervous twitch of his and Jericho looked around, distinctly avoiding looking at the shirtless worker. He couldn't remember the last time he had a half-naked anything in his house, so Jericho felt a bit awkward. Couple that with the embarrassment he felt from earlier, and well, his usual arrogant self was struggling for control.

"You're still here." Genuinely surprised. Jericho stepped towards the fridge, giving Nero a wide breadth of space. An awkward mouse skating around a cat. He pulled out a beer and fingered the opening tab of it, staring at the shiny, semi-reflective surface of the can top. " I thought you would've left. God knows I would've." And that was as close to an apology as Jericho would ever get.

He opened the can then and took a long series of gulps, nearly draining the can in one go. Licking his lips clean of the bitter taste of alcohol, Jericho finally turned to face Nero and did his best to keep his eyes on the man's face and not to let them wander. Those tattoos were damned interesting though.

" Well... It's clean now. Not as much as I'd like but..." His words trailed off and he made no attempt to pick them up again. His eyes dropped and suddenly the can in his grip became the most interesting thing in the room. He was not fidgeting, just switching his weight from one foot to the other repeatedly. Awkward, yeah.

[KOCHI-KOCHI]

"What, just run away?" A deep rumbling chuckle, lightened slightly by the beer he had just finished off. "I'm your mailman, Jericho. I can't run, can't hide." Any nervousness the other man felt wasn't recognized by Nero, he was oblivious to how awkward he was making this situation. The plumber may not have been a vain man, but he was incredibly well built and had no issues with being shirtless infront of other people or seeing others in a state of undress. Maybe it wasn't entirely professional. And he WAS drinking beer in his employers kitchen, so that was screwed anyways. Certaintly wasn't shy. If he was, he probably wouldn't have decorated his dark skin with the beautiful designs that covered obviously powerful arms and outlines his hips, hinting that there was more beneath the belt.

Atleast Jericho doesn't look as twitchy as before. Still a bit, yeah, but that was to be expected, and it didn't seem to be the same. The longer he could keep him away from that room and more potential tweaking out the better. And that it meant he got some conversation out of him was nice too, Nero still didn't dislike the other man and nearly found the neat-freak quality endearing. Even if the thought that he was a murderer wasn't completely dismissed.

"So it's safe to go back up and finish?" And even that thought, that single sentence made Nero realize he was going to need more to drink if there was any hope of finishing this job. So with his superior height he leaned over the other man and got another drink from the fridge before returning to where he had left his shirt, pulling the wet, clingy, and mostly transparent white fabric back over his torso. Now that was uncomfortable, but he didn't have any dry clothes and there was no way in hell he was going to ask the other man for a shirt. Not that any of his clothes looked like they'd fit.

Only then did he notice any strange look on the lawyer and a thick brow raised. "Does the ink make you uncomfortable?" Words weren't offended in the least, just a bit sad and nervous. He knew there were still some social hang-ups over it, desecrating your body and all of that, but in a city like this? Lips quirked to the side and he popped the top of the can but didn't take a sip, a bit disheartened by the notion.

[Obelisk]

"Oh, right." He chanced a grin but it was awkward just like he felt. There really was no escaping Nero. Maybe in the future Jericho would hide until he was sure the coast was clear then get the mail. The lawyer wasn't sure he'd ever be able to live this fiasco down. He was going to say something, maybe chance a joke at his own expense, when Nero leaned over and everything just froze. All of a sudden Jericho was hyper aware of the man's proximity. Dark skin, darker, intricate tattoos. Body warmth. That masculine scent.

He took a step back and looked away, stomach twisting into that familiar knot of self-loathing. He wasn't a faggot. Okay, he was, but he hid it well. Accepting what he was wasn't the same as accepting what he was. Jericho's family hadn't been religious and he, himself, was agnostic. So there was no religious beliefs pulling at his judgment. His father had raised him to see gays as gross corruptions of men, lesser, sick, wrong. Father's word was law even now that Jericho was an adult and on his own. His father's opinion meant everything to him.

"Yeah, safe."

Jericho realized then that his grip on the beer can crinkled in the aluminum sides a little. He drained it, tossed it into the garbage and quickly retrieved a new one, all the while avoiding looking at the other man. He was afraid to, really.

Jericho was a gay male, a closeted one, but still very much gay. No gay man in their right mind wouldn't find Nero's well-built body attractive. And damned, the way Nero's wet shirt clung to his body was sinful. The man's laugh and voice was too damned smooth and rich not to go unnoticed. In short, the jack-of-all-trades was a gay man's wet dream. That made things all the more uncomfortable for Jericho. He knew he wasn't supposed to be thinking thoughts like that. Especially about men. Especially about a goddamned plumber. If he'd been alone he would've started banging his head against the fridge door.

"What?" He said, green eye settling onto Nero's face, dropping to the patterns etched into his skin at the mentioning of tattoos. First to the patterns on Nero's arm then lower, lingering where they disappeared under the hemline of his pants. That left a lot to the imagination. Jericho was quick to divert his attention elsewhere.

"No, I like them. They're....nice." Nice? Did he really just describe Nero's tattoos as nice? Jericho was seriously starting to consider that banging his head against a hard object deal, regardless of an audience or not.

"Are you hungry? I could order out." Trying to change the subject, to erase the fact he'd used such a stupid word as "nice." Jericho couldn't cook to save his life. Ordering out was the only thing he ever did. Hence the reason that alcohol, not food, inhabited his cupboards. In the back of his mind Jericho asked himself if he really just offered to feed his plumber. And yes, yes he did.