xp_logs | Quentin & Amadeus, backdated to Monday night

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Quentin's month just keeps getting worse. Now he has a hyperactive roommate to contend with. Log co-starring Fuckwad the chinchilla!

Not a single soul had ever set foot in Quentin's room, and he preferred to keep it that way. Not just for the sake of his own privacy, but also for the safety of the furry little critter that most people did not even know he had. After all, what kind of image would he have if everyone knew he was the caretaker of a four-year-old chinchilla?

"Come here, Fuckwad," he cooed as he opened the wire mesh doors to the rodent's cage, holding out a hand to coax the creature to come out. "Come on, your house is literally full of shit and if you're not going to clean it then that means I have to. Get your soft furry ass out here."

The figure at the door paused, blinked and tilted his head curiously. Then he gave himself a quick look over his shoulder.

"Aw, it hasn't been that long since I last shaved my ass," he said. When Quentin turned he was presented with a tall, skinny Korean boy with shaggy black hair and a cheerful smile. The hair was full of grime and his clothes were so threadbare that it was a minor miracle they still clung together. His shirt and pants also were once different colors, but now they were a distinct unwashed grey. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder, heavy-duty, and had itself been through some abuse, but it was in much better shape than its owner.

"Who . . ." Fuckwad took that moment to slip out of his cage and dash across the room, making a beeline for the open door. "Oh, goddammit, you little fluffy . . ." Quentin held out a hand and a translucent pink sphere appeared around the chinchilla, stopping it in its tracks. One of the earliest applied telekinetic tricks that he had taught himself. The ball gently floated back to Quentin and hovered over his shoulder as he turned his attention to the intruder. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Your new roommate!" Amadeus pronounced, arms wide. "Amadeus Cho's the name, I'm 5 feet eleven inches of pure genius and a 145 pounds of huggable adorableness." From a cursory glance around the room, Amadeus gleaned that this kid was a) rich, and b) angry. This was going to be fun.

One-sidedly, for sure. "You must have the wrong room," Quentin said coolly. "I don't have a roommate. Not even Chuckles is dumb enough to play this kind of game. No, you're probably down the hall. Now shoo."

"Au contraire, mon ami," Amadeus stepped to the empty bed that had been shoved against the wall and settled himself down. "Oooh, I like, springy, better than a piece of cardboard in an alleyway. Hey-- I love what you've done with the place. He lay back down on the bed, oblivious of Quentin's possessions. Oooh, this would be a perfect spot for my Taylor Swift poster!"

"Putting the two Asian kids together, real funny," Quentin grumbled mostly to himself, turning his attention back to the housing enclosure. The cage itself was built on top of a small two-door cabinet where Quentin kept all of Fuckwad's supplies. The floor of the housing was removable like a drawer, to make it easy to throw away used lining and bedding material. "What kind of name is Amadeus, anyway?" he asked, ripping open a new bag of bedding to pour onto the liner.

"The same kind of name Quentin is," Amadeus replied, still on his back with his eyes on the ceiling. He looked very comfortable in a pile of Quentin's laundry.

"The people who named me are assholes, though. And, ugh, do you mind?" Quentin retrieved Fuckwad from his telekinetic hamster ball so he could reach out and dislodge a stack of clean boxer briefs from underneath Amadeus. "Are you stupid or just dumb?"

Amadeus just looked at Quentin mildly, a hank of greasy hair falling over one eye. "Papa Cho was a composer with the Los Angeles Symphony, Mozart was always a favorite of his. Said the name was a perfect fit for me, since the kid was a genius and had a filthy mind."

Amadeus sat up and stretched, feeling his spine pop. "I'm gonna shower, since I haven't had one of those in a while. And then I'm going to nap off this food. Eating only once in a 24 hour period is wrecking havoc on my delicate system. Jail sucked, but at least they fed me."

Quentin noticed the past tense, and the mention of jail had him quirking an eyebrow. Orphan on the streets who got picked up and tossed in the slammer because hey why help out the unfortunate when you can imprison them instead? He found his anger at the intruder shifting to the circumstances, whatever they were, that had led Amadeus here.

He continued to telekinetically pull his clothes from underneath Amadeus while he gently petted Fuckwad. "I'm going to choke you in your sleep if you snore."

"I sleep like a baby, oh pink-haired-one. A baby that's been drugged. Actually, you may need to check if I've stopped breathing. My mind is a hypermind," he yawned loudly, "I can make thousands of calculations in a nanosecond, but occasional lower functionings are a crapshoot."

"Sounds like a problem you have to solve yourself." Quentin gently returned Fuckwad to his cage and closed its doors. The chinchilla chirped happily as it climbed up the ramps to the top level, where it started to play with a chew toy. Quentin smiled softly despite himself. "They've got laundry here," he said, the smile disappearing as quickly as it had appeared as he turned his attention back to Amadeus. "Throw your rags in there, too."

"And then walk around buck-ass nude?" Amadeus reluctantly sat up. "These things are about to disintegrate. Food was a bit more important than top couture. Ooh, hey, this any good?" Amadeus held up one of Quentin's books.

"You're so smart, I'm sure you can figure out where to get new clothes." Quentin glanced at the pile of laundry that was now on his own bed. "That aren't mine. And yes, that's a very good book. Everyone should read James Baldwin. His words and his passion will get you woke."

"Ah yes, damn the man, save the empire," Amadeus said, judiciously depositing the book and the rest of Quentin's belongings that were on the bed on the side of Quentin's desk. He pointedly did not mention the irony of Quentin's statement, in light of the fact that he really wanted a shower and didn't need poor little rich boy angry at him.

"I'm going to assume that that dresser there is mine, and I get to wear anything that's in there."

"There's nothing in there so sure, all yours." Quentin pumped some hand sanitizer from the bottle on his desk to clean his hands post-chinchilla and then reluctantly set about putting away his displaced possessions. A roommate. Chuckles was really getting twisted in his old age.