Bert didn't like much, so it was no surprise he didn't own much; a nice couch he'd picked out himself a few years back, a grand piano he liked to fall asleep on head first more than his bed, a fine, well aged collection of gentleman's drinks, a few paintings, an abacus, and a beaten little harmonica that'd seen more lesser days than better, as any good harmonica could boast. The rest' Well, the rest belonged to the family. Gifts and givens, yes, but only a few of the things really meant anything to the man.
The many potted plants that died in monthly intervals, the persian carpets, the wind chime outside his door. Ah yes. That had been a gift from Correy and Kaylee. They'd made it when they were much younger, and it was more plastic than anything with enough substance to clink and tink like a proper wind chime, but he kept it hanging outside on his porch window anyway. The memory struck him with a fuzzy smile sometimes, the memory of that unsuccessful wind chime. They'd all settled and called it a sun catcher mobile instead, and all had worked out nicely.
There were appliances and a few pieces of furniture that rarely were touched; a cafe late expresso machine, a love seat, a drop down screen across from his entertainment center, a panini maker he'd burnt his hand on once then shoved into a dark closet so it may never be seen again in favor of his frying pans. In the corner beside a pile of beaten and non-beaten shoes there was a free standing coatrack whose only importance was due to the articles of outdoor clothing he had piled on it. A pair of scarves from Laura, a fine, sharply brimmed hat from Caroline, his favorite overcoat given to him by the old man himself.
'Don't fool yourself, billy goat, they're already calling you old man too.' His thoughts interjected wryly.
Out beside his kitchen window a crooked, poorly painted bird feeder had been hung. Well, 'poorly painted' was supremely objective, of course, when one had been given said poorly painted piece of woodwork from the littlest member of his highly extensive family, Lila. Just thinking about how she was his grand niece almost sent him into a fit of heart palpitations, or was it great grand niece" Either way, the thought was enough to make him feel as old as his father, and the whirlpool in his tub....Now who had bought him that' Ah wait, that, yes. He'd bought that and had that installed for his aching back. Scratch the whirlpool, he loved it, and it was all his from the plan, to the cash output, to the secret hedonist's delight he took in it at least once a day when he was home.
Inwardly musing about the wide, deep-set bath then had Bert thinking that a soak in it right about now wouldn't be a bad way to end his all too intensely long day. It might also dissuade the crick that'd been sticking with him in the lower left of his back since lunch when paired along with several fingers of scotch and some vintage, 1965 Arthur Rubinstein. There were magic in those notes that could be broken down into the simplest of sound equations if one had the mind to actually sit and dissect it through the proper channels, and there was just such a thorough, meticulous process going on in the back of Bert's head now as he lifted himself slowly up off of his beaten couch. Crossing the room at a distracted pace, he picked up the remote to his stereo system(another little thing he enjoyed, as it's sound was installed to echo in every room of his home), and clicked a few buttons until the first lift of Chopin's Nocturne in EbM Op.9 No.2 began to filter through the house. As he flicked on the light in his bathroom and set the tub to fill, he took a glance at himself in the mirror and smiled suddenly. It wasn't a happy smile either. It balanced between wane and tired, and stretched even more so as he brushed absently along the graying hair that peppered through his frumpy brown locks.
'Almost enough to make you wish you were bald', he thought grimly as an exhale slowly eased out through his lips. Rubbing a hand along his face beneath the dull shine of his glasses, Bert reached with the other for his medicine cabinet, and flipped the door open to reveal a plethora of prescription and over the counter medicine. Picking out a trio of bottles amongst the mass, he sifted out several into his open palm and turned back out into the hall for the living room where a freestanding bar was waiting with several liquor decanters in various states of full stationed on the right corner. Reaching below with his free hand, Bert pulled out a clean, short bodied tumbler and leveled himself out a drink to wash his meds down with, then another, higher leveled glassful to take into the tub with him.
It was going to be a good night, now if only he could survive the mountain of paperwork he was facing come the morning and the old man's quiet ramblings about a successor once he got back to the office...
http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs19/i/2007/306/1/c/whiskey__by_osjah.jpg
The many potted plants that died in monthly intervals, the persian carpets, the wind chime outside his door. Ah yes. That had been a gift from Correy and Kaylee. They'd made it when they were much younger, and it was more plastic than anything with enough substance to clink and tink like a proper wind chime, but he kept it hanging outside on his porch window anyway. The memory struck him with a fuzzy smile sometimes, the memory of that unsuccessful wind chime. They'd all settled and called it a sun catcher mobile instead, and all had worked out nicely.
There were appliances and a few pieces of furniture that rarely were touched; a cafe late expresso machine, a love seat, a drop down screen across from his entertainment center, a panini maker he'd burnt his hand on once then shoved into a dark closet so it may never be seen again in favor of his frying pans. In the corner beside a pile of beaten and non-beaten shoes there was a free standing coatrack whose only importance was due to the articles of outdoor clothing he had piled on it. A pair of scarves from Laura, a fine, sharply brimmed hat from Caroline, his favorite overcoat given to him by the old man himself.
'Don't fool yourself, billy goat, they're already calling you old man too.' His thoughts interjected wryly.
Out beside his kitchen window a crooked, poorly painted bird feeder had been hung. Well, 'poorly painted' was supremely objective, of course, when one had been given said poorly painted piece of woodwork from the littlest member of his highly extensive family, Lila. Just thinking about how she was his grand niece almost sent him into a fit of heart palpitations, or was it great grand niece" Either way, the thought was enough to make him feel as old as his father, and the whirlpool in his tub....Now who had bought him that' Ah wait, that, yes. He'd bought that and had that installed for his aching back. Scratch the whirlpool, he loved it, and it was all his from the plan, to the cash output, to the secret hedonist's delight he took in it at least once a day when he was home.
Inwardly musing about the wide, deep-set bath then had Bert thinking that a soak in it right about now wouldn't be a bad way to end his all too intensely long day. It might also dissuade the crick that'd been sticking with him in the lower left of his back since lunch when paired along with several fingers of scotch and some vintage, 1965 Arthur Rubinstein. There were magic in those notes that could be broken down into the simplest of sound equations if one had the mind to actually sit and dissect it through the proper channels, and there was just such a thorough, meticulous process going on in the back of Bert's head now as he lifted himself slowly up off of his beaten couch. Crossing the room at a distracted pace, he picked up the remote to his stereo system(another little thing he enjoyed, as it's sound was installed to echo in every room of his home), and clicked a few buttons until the first lift of Chopin's Nocturne in EbM Op.9 No.2 began to filter through the house. As he flicked on the light in his bathroom and set the tub to fill, he took a glance at himself in the mirror and smiled suddenly. It wasn't a happy smile either. It balanced between wane and tired, and stretched even more so as he brushed absently along the graying hair that peppered through his frumpy brown locks.
'Almost enough to make you wish you were bald', he thought grimly as an exhale slowly eased out through his lips. Rubbing a hand along his face beneath the dull shine of his glasses, Bert reached with the other for his medicine cabinet, and flipped the door open to reveal a plethora of prescription and over the counter medicine. Picking out a trio of bottles amongst the mass, he sifted out several into his open palm and turned back out into the hall for the living room where a freestanding bar was waiting with several liquor decanters in various states of full stationed on the right corner. Reaching below with his free hand, Bert pulled out a clean, short bodied tumbler and leveled himself out a drink to wash his meds down with, then another, higher leveled glassful to take into the tub with him.
It was going to be a good night, now if only he could survive the mountain of paperwork he was facing come the morning and the old man's quiet ramblings about a successor once he got back to the office...
http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs19/i/2007/306/1/c/whiskey__by_osjah.jpg