Fray-Adjacent

Xander is doing something that... well, some people might call it cooking. Probably not people who actually know how to operate a stove, though. There's chicken, or something that started out as chicken, but then he got distracted by the pasta boiling over, and now it's the artist formerly known as chicken. And the superglue formerly known as pasta.

So... pretty much Xander's doing something that's more properly described as 'staring at his kitchen and wondering if it'd be cheating to dump the whole thing and start pressing random buttons on the food replicator.'

It's been... a day.
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[OOC: For the boyfriend.]

It'd been one of those weekends. If by that you mean "those weekends you dream about and then wake up promising yourself never to touch runny cheese at a college mixer ever, ever again."

Still, he had a guest, of sorts, and he might as well show her that he did something besides Apartment Managing, without showing her the other thing he did besides Apartment Managing. Which was why they were currently in the elevator heading for the roof of the building.
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[OOC: for the parental unit! B-word-person also welcome laterwards, if desired.]

So you'd think with the day off from the construction site, Xander would be able to have a nice relaxing time - sleep in, kick back, put the cell on silent, watch some tv, right? Well, it had started that way. Then he checked his voicemail.

First there was a prank-call from Mel, which he had to admit got him for a second. Then one from a complete stranger asking to partake of his skills in girl-talk. Which was... sort of a compliment, he guessed?

Then the offer of not-in-public OMGWTFNO from that wizard kid, which he had to call Bridge about becausesdkj see OMGWTFNO, then the bowling invite which was actually nice, even if he didn't recognise the voice. Maybe Dawn would fill him in on who it was, since he passed it on to her. Then Isabel asking if he wanted some Gatorade, which again, nice, if random. Not that she'd ever come over with it after he called her back.

Just when he'd thought they were getting less weird, there was the call from the kid who captured his twinkie (*) which was less of the OMGWTFNO and more of the WOW HI AWKWARD and FLAIL but also aww, and he had to think about his reply for a while before he knew what to say.

And then bang zoom, straight into the OMGWTFWTFWTF with a message from Bridge, and no answer when he tried to call back to find out what was going on.

And then there was what was clearly a wrong number from Peter but added worries about his BFF's relationship to Xander's concern about his own, and following that....

Well, following that was the Mountie who clearly got hit on the head by an I-beam this morning which left Xander feeling guilty about not being at the site, and following that was the one that is responsible for Xander's current state of staring in wide-eyed horror at his phone - because THAT is so not Bridge. Not that he doesn't kind of wish Bridge would call him and say something like that, but it's NOT, so... asdfghjkl!

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[OOC: Open for that one dude. You know, him.]

After sloshing out for some lunch and checking the outside of (Y)MCA to make sure the rising damp wasn't making its way into the apartments, Xander was sitting in the living room with his laptop, listening to the radio again, since the first run-through had mostly been obliterated from his memory by his momentary freakage at Broots' totally incorrect description of yesterday's TOTALLY NON-MAKING-OUT-FILLED events.

Freakage slightly less now that he noted the ongoing theme of 'squirrels gone wild' in last night's broadcast, but still.
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[OOC: For a phone call. ETA: and a visitor, la]

That noise coming from Xander's apartment wasn't the rhythmic thumping of a head against a wall this time. It was the sound of a guy singing in the shower about ordinary days. Loudly. So loudly that he didn't hear the phone on the bathroom counter proving that Simon and Garfunkel made a really crappy counterpoint to Great Big Sea.

Until he stepped out, wiped the steam off the mirror, and had to fumble for the cell with wet fingers before it buzzed itself off the countertop.

Then there was an outgoing call.

Then came the thumping.

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[OOC: open for a specific call, but if anybody feels like dealing with him before then, he'll answer the door. He'll just be a basketcase.]

This? Would be the sound of Xander's head rhythmically beating against the wall of his living room. Just in case anybody wondered. It was a real wall, at least; good craftsmanship. No sign of a dent.