Through the Mail Slot

Sparkle had been... less than functional today. The episodes of Sesame Street that an errant wish yesterday had bestowed upon him had gone away again, and so even getting his hands on his brainless g-rated amusements would have involved stealing from, like, PBS or whatever. Which Sparkle wasn't entirely opposed to, but figuring out torrents and shit involved thinking. And brains. And... combining the two, somehow, so that brains were doing thinking, and Sparkle wasn't exactly feeling that so much just yet.

So he'd kind of pottered around the apartment aimlessly for a while. At some point, he'd remembered how cereal worked. Somewhere around noon he'd realized that he was halfway through cleaning the bathroom for what was apparently the third time already, and around what would have been suppertime, he was already on his fifth shower.

By the time the evening rolled around and Sparkle could see his reflection in the bathroom floor, he'd given up on shower six and had mostly just deposited himself on his back in the otherwise empty tub, poking halfheartedly at whatever stupid cell phone game he could get for free from Google. There was a game that involved tapping the screen. Just tapping the screen. And it was just cartoony enough that the little cartoon character swinging the sword around to beat up cartoonish monsters didn't even bother him all that much.

If anyone asked, he'd just say that it was cooler in the tub than anywhere else in the apartment. He was Canadian. He wasn't made for... comfortable planetoid weather.

Shut up.

[OOC: Open mostly for phone calls, though that guy who lives here is welcome to check up on Sparks in person for our hilariously mismatched SP if he so desires.]

Oh, Sparkle was in a good mood. He'd had a place in mind in case of one of Leto's surprise visits for a while now, and it just so happened that said visit was going to coincide with his return from the ski trip (and surprise Christmas, damn him!) that he'd gone on with Atton. So Sparkle had called ahead to make certain they were even open to the public, and then had specifically asked about which areas of the conservatory had the most moisture in them, "because we've got someone here with respiratory issues."

Hey, a little white lie for the sake of Leto's comfort never hurt anyone, did it?

"Okay, so," he said, grinning as he practically skipped through the portal, "we want to avoid the Mediterranean house this time of year. They keep it wet and foggy for the benefit of the plants inside. And the tropical house is humid to the point of being misty in there. But there's a desert house which might have some plants you haven't seen, if you like, or an orchid room, which is, like, super colourful, and they make sure that everything that's on display is in bloom, or else they'll swap it out for another one. The palm house should be pretty okay, too, with big tall trees and flowers and things, but if you're not sure about it, we can skip that one."

And the outdoor public gardens, eh. They had trees in 'em, but they probably weren't quite the sight to behold in late December as they were in, like, mid-July.

[OOC: For that guy! NFB for off-islandness!]