Worthy to be a McClain

Moving In

QUICK AUTHORS NOTE: From here on out if you see anything misspelled please tell me so I can fix it.

Mounds of boxes were scattered across the small living room; some lucky enough to be on the posh blue couch that stood against the wall. But by it being a posh couch really meant it was the nicest thing there. Which said a lot.

One of these boxes was also in Lance's possession; containing sheets, blankets, and pillows, yet here Lance was with his stick arms struggling to hold it. 'Damn.' He thought, dropping the box to the floor. 'I should've taken Veronica up on her offer to go to the gym.' He wobbled over to the couch and slumped onto its "elegant" light blue, silky looking cushions.

It was itchy as hell.

Miserably, Lance continued to sit there lazily, still trying to recover from walking up and down 3 flights of stairs continuously, all the while holding boxes that felt like they weighed a billion lions. He would've been in great shape if he had accompanied Veronica on all her trips to the gym. She might as well have lived there.

But Lance, as lazy as he was, always made excuses to why he couldn't go. From bringing up homework that was past due, to having to walk the neighbor's non-existent dog; a poodle with pearly white curls that puffed over its eyes, but behind those monstrous puffs were two looks into the spiraling ocean. Veronica had believed him for the most part, due to the fact that his tongue spoke volumes. The information was false of course, but it always sounded so truthful. Hell, Lance didn't even need to recite these lies; he was able to improvise at any moment without a single slip of his words.

Lance was indeed an excellent liar. There is no doubt in Lance's ability to get away with murder. That was even something his sister Veronica said to the family once.

He stretched out his arms as he did his lies, and let his eyes bounce about the living room; taking in its bland walls that were enveloped in what looked like a 20 year old coat of paint, with small cracks and in some areas chipping paint. Above him was a popcorn roof that had a fan secured in the center, or at least secure enough. 'Hell knows when that thing comes crashing down.' Lance judged, scratching his chin as he thought of such an outcome. 'Eh, not my problem.'

Lance's eyes dropped to his feet, where they stood atop brown wooden floorboards; similar to coffee grounds. Looking up from his feet Lance turned his attention to a TV stand that leaned heavily against the wall far in front of him. Unconsciously he sucked his lips inward and continued to stare at the stand thoughtfully. 'What lovely furniture they've left for us. Sandpaper couch and unstable TV stand.'

Standing proudly in the center of the room was a glass coffee table that absorbed and reflected fragments of golden light illuminating from the window. Which created a warm golden glow in the room, that reminded Lance of the warm fire that'd burn in his chimney when he was younger. All his siblings would huddle up together in the winter, holding their hands out to the fire to warm them. 'Fire table.'

Lance rose from the couch and walked toward the window, careful not to knock over any boxes. He slides the curtains open; revealing the many buildings across the street. But one building in particular had caught his eye, as compared to the others it was colossal. The sight of it astonished him, and made him really realize how small he was. "Nice isn't it?" a voice spoke behind him.

Lance jumped, quickly turning around to see his older sister Veronica, who stood before him peering curiously back at him. Veronica's gaze shifted from Lance to the window, as she walked closer towards it and smiled. "I see the Gifford skyscraper has caught your attention. It was built in 1973, and stands at a whopping 146 ft tall." Veronica continued looking out the window knowingly. "Impressive right?"