The Penthouse Diary

[rose]

Welcome to the collective diary of The Penthouse Boys!

Better known as Kay Nielsen and Philippe Besixdouze, the boys live in the (run-down and overpriced) penthouse of the Jacobs Apartment Complex complete with a rose garden on the roof.

Their diaries will usually be updated in alternation and twice every fortnight.


Kay:
'Kay from The Snow Queen'

Kay is the silent, serious, and socially-inept English half of the Penthouse Boys. Book-smart but never street smart, Kay doesn’t talk much about his life to people – his journal, however, is another thing entirely. Very recently, Kay has been having problems with his eyes and his journal is a bucket-list of sorts, (with pictures, drawings and poetry to boot) just in the (very, very unlikely) case he doesn’t make it out alive.

Philippe:
'The Little Prince'

Philippe is a French-born funambulist (tightrope walker) and the brainiac/maniac behind Project Petit. His diary will chronicle his attempts to break into the Holy Catholic Church of Saint Mary and execute his 'artistic crime of the year'.
(Sign ups are still open for Project Petit. It'll take place approximately after the Snow Ball. S'il vous plait.)

Most of the graphics here are done by Rose, save for the brushes coming from brush-download websites. If (under the very unlikely situation) you need to use them, be sure to tell me.

If you like what you see, comment, comment and comment!
Alternatively, PM Rose.
Be sure to tell the Rosie here what you want to hear from the boys. They want to hear from you too.

[rose]

10th April, 2010.

Please don’t expect a ‘Dear Diary’ from this book. It’s a journal. Diaries are feminine.

I went for an eye checkup today. The doctors think I might have something wrong with at least one eye, but as for what it is they can’t say. It’s very disconcerting. I’ve been called for a follow-up next month; they can do a retina scan then.

It may sound stupid to you, but my greatest fear – ever – is to go blind. I’ve had my head shoved down numerous toilets when I was still in school. There isn’t anything anyone can do to me that can make me scared, really. What I’m afraid of most is myself. What I could degenerate into.

The doctors didn’t tell me to put my affairs in order, but I just want to be safe. I don’t know what to put in here, to be honest. Pictures? Love notes? Stamps? Somehow, given time, I think all of them will make in into these pages.

I’ll start small first. I’ll start with this list:

1) My name is Kay.
2) I’m twenty-eight this year.
3) My hair is brown. The same brown as treacle and syrup.
4) Both of which have never been put on my pancakes before.
5) I like my pancakes cold. I haven’t liked warm food in ages.
6) I took my last IQ test when I was twenty-one. I scored 176.
7) I work at the Last Petal llc – a flower shop in downtown New York.
8) There, I take care of the roses.
9) I love roses.
10) I’m aware that it’s very unmasculine to think so.
11) My boss is six years younger than me.
12) I feel very demoralized by this fact.
13) I have a diploma in Literature and another in Biological Physics.
14) If I weren’t short on money, I would have tried for a doctorate.
15) My other job involves guest lecturing at a school called the Baum Academy.
16) I teach teenagers about snowflake formation and water-crystals.
17) Sometimes, I get called in to relief Literature classes.
18) Most people can’t tell when they first meet me, but I come from England.
19) I had a best friend there.
20) And if that best friend is you and you’re reading this right now, please remember this: I still love you.

Goodnight.

[stairs]

Merry Christmas, Philippe
It’s been great getting to know you over the past few months. I don’t know if you keep a diary, but I hope you’ll like keeping this one.

Seasons Greetings,
Kay Nielsen
(23/12/2007)

* * *

[Written in French]

12-3-2010

I finally found this. It was propping up one of the pipes in the bathroom so the water’d run properly. I’m sure Kay wouldn’t mind not showering for tomorrow… and the next week or so…

Well, Kay gave me this diary for Christmas the year we first moved in together. (I got him a DIY Be-Your-Own-Mime makeup kit He hasn’t used it once. The jerk.) For the record, I was totally going to use this diary. Someday.

Well, today, I found the perfect use for it.

There’s a church downtown, St. Mary’s. And every time I walk past it I just can’t stop myself from looking up, in between the two towers, at the sky. It’s magical, it’s forbidden, it’s everything I want but can’t get. Can’t get, that is, until today.

It started with an interview – a lady from the local news came by to interview me and other buskers at the street corner – I think it was for the local news. I didn’t understand what she asked exactly, and so I kept quiet, but I did make a coin disappear, a deck of cards come out from my pants and her watch vanish off her wrist. (I’ve got it on the table with me right now. Rolex. Very expensive.)

Thing is, she held up her microphone, and it was still attached to a boombox by the cable. Amateurs, you might think – but, wait, I think I can show you how she held it:

See it? That’s not just any line. It’s the solution to my dilemma, a line linking both towers, a line I could walk on. It’s my tightrope. And it could fit perfectly between the towers.

I’ll need people to help me rig it up, get the equipment, get the manpower. And I can’t do it all by myself. Somehow, I need to get people to help me.

I’ve started collecting information about the towers. From books at first, then, from firsthand experience – sneaking into the towers, taking measurements with American tape – then, finally, I’ll walk.

If it works, I know something magical is bound to happen.

Love,

[rose]

((How long has it /been/ since I updated this? Gah!

REMEMBER - IF YOU LIKE IT, COMMENT! ))

Philippe is a jerk. I hate him. He’s an attention ho who cheats on his numerous girlfriends and expects me to keep quiet about them. I hate him. I despise him. I want to wring his neck.

And yet, he’s the only person I can really talk to.

So, for the benefit of this diary, here is a list of things about Philippe. Because, he might want to know what I think of him when I die and, well, because I always wanted to do one:

- Philippe’s mother used to dance without her shirt like Josephine Baker. He never talks about her much, so that’s all I know. Something tells me he can’t remember her.
- The first crime he ever got charged for was for climbing a statue of Napoleon Bonaparte and accidentally breaking off the nose. His father paid the fine. He still brags about how he kept a piece of the nose with him in his room.
- I’ve actually seen the nose. It’s black and kind of looks more like a rock.
- He sits around the house naked after a shower when he’s too tired to put on his clothes. It’s disgusting.
- The hair? He’s a natural blonde. It’s amazing.
- He doesn’t talk about his father much, but I think the yellow scarf he always wears is a gift from his dad.
- He spends almost an hour in the window, just waiting for the lamplights in the street to turn on. Apparently, it makes him happy.
- He has this annoying habit of looking elsewhere when you’re talking to him.
- He fidgets so often, that, when you look at his old photo albums, all the pictures of him are blurry.
- Once night, when it was storming outside, he came into my room and asked to share my bed because he was scared of thunder.
- His father is rich. Really.
- He must have at least half a million dollars ain a bank account somewhere. It’s how he pays for our rent. (Or, at least, that’s what he tells me.)
- He had a pet fox before, in France, but he let it go.
- I think he can fence. He has a sword – a rapier – in his room, but he’s never used it.
- The rapier would go for at least a thousand dollars on ebay. He’s not selling it.
- The rose he keeps in his house has a name: Ysatis de Saint-Simone. We call it ‘Simone’ for a nickname.
- He kissed me before on the lips when France beat England in football. It wasn’t pleasant. He’d painted his face red white and blue and temporary-tattooed ‘FRANCE’ on his chest that night.
- I see him outside the Last Petal juggling. I think he does it to annoy me.
- When he performs, he always draws a chalk circle on the ground so the audience knows not to step in it. He used to tell he did it to ward off evil spirits and I believed him.

Mhm. That’s all for now. Maybe next time I’ll make a list of why and why not I should lock him out of the house for a night. Just for the fun of it.

Goodnight,