You're the Palette to my World

This stupid, hell-raising machine never works! Never! I can never have a peaceful morning ever.

“Stupid mother fuck-“
I couldn’t help but slam the fucker on the counter a few times... I stopped to pant when somebody cleared their throat, oh shit.

“Uh, Frank? Why, may I ask, are you trying to murder my coffee machine?”
Though Ray sounded like he was expecting an answer, Frank remained slumped over the machine on the counter, panting like a serial killer who had just been caught in the act.
“Goddamnit Ray, “He moaned, slipping off of the counter to turn and plead with him.

“It’s your fucking house…Fix this machine, fix it!”
Frank braced his fingers in his greasy bed-head and tugged it in an extremely frustrated manner. Ray smiled brightly, so that the corners of his eyes wrinkled. He gave a short glance at Frank and then his eyes traveled to something on the floor, and back up again…

“And tell me again, Frank… Why I should trust you with my house for a month?”
Ray asked with no bite in his tone, only amusement. Frank sent him a glare and after lingering on that thought, he shrugged with a huge smile,

“I have no fucking clue, bro… I don’t even trust myself anymore.”
After laughing at Ray’s terrible choices, Frank turned back to the: Small-but-very- complicated-piece-of-machinery… The shiny Mr. Grinds on the counter,
“Alright, well- That’s reassuring…”
Ray picked up a few things he would be taking in his carry-on for the plane…
(Ray’s backstory: He’s a semi-famous impressionist artist that is absolutely brilliant… But his work has only been well recognized and appreciated in Europe. He has been invited to stay in Paris, free- of- charge in the well-known and prestigious Ritz hotel and has a line of people begging to see his art and pay a hell of a lot of mucho for it to place in their famous restaurants, museums, and manors. He’s going to be traveling to Paris-Germany-Spain and Italy all in a month and he doesn’t even have to pay for it! Frank wished that he could paint half as well as him, or maybe he should start with just a straight line?)

“So, you need to bathe Lucy every other week and take her to the salon every two weeks for a trim, Oh! And also, take her for a 20 minute walk every other day… She knows how to use the toilet, so you should be fine with that… Uh- The Recycling only goes out every other week, Stay out of my studio please and I would appreciate it if you used the guest bathroom.”
Ray sent Frank a glance over his shoulder,
“Oh! And last, but not least, if my mother calls answer and tell her to try my cell. And Frank, really, truly- call me if you need anything… please.”
Ray said this all as he was making his way to the door and Frank’s head was spinning but he still managed to come up with a dumb retort,

“Don’t forget to send me a postcard… And an obligatory Eiffel tower picture, okay!?”
Frank grinned to himself as he heard Ray ‘mhmh’ with humor and loudly shut the door…
But then it opened again. Ray appeared back in the kitchen in another moment and Frank looked at him curiously.

"Oh, and Frank..."
Ray picked up the plug to the coffee machine and showed it to Frank with a rather smug smile. He plugged it into the nearest outlet and ran out of the kitchen and down to his taxi before Frank could say anything in his own defense.
"Cheeky son of a…”
Frank grumbled after him, smiling despite himself.
He shook his head ruefully as the machine began to burp and gurgle, forming some sort of hot beverage.

“And what’re you looking at, punk?” He asked sternly, but jokingly to Ray’s adorable Havanese, Lucy.
She cocked her scrappy head and decided that then would be a great time to scamper away, her paws clacking on the tile.
“That’s what I thought…” Frank giggled, getting out the mug that Ray got him for Christmas last year… It was gigantic and purple and said what other people were too modest to call him to his face… “Queen Bitch”