33 Apocalypse Ave, Monday morning

Right, so. That was . . . a thing that had happened. Both Eliot and Margo were old hat by now at experiencing their own deaths, thanks to the Beast and multiple attempts at running a probability spell that had shown them maybe a dozen variations upon that theme. So when they woke up in the library after spending the weekend as ghosts reliving their untimely demise, there had been only a few moments of clinging to each other and reminding themselves that they were real and alive before they headed home to bury their feelings in champagne and resplendence.

"What do you think, Bambi? Champagne cocktails or French 75s?"

He'd offer her a bloody mary but, well. He'd had rather enough of blood, this weekend.

[Mostly for the bestie but also can be open!]