33 Apocalypse Ave, Friday morning

Eliot stood in the kitchen window, watching the marshmallow snow and enjoying a hot cup of coffee, and wondered if he had a fashionable pair of wellingtons he could wear that wouldn't get too disgusting with sugar smeared all over the bottoms of them.

"Fucking whimsy," he muttered.

The oven timer DING!ed, and he turned to it with a frown. "Margo?" he called. "Did you make a breakfast pizza?"

[I think I'm funny. Mostly to establish his morning pattern, but also can most definitely be open!]