33 Apocalypse Ave, Saturday afternoon

Margo hadn’t been outside the weird nightmare house when Eliot got out. And — and he didn’t really have any other friends around here, did he. Sure there was Jon, but the last time he’d talked to Jon he’d accused him of making history worse by existing in it, so he’d probably burned the fuck out of that bridge.

So Eliot had gone home. And found that empty, too.

( cut for references to substance abuse and self-medication )

[mostly for establishment purposes, but can also be open if anyone has reason to stop by.]