existencemisspent | 33 Apocalypse Ave, Monday morning

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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!]

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From:

existencemisspent

"Jesus, I should hope not," Eliot said, shaking his head and sipping his cocktail. "Not the ones that are strictly deadly instead of recreational, anyway."

From:

not_a_goddamn_princess

“But it explains a lot,” Margo said. “Like how the creepy murder apartment wasn’t a place where anybody did the murdering.”

From:

existencemisspent

"And how it wasn't crazy haunted," Eliot said blithely. And took a large sip of his cocktail because oops. Ghosts. "Though I suppose if weekends like this one are terribly common, I can see where an actual poison shop could be . . . a thing. . . ."

From:

not_a_goddamn_princess

“Can we please not talk about the weekend,” Margo said, pulling a face. “Because fuck, I’m already not gonna be able to wear hair bands for a while.”

From:

existencemisspent

Eliot nodded. "Of course, Bambi." He shifted to loop his arm around her shoulders. "My apologies. Is there any poison still lurking in your store, then?"