33 Apocalypse Ave, Wednesday afternoon

[existencemisspent]

Eliot had been somewhat moody since his failed attempt at a love letter on Monday. (He was calling it a love letter ironically, of course, he wasn't in love with Quentin, he just had a very large crush on the ridiculous nerd boy and oh god he was doomed, wasn't he.) He had a lovely crop of moody scruff going, and was lazing about the house in proper tragically romantic despair, wearing his silk robe over what he was sure what Quentin's favorite of his waistcoats and watching all the period dramas he could find on Hulu and Netflix.

It was probably pretty insufferable, sorry, Margo. But at least he was mixing up some fantastically moody cocktails to go with the tragedy of it all?

[expecting one!]

Comments

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

“Oh god, are you still moping.”

Margo had only just closed the door behind her, hoping beyond hope to find Eliot a little more… Eliot. But no. He was still that Eliot.

She watched him for a moment, her arms crossed. “We really need to get you laid.”

[existencemisspent]

Eliot raised his martini glass. "I do not disagree. But the pickings locally are terribly slim."

There were hardly any impressionable young things staring wide-eyed at the magic around them! Everyone here was good looking but jaded, and Eliot brought plenty of that himself, thank you.

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

“You coulda come to three minute dates with me,” Margo said, rolling her eye. “I met your squirrely friend with the crush.”

[existencemisspent]

". . . One the squirrels has a crush on me?"

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

“No,” Margo said, and almost rolled her eye again, just because she could. “Uly-something?”

She’d been pretty drunk.

And scared the crap out of him.

[existencemisspent]

"Uly. . . ." Eliot said slowly, then brightened. "Oh!" He tilted his head. "I guess maybe there are a few prospects in town."

Ulysses definitely had the whole wide-eyed thing going for him. And was very pretty.

Eliot stretched his way into a more upright position. "Well. Tell all."

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

Margo barked a laugh, ’cause she kind of had to. “He wanted to know what you’d been saying about him,” she said. “He got the cutest little scrunchy puppy face about it.”

[existencemisspent]

"And you told him . . ."

What had Eliot said about him? It felt like it'd been ages since he'd even seen the guy around.

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

“I didn’t tell him fucking anything, I just told him he had the cutest little scrunchy puppy face.”

And terrified the shit out of him.

[existencemisspent]

"A Margo special then," Eliot said, laughing with a hint of their old mega-bitch menace. He set his glass down and stretched again. "Poor puppy --"

And promptly vanished into a puddle of silk and fine wool on the couch.

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

“Yeah, it was hilar– El?!”

What kinda Fillorian fuckery was this? She rushed to the sofa.

[existencemisspent]

A very annoyed yowl came from within the folds of the robe as a dark, curly haired cat wriggled its way out from under it. It yowled again when it spotted Margo, then sat up very straight to start grooming its front paw.

That had been very undignified!

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

“Oh hell no,” Margo said, staring at him.

[existencemisspent]

Eliot paid her little attention. He was too busy trying to smooth the fur between his ears.

(This was a Sisyphean task. He was quite possibly the fluffiest, curliest cat in existence. Or at least in Fandom.)