33 Apocalypse Ave, Saturday afternoon
Aug. 12th, 2023 04:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
existencemisspentMargo 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.
“Margo?!” he called, trying to ignore the echo of an unoccupied house. “Margo.” He checked her room. The bathroom. The goddamn kitchen to no avail. Finally he found himself in the living room, bellowing “MARGOOOOOOO!” to no avail.
He was alone. He’d escaped his nightmare and found himself . . . in his nightmare.
He swayed on his feet for a few moments, on the verge of hyperventilating, then swing into manic motion, grabbing bottles off the bar.
“At least this nightmare has liquor,” he muttered. And set his mind to drinking — and probably smoking and snorting, let’s be real — himself into oblivion.
[mostly for establishment purposes, but can also be open if anyone has reason to stop by.]
So Eliot had gone home. And found that empty, too.
“Margo?!” he called, trying to ignore the echo of an unoccupied house. “Margo.” He checked her room. The bathroom. The goddamn kitchen to no avail. Finally he found himself in the living room, bellowing “MARGOOOOOOO!” to no avail.
He was alone. He’d escaped his nightmare and found himself . . . in his nightmare.
He swayed on his feet for a few moments, on the verge of hyperventilating, then swing into manic motion, grabbing bottles off the bar.
“At least this nightmare has liquor,” he muttered. And set his mind to drinking — and probably smoking and snorting, let’s be real — himself into oblivion.
[mostly for establishment purposes, but can also be open if anyone has reason to stop by.]