April 8th, 2017

tight-lipped-face

Outside Oklahoma City, Saturday afternoon

Eliot wasn't sulking. He was laying low. He didn't feel right leaving Trudy to clean up after their father's mess, but until Emerson Spencer had the grace to actually die and stop cluttering up the damn world, there wasn't a whole lot he knew of that he could do, other than stay out of the way.

So he was laying low.

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[NFI, OOC welcome. Preplayed with . . . myself.]