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What, was "Rudy" on cable last night?

. . . Yes.

Eliot Spencer vdistinctive
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75 Godiva Street, Friday afternoon
So on the bright side, the unreasonable horniness of the last week was finally subsiding. No, wait, not the bright side. Eliot hated bright things. The dark and quiet and filled with painkillers side.

Eliot was very, very hungover. He blamed Pam. He wasn't entirely sure he remembered who Pam was, but he knew some woman had handed him a bottle of absinthe, and said woman seemed like a reasonable scapegoat for how Eliot felt right now.

He was pretty sure he'd made out with Vic. He'd definitely flirted around a bit. He'd drunk -- he didn't even know, but it was likely even Nate would be appalled.

Oh, and there was the whole thing where he went home with and slept with a vampire, last night. Navaan was not in the bed when he got up eventually to go let the dog out, so at least he got to avoid the whole morning after awkwardness, and while he remembered some teeth action, none of his hickeys broke the skin. So there was that, at least.

Right now he was working on cooking up a nice, messy omelette to put in his stomach along with the aspirin. It was taking a little while, since he refused to turn any lights on in his kitchen.

[ooc: Because there are at least two people on the island now who would want to poke the hungover Eliot. Open!]

Navaan had left his bed, yes, but only to go up and sleep in the attic. Dawn had been imminent by the time that sleeping had been a possibility, and Navaan didn't have enough clothing to keep herself covered from the sun.

But surely no one would bother her in the attic! Who decided to enter a house that way, rather than through the door like a normal person?

Parker, that's who.

Now she was staring at Navaan, trying to figure out why she was in Eliot's attic. Sitting on her feet, really.

Well, Parker was weird. So there. And Navaan knew weird, okay? Intimately.

Right now, though, she was deeply asleep, oblivious to any staring, or feet-sitting, or whatever else. She did try to shift a little, but the only effect of that was to help her lose the blanket she'd snagged on her way up to the attic.

So, really, Parker, the better question was why was a naked stranger sleeping in Eliot's attic?

Well, clearly, there was sex involved somewhere. Or crime. Or both!

Parker took hold of the sleeping girl's big toe, and wiggled it. "Why are you here?"

Navaan blearily opened her eyes and yawned, fangs glinting in the dim light in the attic. "Whozzat?" she mumbled. "Sex, blood, or rock'n roll?"

"Not my blood," Parker said, flipping off the bed toward the door. "You better not have killed Eliot!"

"Only a little death," Navaan said, and giggled.

...Perhaps that wasn't the best joke to make to Parker. Sophie would get it, though!

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Unlike his lovely partner, Hardison was going to use the door. Like a normal person. Attics were dusty and involved climbing (and naked vampires?), whereas walking to the door involved knocking. That was it. Maybe picking a lock, if Eliot decided not to answer.

"Yo, Eliot!" he called, banging on the door. Loudly. With his fist. "Eliot, open up! Eliot, I did not walk up another freaking flight of stairs for you to ignore me! Open your damn door!"

The egg Eliot was holding broke in his hand as he shut his eyes and growled.

Right. So today was the day he murdered Hardison. Good to know.

He stomped to the door, yanked it open, and stomped back to the kitchen without ever entirely opening his eyes to let that damn sunlight in. "For the love of god, Hardison, shut up."

"We-he-hell, look who's in a grumpy mood," Hardison said, all jovial mood. He'd had a great night--well, okay, a great past few days, and was willing to share the good mood with those he loved best.

Like Eliot!

Which was why he was whistling as he followed Eliot back into the kitchen.

"I don't understand how! The sun is shining, there birds are singing--" okay, it was mostly gulls croaking, but great mood remember, "--and this island is the best place in the world. How could you be so cranky, man? Didn't you go to some kind of swingers party last night? You didn't strike out, man, didja?"

How was Hardison's voice so piercing? "What? -- No." He squinted suspiciously at Hardison. "You've spent the last two days having sex with Parker, didn't you."

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," Hardison said. What gentlemen did do, however, seemed to involve smirking a lot and wearing their shirts inside out without noticing.

He crossing over to Eliot's fridge to poke around the contents. "Man, you need some Squeezy Orange soda," he said, hoping that Eliot had a sandwich or something tucked away. He'd been very active with few breaks for food, dammit. "What's a brother supposed to drink while he's visiting?"

"If a brother would give a guy a little warning sometime," Eliot said, attempting to go back to making his omelette. "Close the fridge. It's . . . bright."

"It's what?" Hardison glanced over to Eliot, peering into the dim depths of the kitchen. "Oh! You're hungover! Like...super hungover. Like...Nate levels of hungover!"

He...probably shouldn't be so damned amused by this. But Eliot. Hungover.

"Is it a very distinctive hangover?"

"I am going to very distinctively kill you," Eliot said, finally managing to finish his omelette and practically throwing it onto a plate. "The party last night was . . . alcoholic."

And very, very nice.

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