Ulysses Zane (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
amitragic) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomtownies2021-09-10 04:41 pm
amitragic) wrote in fandomtownies2021-09-10 04:41 pm
Entry tags:
The Perk, Friday Afternoon
So yeah Ulysses was back in Fandom after like, what? Five, six years? And he had no fucking clue how he'd ended up here, and none of the increasingly frantic and yell-y texts he was trying to send to Los Angeles were delivering at all.
(Yes, the only reason he was even out of the apartment was because he'd been trying to chase a signal that never showed up.)
And now he was at the Perk, having a giant cup of coffee and something far too sugary - because caffeine and sugar were clearly what he needed on top of all that excessice vaping he'd been doing all morning - and drumming his fingers anxiously against the edge of the table while he scrolled through his phone.
Or tried to, anyway.
Because, you see, none of his feeds were updating at all. And somehow that felt liek the freakiest thing of all.
[ooc: So open!]
(Yes, the only reason he was even out of the apartment was because he'd been trying to chase a signal that never showed up.)
And now he was at the Perk, having a giant cup of coffee and something far too sugary - because caffeine and sugar were clearly what he needed on top of all that excessice vaping he'd been doing all morning - and drumming his fingers anxiously against the edge of the table while he scrolled through his phone.
Or tried to, anyway.
Because, you see, none of his feeds were updating at all. And somehow that felt liek the freakiest thing of all.
[ooc: So open!]
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"Mmm, lucky you."
Eliot had rather thought that before Fillory, too. You know, other than an ironic one or a paper one at a fast food place or something.
"Anyway. That's depressing. And you look like you've had enough depressing or brainbreaking already today. You've been around here before, and look like you might know a thing or two about having fun. What's there to do in this little seaside whimsey fest?"
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Which was actually embarrassingly close to what he'd been doing just last night, all these years later.
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Eliot considered that.
"Points . . . docked for the bike." There were definitely more dignified modes of travel out there, Uly. "But I do appreciate a man who enjoys getting into trouble."
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(Or a broke twenty-something, ahem, and now Uly was wondering whether his bike had also made the random trip from LA to here.)
"Don't know if all that trouble's still here." A beat. "Well, no, I guess I do. Since it's only fucking been months over here."
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"Yeah, maybe," he said instead. "What about you? What do you, um, what do you like to do?"
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Wow. That was actually depressing.
"Though I used to throw the most amazing parties. . . ."
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"Used to?" he asked. "Figure you might start again?"
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He only remembered the one that served minors, funnily enough.
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"Two, I think. The one with the stoic bartender and the one which turned Margo into a woo girl for three days."
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It seemed to go with the zombie band thing.
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"Oh? Does it do that sort of thing a lot?"
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That really was the extent of his logic there, yeah.
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"Like . . . the cocktail?"
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". . . Huh. That seems. . . ." Smelly at best and unfathomably dangerous at worst, honestly. ". . . Less than festive."
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He made a face immediately after saying that, then rubbed at his temple.
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“You know, I’ve sat down for drinks with a talking bulldog named Bristlyfoot, and I still find a zombie band odd.”
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One of his hands went up to his hair again. It didn't stay back this time, either, but the routine of the motion was a jittery kind of comfort. "I don't know, maybe there's like... different levels of weird."
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"It is nice to know the multiverse can still surprise me."