33 Apocalypse Ave, Saturday Afternoon

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

"Eliot, this isn't funny anymore."

He hadn't come back yesterday. He still wasn't responding to texts. And Margo had no idea why, besides the dawning terror that Fillory had gotten its hooks in him again and left her behind.

So now she was here, curled up into herself and tiny on the stairs, begging into the phone. If she hadn't had this entire stupid big house to herself, if there had been anyone who could see her, she'd-- She'd not be here like this. It was humiliating.

"Come on, El," she mumbled into the phone. "Talk to me. Please. Let me know where you are."

But no. It just went to fucking voicemail.

[[ open if you have a reason to stop by or call, as always. ]]

Comments

[intheeyeofthebeholding]

Should Jon be here? Probably not. But Eliot was a friend, and radio had said he was missing, and, well...Right. He should help as much as he could, little as that was.

So here he was, knocking on the door. Praying Margo wouldn't kill him before he even said anything.