fandomtownies | Caritas; Wednesday [12/01].

Summer maybe spent five minutes listening to one of the dolls on the bar that Tino was apparently very excited about before she was going to pull a big fat veto.

"Nope," she said. "No way. They're going in the back room, all of them. I don't care if you think they're cute, they're actually creepy, and I have been through waaaaay too much crap to ever trust something that cute speaking in a language I can't understand. That always ends up badly."

He tried making a appeal that if that were the case, weren't they better out here where they could keep an eye on them>?

"Absolutely not," Summer insisted. "They're much better contained in a singlular place until they disappear tomorrow because it's December, and, oh god help us all if they're going to be cumulative, but if that's the case, then it's the next bartender's problem."

So the creepy-cute dolls were all shephered in an indecipherable babble to the back room, where Summer would ponder going over Caritas' insurance policy regarding fire and whether Kitty would feel burning down the entire back room was a necessary step in this case.

God, she really hoped they wouldn't wind up, like, summoning Christmas demons or something back there...

Wednesday Jello Shop Specials!

First One Free with a Karaoke Song!

Candy Cane Martini
Fireball Apple
Caramel Macchiato
King Crab Salad

Caritas is open!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Like Eliot wasn't going to take advantage of a karaoke special.

Beautiful Dreamer wasn't the most festive, but it'd fit right into a bit of old-timey caroling at least. And it suited his gentle tenor extremely well.

Jon nodded to Eliot as he finished. "Good evening. You've got a good voice."

"I know," Eliot said with a smile. "But it's nice to hear it, so thank you. How are you doing, Jon?"

Hungry. Spread thin.

"I'm fine. Well, I wouldn't mind fewer profanity-spewing dolls around the place. You've been well, I hope."

“Uh huh. You look like shit warmed over,” Eliot said.

He was completely unsurprised to hear the dolls were cursing.

Jon did his best to look indignant, despite knowing it was true. "Thank you very much. Maybe I'm not sorry I missed dropping by this week."

"The last two," Eliot said idly. "You missed the fanged turkeys as well." He shook his head. "There has to be some way we can get you some decent food without Margo needing to rip your arms off."

"Fanged...? Fanged turkeys." Jon barely managed to keep it from being a question.

He nodded awkwardly at the rest of it. "I've...um. I've been considering a few things. I don't..." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I thought if I could restrict it to people who deserve it...but I've thought that before. I'm...I'm not very good at it."

“Plus there’s the whole sticky bit of deciding who ‘deserves’ it.”

"That, um...yes. That's a very big part of it." Jon finished his current drink and lit a cigarette. "Rationalisation is regrettably easy."

“I can imagine.” Eliot clapped his hands together. “Right. My portal research is going nowhere. I’m going to see about . . . psychic blocks, maybe. Something that will let you feed without driving people — like, say, me — insane.”

It took Jon a moment to process that. "Wait, what? Erm...that is, I'd appreciate it if you'd explain a bit."

“I’m going to find a spell,” Eliot said slowly, “to keep your little eyeball friend from dream stalking me if I tell you some of my deep dark shit. So you look less like the victim of a famine.”

Jon sat silently and stared at him, dumbfounded.

Eventually, he managed a weak, "It's me, not the eye."

Because a point of clarification seemed more pertinent than freaking out or sobbing on Eliot in gratitude in the middle of the bar.

“Okay, well. You’re not allowed to haunt my dreams again either,” Eliot said. “I’m thinking I can use Margo’s severing ritual as a base to work off of, since we know that worked.”

"And you think you could get it to work." Jon swallowed down so many questions, along with a bit of panic and a lot of frantic hope. "To...to help without the nightmares."

“I do,” Eliot said. “I’ve always been good at shielding. It helped when I wanted to taunt the psychics at school.”

"I...I wonder if that's a story you could tell me," he said almost frantically. He needed a lot more time to think about this before he could figure out how he felt, so he grabbed onto the chance to change the topic.

Eliot laughed. "God, no. Taunting the psychics was fun, not traumatizing." He tilted his head. "Oh. You mean I actually can tell you."

"Yes, um." Jon managed a weak laugh. "I'm honestly not sure what to make of the rest," he admitted, "and that sounded like a fun story."

“Not much to tell, really. A couple of the psychic kids tried to tell me off for dirty thoughts early first year, so I developed strong shields and projected only the most cutting insults and dirtiest memories and fantasies at them in revenge.”

Ah, those were the days. When his most pressing issue was what present to bring with them to the annual orgy in Ibiza.

"I should have liked to see someone try that against E...well, my last boss," Jon said. "It never occurred to me."

He probably wouldn't have gone with the dirty memories anyway, but Tim might have.

Caritas; Wednesday [12/01].

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