(Untitled)

[dingdongdoodily]

They both stumbled up the stairs and back to room VII, where Pickles tossed his notepad onto the desk before dropping back into bed, still warm from their laying there.

"What kept you up, dude?" He asked, lighting a cigarette.

Comments

[cheevy]

Miniver sits cross-legged on the edge of the bed with his brandy.

"Dunno. I was cold. Then I thought I found a poem but it disappeared under the feet of all the ghosts we can't see and I couldn't find it again. I got some milk to fall asleep but it didn't work. So I got something stronger and went to go back through the labyrinth to find you again and you were in a different place."

He recounts the story with distant interest, sounding pleased to have bumped into Pickles. "I am sorry you woke up though. What kept you up?"

[dingdongdoodily]

"Pretty much the same thing, and if you just said somethin', dude." Pickles snickered, leaning over to give Miniver a kiss before standing again, plodding over to the fireplace, tossing a few logs and a bit of kindling onto it, before lighting it.

"I wasn't sure if it was gunna get too hot or somethin'." He said, smiling slightly. "If it does, we can always do what I did when I was back in Wisconsin and crack open a window."

He dropped himself in front of the fireplace, and just watched the flames. At least his old self knew better than to NOT have a fireplace. He wondered if Mordhaus had one in his room with a vague smile.

"C'mere." He said, waving Miniver over.

[cheevy]

The sleepy hippie tumbles over and into Pickles' arms, offering the brandy glass up to his lips.

"Tell me about Wisconsin?" he asks softly.

[dingdongdoodily]

Pickles took a sip of the brandy, before squeezing Miniver's side, and laying back, propped up against his elbows.

"Whaddya want to know?" He asked, turning first to Miniver, then to the fire.

"I mean, I could tell you about it from what I remember, it's been about 8 years since I've been there."

[cheevy]

"Anything."

He sprawls on his stomach next to Pickles, close to the fire, brandy glass in his hands. "Anything you find... impotant. Vivid. Anything that sticks in your mind. That's important, somehow. I want to see pieces that mean something to you, more'n just Los Angeles."