jolly green giant

These days, Margot spends more of her nights at the bottom of a bottle than not. The hangovers are rolling at this point, an annoyance more than anything. She's a stark contrast to the girl she'd been growing up. That girl was a rule follower, so put together, so sure of herself. She was gone now, Margot had made sure of that, personally hammered the final nail in her coffin years ago. This new version was never meant to end up in Atlantic Landing.

"'m fine," she pushes herself into a sitting position to prove her point, though all that does is slump her forward instead, "I should go home. I just gotta... wait for the room to stop spinning."

Drunk girls on his couch wasn't exactly a new sight, but this was Margot. He shifted closer without completely invading her space, something he was too good at, one hand hovering over her elbow so he didn't touch unless she tipped too far forward. Old playground instinct. Don't let Mary Henderson eat shit on your watch.

"Room spinning means you're not going anywhere yet." She definitely couldn't drive home and she was in a clear vulnerable position. With who she was, he didn't think he could trust a cab service or let her walk home alone. "Just take a minute, yeah? The couch is all yours or I can take you back to your place," he offered. He had drank, but certainly not to her extent, and her lopsided frame had bucked him back into sobriety.

"Yeah, I just need to lock up," she confirms, walking away to tuck the Fiona Apple cd back in it's place, "I don't uh- I walked and it's really not that far. I don't want to put you out."

He grabbed his jacket, shrugging into it. "Oh. Yeah. Totally fine. I mean, I was gonna head out anyway." The tidbit of information left out was that he had drove and most people, would just offer her a ride, but a walk sounded nice, even if the temperature was dropping. He just made a mental note to force Merritt into driving him to get his vehicle in the morning.

He waited for her by the door, holding it open as she finished locking up. "'Sides," he said, almost offhand as they stepped into the cold, "Nice to have company. Lead the way, Stella James."

Margot wouldn't say she's been avoiding Milo since she got back to town, but she hasn't exactly gone out of her way to see him either. Merritt was easier to reconnect with, albeit the lingering awkwardness, but maybe that's because they'd drifted a bit even before Margot left town. Her and Milo had been thick as thieves right until she'd stepped on that plane, she likes to think for a little after, even. And then they'd drifted, too. She'd drifted, stopped visiting home, became someone she barely recognized. Does anyone even remember who she was before it all? Does Milo?

Going to the Stone's house had probably not been her best idea, getting drunk there was a bad one, sitting down on their damn couch had been the worst. She'd fallen asleep on it as preteen more times than she could count and that was without the help of any sort of substances. "Miloooo," his name is drawn out into almost a whine, hazy blue eyes struggling to stay open long enough to focus on him, "Milo, Milo, Milo. That's a nice name, interesting." The last word is slurred behind a tiny grin, "Bet no one would want you to change it."

"You remember that time I tried to go by Jake in the second grade?" He asked, recalling a slight obsession with Sixteen Candles when him and his sister got a hold of the VHS as children. Milo figured it was easier to be this way. Pretend like there wasn't something in the air between them. Betrayal. Hurt. He never tried to dwell too much on it, especially now that she was here. Back in the flesh.

"You good, Mar?" She was drunk, that much was obvious and not exactly a massive surprise. Not only in the Stone basement, but he had seen the magazines, the photos, the headlines. He never bothered to pick them up, choosing to keep his memories of Mary as they once were. "Because we have Advil, water, blankets. Won't make you raw dog the hangover." Since that was sure to come.

"Oh, nice!" she grins, turning the CD over in her hands. She does like Fiona Apple, but... "Cool girl? I think you've got me mixed up with someone else."

"Cool girl stuff is kinda broad, though, huh?" He admitted, rubbing his hand across his forehead. Maybe he didn't know Stella all that well, but she played music, right? Known thief? Listened to some pretty tight music? That seemed to tick off some boxes.

Eventually, he pushed off the counter. "Are you about done? I can walk you to your car." Bad assumption. "Or, the general direction of wherever you're going." He was pretty certain she could hold her own, never one to assume that a girl needed his help, but he'd offer it nonetheless.

When she mentioned satantic rituals, his head snapped up. Did she really do that? Not that people didn't talk about what Juno got up to when her shop doors closed at night, but satanic? No way.

"You're cool with satanic rituals, but you draw the line at alcoholic beverages?" He let out a scoff, nodding her head. Still, it wasn't enough to deter him, even if he was a little wigged out. "We've got mixers? That's gotta count for something, right?"

Bunny had—as they’d promised their coworkers—shown up to the Stones’ party, but they hadn’t exchanged words with Milo or Merritt yet. (At the front door, they’d ended up entering behind someone and had probably missed some sort of greeting and/or courteous offering of a beer.)

There Milo was, though, without anyone talking to him…and here was Bunny. …They’d figured that that realization alone would be enough to put their feet into motion and allow them to show some politeness for the Stones’ hospitality tonight. But Milo was somebody that, if Bunny had trouble being “earnest” with most individuals, they particularly struggled to interact with without some sort of joke or triviality on hand.

Still, it was now or never. Bunny took a long sip of beer and headed toward the foot of the staircase.

“So this is probably something you hear from everyone,” Bunny began as they approached Milo. (For the love of Jesus, Bunny, do not turn this into a joke.) “But…I get it. I get why this is the party place.”

There was probably not a person on this earth that had less in common with Bunny.

“Anyway. Thanks for a fun night—I’m not the obvious person to wanna come to something like this, but…” They shrugged. “I might just be a convert.”

It's not like they knew each other. Milo had seen them in Bend, of course he did, but they both kept a decent amount of distance between each other. Not because of any reason, at least not on Milo's end.

"Oh?" He breathed out. "Yeah? You get it?" He huffed out a laugh, reaching a hand around to rub against his neck. It wasn't that he wasn't used to the compliments of the basement parties he and his twin threw, but coming from Bunny? It felt like an actual compliment, not a I really just want to get invited back to the party house compliment.

"No way. I mean, you willingly coming to one of these?" Milo tapped his chest with the hand holding his beer. "That's like, a huge honor."

"But you're having a good time, right?" Milo asked, genuinely curious. "And the music's good? We're not super picky on it, except there is a rule that we have to play something Top 40s to keep Merritt from freaking out."

"Yeah, uh, sorry we're more of a... Lipton-in-the-summertime kind of household," he said, mouth twitching. He was about to offer another half-baked apology when she dove into the fridge and resurfaced with something that closely resembled mint. He couldn't even remember what that could have been for. A cocktail his dad was making weeks ago, maybe?

He pushed off the doorframe to get a closer look. "That looks like it's seen better days." Honestly, it was a miracle it hadn't liquefied in there. "But yeah, take it, man. It's your funeral if it's rank. What do you even plan on doing with that thing?"

His smile at Milo's comments is closer to a real one this time, but he's still grateful for the topic change. Despite the rejection he'd felt earlier in the night, he does have some sort of romance going for him. At least, he thinks so. "Yeah, uh- I've actually got a date with Austen this weekend," he shrugs like it's no big deal, but his grin gives him away. Austen didn't seem like the type to agree on a date with just anyone, so even the acceptance has made him feel special, worthy in a way. "She's really cool, you know? Super pretty, too. I'm psyched."

He'd probably be a little jealous too if Austen didn't freak him the fuck out (AKA Chloe needs a reason for why they would never interact).

He took a slow sip of his beer, letting the carbonation bite at this time, buying himself a moment of time. "Me?" Milo echoed, his gaze dropping to the bottle label he was picking at. "Uh, no. I mean, Stella's cool, but she's like... too cool, you know?" Like Sloane, and Fallon, and all the other Benders.

"Seriously, Austen?" He brought it back up again, mostly from the sheer dumbfounded look on his face. "I mean, what'd you have to do? Send a cow and three goats to her dad for her hand in marriage? I thought she was like, too hoity toity for dating."

MILO: some of us have a life outside of our pixelated boxes

MILO: shit idk have you tried asking her?

MILO: nvm you have

MILO: some of us have a life outside of our pixelated boxes

"Don't worry, I'm planning on doing a quick clean-up before we make more mess on top of it. Some bleach wipes and a little incense fix everything." Merritt considers the post-party mess that's bound to plague them afterwards. "Do you think we could pay one of the stupid ones to come back and pick up all the trash? I've got like, a ton of weed. We could probably bribe Rhys and his idiot."

Merritt pulls her server pad out and flips to a clean page; she's a list maker at heart, so that's exactly what she's doing now. Clean, burn incense, hide valuables... She pauses, tapping her pen against the pad.

"I mean like. Do we have to invite Randall? Last time he came I got stuck listening to him rant about how no one respected his creative genius and it, like, totally ruined my buzz." Not that buzz-ruining is a punishable offense, but it definitely should be. "Ugh, whatever, I'll make sure everyone knows to come. Especially Fallon."

She drags out Fallon's name in her teasing, though her own heart skips a beat thinking about the humanized rain cloud. Merritt adds another thing to her list: lemonade.

"I'm gonna' make you do it. Because I don't want to." She gives him a sweet smile. "And because I'm gonna move your laundry for you. And do the snack run. And clean off the patio furniture because I'm pretty sure there's still spilled beer on it from last time. Okay? Okay."

"Fine, I'll get the beer," he conceded, straightening up. Then, he used the privilege of his tall frame to lean over Merritt's shoulder just to peek at the list she was scribbling out. That's when her comment about Fallon made him perk up.

"Fallon?" Did he like Fallon? He really couldn't remember. She was pretty. Like, really pretty. The kind of pretty that made him take photos of her because the camera favored her. Which always bit him in the ass when she'd force him to destroy his film after. "What's Fallon got to do with this?" Other than the fact that she was cute.

He circled the bar again, pacing, restless that meant he was getting excited over their little plan. "So, you're doing snacks, laundry, patio cleanup, hiding the valuables," he counted on his fingers, "And possibly hiring Rhys and — Moosh, his name is Moosh to be out post party goblins? And I'm..." he trailed off, turning dramatically towards her. "Getting beer?"

He held a beat, nodded his head, satisfied. "Yup. Seems fair to me."

He yanked his keys off a nail near the back door, jangling them back and forth in her direction. "You coming with me or are you gonna stay here and alphabetize your chores? If we hit the 7/11, we could knock out beer and snacks."

Even if Spencer didn't enjoy Milo's company, which he does, he wasn't about to pass up on a free drink. There's no hesitation in his steps as he follows behind his friend, though there is a sag to his shoulders, an air of defeat he's hoping the alcohol will help him shake.

He mumbles a "thanks" as the beer is placed in his hand and it's immediately at his lips, about half of it gone by the time he pulls it away to answer Milo's question. "Yeah, all good, dude," he shrugs, another long sip, definitely the way that people who were all good! drank, "You know me, I'm always good."

But, Milo didn't call him out on it. That's wasn't a cool move. Besides, the best place to forget about any of that? The Stone basement. Milo lowered himself onto the arm of the couch, letting his legs stretch out.

"Yeah," Milo said, tipping the neck of his own beer toward Spencer, "you're always good. Just like how I'm about as graceful as a baby gazelle. Total facts."

But, there was humor in his voice, the kind that didn't poke too hard at the other. He already knew that people gave Spencer shit around town. Nothing Milo would have experienced. He had been in sports, he had the build and height for it, but he wasn't a star athlete.

"The babes," Milo brought the conversation around to something else. Deflect. Always a good move. "Any new babes on the market?"

He flashed the biggest, dumbest grin, reaching out to attempt to ruffle Milo’s hair enough to mess it up. “Respect your elders, you infant.” Rhys laughed as he followed Milo down to the basement, one hand sliding along the shaky railing like it personally owed him money. “How many asses have officially been busted on these stairs, man? Like, is there a plaque? A memorial wall? Should we light a candle for the fallen homies or just keep sacrificing freshmen to the Basement Gods?” He hopped the last two steps just to tempt fate. “I need stats. For science.”

He didn't get much more than that out before Rhys' hand met his hair. Milo let out a groan and tilted his head away as he swatted at the offending hand. "Dude, stop, cut it out," he said with his swats, but he was laughing, even as he tried to pat his hair back down. "These stairs have taken out at least five people," Milo spoke, definitively, with a nod.

"Wait, shit, no it's six if you count the kid who tried to ride a laundry basket down. Remember him?" He paused, not waiting for much time for Rhys to answer. "He almost astral projected." Milo's face wielded up into a wince as he remembered the guy. That almost turned into a hospital trip, which would have totally killed the vibe.

Milo nudged Rhys with his elbow. "Go get a drink, grandpa." He cracked a grin, urging the other to follow him further into the basement. "And no plaque yet, but I'll totally let you be the president of the Stone Basement Association if you want to get on that memorial."

got a question about your bestie's top six ? did you move down a spot ? move up ? just really curious why certain people made the cut ? now's the time to lock in and ask ! p.s. you can totally use this as another way to harass your co-workers either on or off anon !