#ofclogan

elvie: i need you to film me spraying various hair products directly into my mouth

niko: what's up

     sage finds her upstairs, hidden away in a bedroom with a big dog lying next to her on the bed and the tv on. it’s irritatingly cute, something she thinks logan would probably not like to hear. a smile quirks her lips as she slips inside, shutting the door behind her and leaning back against it. “it’s called a party, logan,” she says when logan finally looks up and notices her there, and it’s maddening the way her stomach jumps. “you know, where you socialize with other humans? as opposed to their pets, i mean.” she indicates the dog, whose tongue is lolling contentedly out of the side of his mouth, apparently more than satisfied with the company. “you’re missing one hell of a banger downstairs.”

elvie: or have we not decided yet?

     he had a can of ultra sunrise monster in one hand and a half - eaten piece of licorice sticking out of his mouth as he opened the door and shuffled into logan’s apartment. the fact that he had switched back to chocolate twizzlers didn’t mean that he was over eloise he wasn’t, but elvie was in a better mood and the shift was visible on his face. “lo - rider,” he greeted the familiar blonde with a smile, “morning.” it was almost one o’clock in the afternoon, which lined up with his usual routine. wake up at noon, get stoned, then roll out of bed and start the day.       elvie had agreed to meet logan for what he assumes is going to be his breakfast and her lunch. “so, what do you feel like for lunkfast? i want waffles with whipped cream and candy corn.” his usual. he’s the sole reason that at least half of the diners in miami now know how to put together the obscure dish that isn’t on their menu. “oh, and a coffee,” he decided as if he wasn’t holding a can of monster in his hands as he said it. elvie is guessing that logan wanted to meet up so that she could check on him and he figures that it’s understandable now that she definitely knows about eloise. / @ofclogan​​

he couldn’t decipher logan’s mood from their text messages alone, but elvie deduced that she must be distressed or upset since she’s never made a habit out of asking for help, not even when she needed something as simple as a ride home. elvie’s driving slowed as he approached the address that logan had given him. he veered towards the kerb ( without using his blinker, of course ) when he spotted her standing in front of a huge building that appeared to be quite crowded despite the late hour. ( elvie is a night owl himself, but he can tell just from looking at the place that it isn’t his scene. not enough halloween decorations. ) he reached across the seat and pushed open the passenger side door with a small grunt of exertion. “greetings and salutations,” elvie smiled and gave logan a luke skywalker style salute. / @ofclogan

     niko is drenched from head to toe, yoga pants and t-shirt alike clinging to his skin and attracting any number of gnats and mosquitoes and who knows what others kinds of forest-dwelling insects he can’t be bothered with right now. it’s logan’s fault--just as she’d promised, she’d tossed him into the lake within an hour of reaching the campsite and unloading their luggage. not that he minds, of course; just as niko has still never quite managed to shed the excess energy and irresponsible nature of an adolescent, so too has he hung onto many of the simplistic pleasures of childhood. and when it comes to logan, that goes double--it’s all too easy for the pair of them to regress back to their much-younger selves and find enjoyment in such things as playing in the woods and roughhousing in the water. “you’re dead, logan!” he shouts as he pulls himself up onto the grassy bank she’d shoved him off of, grabbing for one of the water guns they’d hauled with them and dipping it into the lake to fill it up. “you better fill that other one up as fast you can, bitch, because i am going to drench you.” 

     he’s squelching around the mud in his boots, stepping over the intricate working of vines that seems to connect every single pumpkin across the whole patch. “these are my favorite,” he announces, nudging a grayish-green-looking one with his foot to check if it’s dented on the other side like so many others. “the frankenstein ones. they’re kinda small, but...” and, with his bare hands, he finally picks it up and brings it over to logan to inspect, mindless of the dirt he’s getting on himself--he’d word appropriate clothing. “hello, are you listening? look! lav and i only have orange pumpkins at home, we need a little frankenstein boy for diversity.”