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It's not the first time I've happened upon Logan in the very throes of teenage romance with his star-crossed lover, Bushmills, but it's certainly the fact that I never know what I'm going to find. What's on the menu for today? Just how many varieties of Flintstone vitamins do you have in your system? And is today the day I'm going to find you asphyxiated on your own vomit? Or are you saving that one until next time?

Oh, good. He has his best friends with him. Jim, Jack, and Jose.

"So!" she announces loudly enough to wake him up from where he is passed out at the table, the menagerie of bottles strewn about - quite frankly - is phenomenal. "Wow, did you hear that? That's nice, high ceilings, the sound really carries." It's not that she's pissed. It's just that she's really pissed.

She slides right on into a chair beside him at the table, thumbing at one of the bottle necks and eyeing him over. "We're doing this again, huh?"

Veronica Mars has this very, very annoying quality about her, where her voice is very, very loud at the worst possible moments. Actually, it's loud and annoying all the time but he is touched in the head and finds that quality endearing most of the time. You know, how she gets tough and sassy and she seems to grow six inches taller. Now is not one of those times, now he wants to put a muzzle on her like the rest of the zip code does.

He's insulted, by the way, that she thinks he's a puker. It's like she doesn't believe in him at all.

What is she doing here anyway? Has she come to torture him? Because Veronica, Veronica, Veronica, he's got that covered. He doesn't need help on the tortured troubled teen front, he's excelling there all on his own. Logan mutters some things that aren't very nice under his breath, and he's going to be sitting up now in three... two... one... and a half... okay there we go.

"Depends, are you here to make yourself feel better or say I told you so?"

Spoilers, neither one of those is a very rare occurrence. And that's really where he could use the muzzle right now.

Mumble away about all you want, Sir Echolls, but this girl is sitting in for the long haul. Call me crazy.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you? Should I have brought some pots and a couple'a utensils instead? Play you the spoons, pardner?" Her chin rests on a hand instead, sarcasm starting to bleed its way into her voice in some dangerous kinds of amounts. At least she's not shouting anymore. But it doesn't make her any much more tolerable as of right now.

She's been through it plenty of times before. The days of naivete and patience are far gone, when it comes to people I care about burying themselves in a bottle or two or ninety-nine up on the wall. And so her mouth ticks into a sardonic smile, a flat line across her face as her eyebrows raise and, okay, maybe she is here to do the whole 'I told you so' song and dance. Logan's right, they really aren't a rarity at all.

"Feeling any better about yourself over there?" she asks in a tight voice.

Can crazy sign a written contract stating that she's in it with him for the long term, real deal thing? Because he knows you Veronica, and it's always good to have it in writing with you.

Logan rubs at his forehead, there's a headache forming there and it's half hangover and half Mars induced because boy oh boy does he hate that smile on her face. He could name all of her smiles and there are a certain few that he absolutely hates getting from her.

"I was-- until a little harpy ruined it with her voice."

Oh, but she knows you too, Logan, and a contract? When has it ever been beneath you to break the rules now and again?

"Hmm," is all Veronica has to say to that little remark for a moment, unceremoniously plopping a brown bag of mystery (and probably sickeningly sweet) sugar-smelling baked foods in front of him. "I could sing if you wanted. My Country 'Tis of Thee?" No? She wiggles the bag, and as a second-best thing just kind of starts back at him in a sing-song voice instead, "But I brought breakfast! Hope you like lard!"

She doesn't exist just to torture Logan Echolls, and that's not the entirety of the reason she's here. It is, however, a nastily endearing byproduct at a time like this.

If she truly thought anything of him, she would've brought a greasy burrito instead of early onset diabetes in a bag. But he'll settle for calling it not completely hating him, since it smells like there's cinnamon rolls in there and he does love a good cinnamon roll.

"What? No coffee?"

He takes the bag from her, peering inside. Hello diabetic coma, perhaps he can squeeze in a few hours of sleep later on after all.

"What kind of sober friend are you?"

"Coffee's for people who answer my texts. Or - my calls, telegrams, carrier pigeons?" Her voice is careless, that kind of a way that a cat might play with its food before it actually tears in. "It could have been a bag of flaming dog poop, if you really wanted. Consider yourself in mildly good graces."

It's on account of that soft spot in her gut or elsewhere in her torso, that Logan Echolls part of her brain that always short-circuited her better reasoning. She hates that he has that kind of effect on her sometimes. Just another one of the girls, eh, Veronica?

She starts rummaging in her purse with a minute shake of her head, drawing out a bottle of Advil and holding it up in front of him. If he grabs for it at all, she'll just move her hand out of arm's length.

"We'll make one thing very clear, Logan - I am most definitely not your friend right now."

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all three posts you thought i was kidding but i wasn't

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