open post ;

[freehugs]

inspirational message of the day:



“ The true worth of a man is to be measured by the objects he pursues. ”

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[freehugs]

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?"

[earthtomars]

"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."