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“ The true worth of a man is to be measured by the objects he pursues. ”
“ The true worth of a man is to be measured by the objects he pursues. ”
“ The true worth of a man is to be measured by the objects he pursues. ”
“ The true worth of a man is to be measured by the objects he pursues. ”
ilusomuch
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.
hoohahahaha
"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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
"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?"
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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."