Doors

[Call to Luke H]

[Midnightish. If he doesn't pick up, she just redials and lets it ring again, never letting it get to voicemail. Ring. Ring. Ring.]

[Locked to Toby F]
[After this, and 500% done with everything ever.] Hey. I know this isn't your shit, but I just don't know what to do, and I don't know who to fucking tell, and I don't know how to fucking deal with it, and you're a doctor or whatever. My brother, his name is Louis Donovan, he had some fucking accident and now he's in mental in jail or some fucking shit, and I can't do anything the fuck about it. I don't know who the fuck else to tell, because everyone I know melted into fucking nothing, and they can't deal with more shit. But he shouldn't be out until he fixes his shit, and I don't know what the fuck to do, so, yeah. I don't know. Something. Fuck. We're all fuck ups. I warned you, baby.

[Some point during the night/morning after meeting Eddie.]

[Dell D.]

Dell did you use all the motherfucking ice?


[Public]

Why do bitches always hit in the face? Goddamn.

[Locked to Atwood]

Are you still interested in accompanying me on a case?

[As Oliver Q.]

Fuuuuuuck, does someone have the notes from Soc? From Bevins, Beevins, Beevans, Peevans, something like that? I can't remember the dude's name.

There is absolutely nothing like that feeling of putting pen to paper and churning out page after page of what I think, at least, is gold.

I'm not going to hold my breath on the writer's block being gone entirely lest I jinx myself. But this is a good start. A very good start.

Fireflight. Tentative project name. I'm sure a couple of you will get the reference.