Alan-a-Dale (waxingthepoetic) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2022-01-14 22:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | alan-a-dale, melpomene |
WHO Alan, and then Melpomene
WHEN Saturday
WHERE Aaaaall over town
WHAT New developments/old developments
WARNINGS not really
Alan had seen Much’s post when the comments were far into double digits and he knew before opening it up that something had gone terribly inside.
I’m about an hour away and I’m bringing quzi, samosas and knafeh. I don’t know if you’ve eaten much today, but I wager it wasn’t Saudi dumplings.
I want to see you showered and dressed when I get there, or no sweet cheesy for you
He sighed after sending the text. Melpomene was still a worry but at least Alan had something he could do for her, other than just play with Telos and give him another face to see. (And, god, Alan really loved playing with Telos. He'd take any excuse, even if every time he left Alan had to remind himself that Telos was not his, that he would never be his, and that this whole thing with Melpomene was on shaky ground.) The food not yet ready, Alan gave in to his desires and called Edward. He had to call, because Edward hated texting unless it was an emergency, and had explained to Alan that it wasn’t his fault, it was just an old person thing. He said it in his most put-on decrepit voice, the one that always made Alan laugh, and there was sadly no way that Alan could bring up being ancient and a master of texting. On the phone, Alan said, “let's go out dancing tomorrow, paint the town red together, put on our best glad rags.” Edward chuckled and it made Alan smile to hear. He should go visit Nora and Agnes and pick up more flowers. Edward loved gladioli and Alan wanted to shower him with them. Probably not literally, as it was a little out of his budget, but he’d see what his gorgeous lesbian florists could whip up with their magic fingers. It was actually more like an hour and twenty minutes when Alan arrived at Melpomene’s door, guitar still strapped to his back and paper bag of fortunately still hot food hanging off his arm, the smell of lamb and onion as tempting as it had been since the moment Rajaa handed it to him and kissed his cheek. “It’s Alan,” he told Melpomene-within after knocking, waiting for her to let him in. |