|ford campbell (wellearned) wrote in rooms,|
@ 2015-01-27 22:36:00
|Entry tags:||!miss peregrine's, *log, ford campbell, jules shoals|
Miss Peregrine's: Ford & Jules
Who: Ford and Jules
What: Hard cider.
Where: The basement of the Priest's Hole, Miss Peregrine's Door.
When: After this.
Warnings: None yet.
The Priest's Hole had gone dark for the night, but there was a candle glow around the edge of the basement doors set into the ground. Testing one of the storm doors would find it pulled easily upward, with the latch left open and the lock rusted enough to suggest nobody ever bothered to lock it. The waves pounding on the shore of the island was nearly enough to drown out the tiny buzz buzz buzz of anachronistic music from even tinier speakers tucked down underground amongst the barrels and the shelves of canned goods.
Ford was choosing to spend the night here, in the common cold away from Miss Peregrine's eternal house, because he thought of getting drunk as a very adult thing, and he didn't want to do it with all the invisible, floating, or mind-reading kids around. Grief, in Ford's mind, was not something you inflicted on other people, especially if it was pretty stupid to be sad about someone nobody missed, and everybody hated pretty much the second they knew her.
He'd got into one of the beer barrels okay, but the green bottle of apple cider (not labeled) had tasted a lot better, and by this time he was pleasantly drunk, lying on his back with his feet against the earth wall and his tattered backpack supporting his head.