I should get a better job. But apparently dressing up in colonial clothing and acting like I just toppled heads-over heels out of 1776, is the only thing I'm good at.
Cricket Fawcett is nothing special. She's your typical college dropout, wannabe ac...
Well dayum! Are they finally getting their shit together? Are we actually gonna get consistent updates? BWAHAHAHAHAHA, hell to the no. We tried to stick to a schedule, we really did, and if you want to know why we are hella inconsistent, go read the Authors Note that is part 2, it makes sense. Anyway, so yeah this is a very inconsistent update that is going up as of now. It may or may not be updated in the next few hours depending on whether or not I (Ella) have fucked up something about this post, because as you may of guessed, once again, neither Phoebe nor Grace know I'm posting this! Yay for group accounts!! But anyway, as usual we hope you enjoy the chapter, please feel free to comment if you have any suggestions or things to add! Also go follow us on our individual accounts which are all listed in the description of this account! Hope you love this chapter as much as we loved writing it!
Ella, Phoebe and Grace AKA The Ham Fam
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It's too bright and I'm sweating and unsure of where I am for a minute when I open my eyes, consciousness creeping back into my mind as I blink, confused. Once. Twice. Shit. It takes me a whole 3 seconds to figure out what woke me up, but the realization is more than unwelcome when it hits. I'm hot. I'm so hot I feel like I'm choking. My cheeks are burning and stray hairs stick to my face and neck due to the perspiration that beads on my forehead and temples.
I'm still laced up tight in the fucking dress, still bundled in the grey woolen pea coat, sitting in my AC free apartment in the middle of June. I must've passed out last night, donned in full period clothing. My shoes are still on. Where the fuck is my bonnet? I half cough and sluggishly struggle free from my coat for fear of being baked alive like a microwave burrito, gasping as cool air hits my skin. I shove the godforsaken thing to the floor and sit back for a minute with a groan. Being free from the heat brings temporary relief, but a whole new set of problems present themselves as my limbs start to complain. I'm sore. I hazily furrow my brow, and attempt to sit up, wincing when my muscles cry out in protest. I'm really sore. What did I even do yesterday? It's not like I went to the gym. I haven't been in like a year, as I haven't exactly had the time since Akeela... My eyes trail over my dress, and I snap out of my distracted haze. A reddish brown stain permeates the surface of the pretty blue material of the very top of my skirt. Colin is going to have my head for this. It almost looks like blood-
Oh.
Oh.
The hospital.
The all nighter.
Did I really half-carry some sick-ass revolutionary war veteran through the rain for god knows how long, running on 30 minutes of sleep, a granola bar and half a cup of crappy hospital coffee? No wonder I feel shitty. I sit up even straighter, eyes widening as a horrible jolt of an epiphany sets off alarm bells in my brain. Is he still here? Did he get up and leave while I was out in an attempt to be courteous? Has he gotten worse? Was any of that actually real? Was it just some insane NyQuil induced fever dream? I'm about to wrench myself up to check on him, (he could be dead for all I know. Can someone die from infection in less than 24 hours? How long have I been out? Christ) when a sharp knock sounds at the door. I pause, and exasperatedly rub my fingers over my eyes, probably smearing whatever half-assed makeup is left from yesterday all over my face. It's probably my Landlord, here to bless my day by being a massive dick about elevator money, even though I'm on the first floor and never use the damn thing. I don't even know what time it is, but I do know that it's way too early for this, and I have a baby and an ailing revolutionary war veteran in the other room.
