Mr. Write [COMPLETED]

Chapter 29 - "You guys can just come off a little crazy."

Elliot sat in a plush arm chair in the entryway, wrapped in darkness. Outside the sun had waved its farewells and tucked itself under the horizon. The street lights glowed a warm yellow and banished people's fear of the dark. From the kitchen she could hear the sound of cabinets opening and closing. Minutes ticked by as Elliot sat in complete silence.

Eventually, the front door opened and Tristan stepped inside.

Elliot pulled the chain on a tall lamp, illuminating Tristan and the entryway. A fedora was perched at an angle on her head. She gave Tristan a patronizing smile, her fingers steepled.

"Well, well, well," she said, "look who decided to show his face."

Tristan looked at her, unfazed by her greeting or the tableau before him.

"You been there an hour?" he asked.

"Give or take a few half an hours."

Tristan eyed the arm chair and the lamp.

"Where did you get the stuff?" he asked.

"The living room. Cece brought it in."

He nodded to her head.

"And the hat?"

"Earnest, down the street. In exchange I had to make him part of my squad. It was a deal I could live with."

"The wifi any good there?"

"Excellent," Elliot said. She scowled. "But let's not change the subject here. I saw you today with a woman."

"I know," he said. "You make about as good a spy as Cece does a baker, painter, and nun."

Elliot tossed up her hands, tossing aside the mafia persona she had been going for.

"Why didn't you tell us you were seeing someone?"

"Because I planned on keeping it a secret until we had two kids and a house on the Cape."

Elliot scoffed.

"We're not that bad," she said.

"The last time I brought someone over for you two to meet, Cece asked her if she would prefer being beheaded or run through by a bayonet."

Elliot held up a hand, in a placating gesture.

"In Cece's defense, she was writing a book that was set in the French Revolution and looking for general feedback."

"It makes no difference," Tristan said. "She ran screaming and Cece took that as being run through by a bayonet. Where is she anyways?"

He looked around, as if Cece would pop up to annoy him.

"She is in the kitchen," Elliot said. "Since she has made up with Milo she's back to searching for inspiration to finish her last few chapters. Right now she is assessing how long we would make it in the zombie apocalypse on the food we currently have."

"Let's go see how long we have," Tristan said.

"Ten bucks says its less than a day," Elliot said.

"You're on."

He walked away and Elliot rushed to follow, tossing the fedora back on the chair. They entered the kitchen to find Cece on her knees, studying the lower half of the cabinets. Silently, they both took seats at the table, waiting for Cece's search to end. After a minute she stood, her hair disheveled. She kicked the wooden door closed and let out a tired huff.

"What's the verdict?" Elliot asked.

Cece dropped into a chair.

"We would last two hours," she said. "Since Tristan here is a nervous eater."