Morning light edged across Elliot's blanket, creeping up to her face, only to find she was already awake. She stared blankly at the ceiling, her arms crossed over her chest. The house was still. Minutes later her door squeaked open. Padded footsteps crossed the floor and a second later Elliot's bed dipped as Cece climbed onto it. She rested her head on the edge of Elliot's pillow, her eyes closed.

"I'm surprised you're awake," Elliot said.

"That's only because you are assuming I was asleep," Cece said.

"It's been three days since our last spotting of you. How many chapters did you write?"

A smile creased Cece's lips, wiping away the tired look.

"Five. I'm now a week ahead of schedule. My publicist can start regrowing some of that hair he tore out."

Elliot nodded.

"Tristan owes me $20."

"You know, I take offense that you two are betting on me," Cece said.

"Like you two aren't betting on how long it will be before I yell at Beck? Or like how we aren't betting how long it will be before Tristan makes a dancer cry?"

"I think I technically won that one, there was definitely some misting in Peter's eyes."

"I'll give it to you."

Thank you!" Cece shifted onto her back. "Now why are you wallowing?"

"I'm not wallowing."

"You're in bed, staring up at the ceiling with your arms crossed. You're wallowing."

"Okay, so maybe I'm wallowing a little bit."

"Ha!" Cece said, pointing to Elliot in triumph. "Now, tell me your woes dearest chum and I shall mock your blunders."

Elliot was silent, her forehead scrunched.

"Did I make a mistake?" Elliot asked, her voice small.

"Only if you choose it to be. How's it been the last few days?"

Elliot sat up, pushing aside her tangle of hair.

"That's the thing, I feel as if we have been getting no work done whatsoever."

Cece pushed herself up and nodded.

"Too busy making out?" she asked, in a serious tone.

"I'd rather walk into a brick building repeatedly than kiss Beck."

"Sure you would. Now what's been going on?"

"The last three days have been nothing, but me telling him about my idea and him stabbing it with a knife."

"Kitchen or Swiss army?"

Elliot ignored the question.

"He's constantly asking questions, about the character's past. Where did they grow up? Do they have siblings? What's their relationship with their siblings? How many years are they apart? What kind of cereal do they eat?"

"Wow, this guy means business. Breakfast cereal, he doesn't play around."

Elliot climbed out her bed and started pacing. Cece slumped over her knees, resting her chin in her hand.

"Part of me gets it," Elliot said. "Understand your character and what not, but I didn't have to go through this kind of interrogation for my last novels and they did fine."

"It makes sense," Cece said, playing with the blanket, "I'm not sure your publisher would have looked kindly on you having arguments with yourself, about a made up characters. Doesn't bode well for your state of mind."

"And he just gives me this look like its the simplest thing in the world to be pestering me. I'm the writer. Shouldn't I feel more in control about my own dang book?"

"You could punch him. I find that helps every now and then."

"And another thing, whenever I ask him how his day was or any small talk sort of thing, he gives me single syllable answers. He then says something contradictory. It's like he's looking for an argument."

Elliot flopped onto the bed.

"Cece, what should I do?" Elliot said.

"Well, we have three options?"

"Only three?"

"Initially I had twelve, but I don't know where we could locate 845 gnomes in such a short amount of time."

"Understandable, I think Home Depot only stocks about 30 at a time."

"Exactly. So option one, we kill Beck, dump the body and blame it on Ms. Newet three doors down."

"She's on vacation, so let's table that option. Though there is always Mr. Brown across the street. The second?"

"We flee the country and take up new lives. I will work in a bakery, gathering intel on the local gangs. You will be a newspaper delivery boy in disguise spreading rumors."

"I don't look good in wigs or hats. But I wouldn't be opposed to a short hair cut. We'll come back to that one. Three?"

"You suck it up and work with the dude. Learn what you can and come out better once this thing is done."

Elliot nodded.

"Well I guess there is only one option to take then," Elliot said.

Cece placed a hand on Elliot's shoulder.

"I know it sucks, but it has to be done," Cece said, in a mollifying tone.

"Yeah, I guess it does."

"Do you want to do it with a shovel or a gun?"

"Shovel, I guess."

A moment of silence passed then both girls burst into uncontrollable laughter. The sound bounced around the yellow room before melting into the walls. Elliot brushed aside tears as she shifted into an upright position.

"Gosh, I'm really going to have to stay with him, aren't I?" Elliot asked.

"Yes, because he could sue you if you try to drop him. I have one question for you El," Cece said.

Elliot met her sister's serious gaze.

"What's that?"

"Do you have a better understanding of your character and know their motive in life because of these questions?"

Elliot glared at her. "I hate you."

"Yes, this has been already established on your fifth birthday. Answer?"

Elliot let out a reluctant sigh.

"Yes."

"Then you know which option you should choose."

"Yes, murder you both and live in peace."

Cece patted Elliot's head.

"I've taught you well, young grasshopper."

Cece started to climb off the bed when Elliot's phone started buzzing, rattling the nightstand. Cece snatched it up and put it on speaker phone.

"Morning dearest mother!" Cece said. "You are on speaker phone and Elliot is in the room."

"Morning my beautiful girls!" A warm, cheerful voice said. "How are you doing?"

"Contemplating murder," Cece said.

"I hope you plan on blaming it on Ms. Newet," their mother said.

"We were, but she's on vacation, so Mr. Brown was our next choice," Elliot said.

"Good to see you have backup plans," their mother said. "Now, how is The Grump? Home from Seattle?"

"Yes," Cece said. "And we've seen him a few times. I think he spoke actual words on one occasion."

"I made eye contact with him," Elliot said.

"Good, I worry about him getting enough social interaction," their mother said.

Elliot's door swung open and Tristan stepped inside.

"I don't find your cracks at my introverted and curmudgeonly nature amusing," Tristan said, his hair disheveled and his clothes rumpled.

"Hello, Tristan love," their mother said.

Tristan moved further into the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Hello mother," Tristan said. "How's London."

"Londonish," she replied.

"Well, that can't be helped," Tristan said. "When do you think you'll be frequenting this humble abode again?"

"Next full moon I should expect," their mother said.

"Still dealing with being a werewolf are you?" Elliot asked.

"Yes," their mother said. "The doctor says I'll have it for life. I'll be home soon. When I get back I want to meet this man you have been spending all your time with Elliot."

"My co-writer Beck or the violinist in The Garden that I stare at?" Elliot asked.

"Which one is more attractive?" her mother asked.

"Beck, but I think the violinist has a better personalty. Though I haven't talked to him," Elliot said.

"We'll go with Beck then," her mother said. "Best to leave potential personalities as they are. I must be off. Love you all. Remember if you're going to kill someone lay down tarps first."

"Love you!"

"Bye!"

"Miss you."

Elliot fell back onto her bed.

"I think our oddities are genetic," Elliot said.

Cece slapped her arm.

"Watson, I do believe you might be on to something there," Cece said. "At least that's one thing to look forward to."

"What?" Elliot asked.

"Dinner with Beck and mom."

Elliot smiled.

"That will be entertaining, indeed." *

***************

Elliot tipped her mug to find only a drop of coffee left, that was stone cold as it touched her lips. Worn out, she let out a tired sigh and rubbed her eyes. She started when Beck stood. He put on his newsies cap and pulled on his jacket. Elliot watched him, puzzled. He picked up her jacket and handed it too her.

"Are we going somewhere?" she asked.

"Walking. In the Common."

"Any special reason? Or is it because it's 2 o'clock on a Thursday?"

"I have the feeling that if we sit here for a moment longer, staring at each other, one of us is likely to be murdered by the other."

Elliot raised her eyebrows.

"I figured a walk, would at least put us in a public setting with witnesses," Beck said, dryly.

"I'm not sure if I should be impressed or nervous that you thought this through."

"I'm sure you are capable of feeling either of those emotions outside."

Elliot stood and accepted the jacket. She slipped it on and grabbed her purse.

"It might also help us work out this story. Clear our minds," Beck said.

Elliot followed him out and locked the door behind them. The world outside was bathed in golden sunlight. The last hints of Spring hid in the blossoms littering the sidewalk and the chill that clung to the breeze. Elliot stuffed her hands in her pockets, her gaze wandering. They walked in silence, the sound of the city swirling around them.

"Can I ask you a question?" Beck asked.

Elliot looked at him, trying to read beyond the impassive expression.

"It would probably amuse you to know that I'm hesitant to answer in the affirmative," Elliot said.

The corner of Beck's mouth curled.

"Is that a no, then?"

Elliot paused for a heartbeat.

"Sure, you can ask me a question."

"What do you know about North Carolina?" Beck asked.

Elliot frowned.

"Not the question I was expecting."

Beck nodded, but said nothing.

"I don't really know anything, I guess," Elliot said. "Why do you ask?"

"I ask because you are choosing to put a character in a town located in North Carolina, but you don't know how that part of the country lives. Understanding what makes a town tick effects how they would receive a new person into it."

Beck looked at her, his blues eyes searching.

"Do you get what I'm saying?" he asked.

Elliot nodded.

"Yeah, if I don't understand what I'm writing, then I will write it wrong."

"Yes. Why not write about a town or place you do know? Keep it simple."

Elliot shrugged.

"I don't know, I just thought of North Carolina, but I guess it doesn't have to be that way."

Beck nodded. They continued on in silence.

"It's so pretty here," Elliot said.

Beck said nothing.

"I think this has been the warmest Spring yet. Don't you?" Elliot asked, looking at Beck.

"Sure," he said, his face pinched.

"I mean last year wasn't that cold but-"

"I think the Yankees are better than the Red Sox," Beck said, carelessly.

Elliot stopped walking, stunned. Beck took a few steps before turning back.

"How could you possibly say that!" Elliot said. "Don't you know what town you live in? Do you not understand the history of the team you just completely tossed off? How could you say something like that in such a cavalier tone?"

Beck smiled and Elliot slapped her hand over her mouth. He gestured to her.

"No, you should keep going. I was looking forward to your argument," he said.

Elliot frowned and crossed her arms.

"Why do you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Say things like that, when I'm simply talking about the weather. Like yesterday, when you said D.C. was a far superior town than Boston when I asked you how you like your coffee?"

Beck shifted, dropping his gaze.

"Well?" Elliot asked.

Beck looked up, but didn't answer her.

"Seriously? Why do you do that?" Elliot asked.

Beck remained silent. Elliot shook her head and started walking.

"I hate small talk," Beck said, as Elliot passed him. *

She turned back.

"What?"

"I would rather cut off my left two fingers than deal with small talk."

"Why bring up argumentative topics then?"

"Because people are usually passionate about something when they are arguing. I would rather argue with someone about something they care about, than talk about how early the trees have bloomed this year."

Elliot grinned.

"They did bloom pretty early this year."

Beck cracked a smile. Elliot just looked at him for a second.

"So you really don't think the Yankees are better than the Red Sox?"

Beck walked towards her and they started walking again.

"No, I don't. I live in Boston. I don't plan on being murdered by some Southie."

"An understandable fear." Elliot pointed to across the street to a Starbucks. "Want to grab some coffee before we tackle the location of my novel?"

Beck looked at her.

"Sure."

****************

Elliot hopped onto the curb and made her way to the cafe. Outside, ringed around metal tables, lounged young students. Their backpacks were forgotten by their chairs as their faces were upturned to the warm sunlight. Elliot pulled the door open and stepped inside. A thin girl with straight brown hair stood in front of the counter. With a flirty smile, Milo handed her a muffin and a cup of coffee.

"Was there anything else you wanted?" Milo asked.

The girl let out a nervous giggle and shook her head. Elliot watched her join a group of friends at table. A second later giggles burst from the group. Elliot stepped up to the counter, scowling and shaking her head.

"Have you no shame?" Elliot asked, leaning against the counter.

Milo shrugged.

"I do, but I think it's in a box in my closet. I can get it out if you want to see it."

"No, it's probably as rotten as your heart."

Milo gave her an easy smile.

"You don't need to worry about the state of my heart, Cece stole that vital organ long ago."

"She still hasn't given it back, yet?"

"I never sent her a return label."

"Well, you see you have no one to blame, but yourself."

Milo pointed to her, scowling.

"Might I remind who was the thief in this scenario."

Elliot rolled her eyes and gave dramatic sigh.

"Fine, you were the victim."

"Thank you."

A comfortable pause slipped between them as they gazed around the cafe.

"So what are you planning to do for your birthday?" Milo asked.

Elliot gave him an odd look.

"It's in two weeks."

"Yes, and like all self absorbed people," Milo said, "about to cross the line, where the law says you are now legally ready to get drunk and make a complete fool of yourself; I naturally assumed you would be preparing for the monumental occasion."

Elliot gave him a flat look and he nodded.

"Right, it's you. I guess I'll ask again in two weeks."

Elliot shrugged.

"I think Cece is planning on throwing a bash of some sort."

"I didn't know you knew enough people for a bash. A mingling, maybe. A soirée, possibly."

"Hey, I have friends!"

Milo gave her a skeptical look.

"I'm a relatively famous author. I could have thousands of people come to my party."

"Yes, thousands of girls fawning over you and constantly telling you how amazing you are and how your books changed their lives. Sounds like a blast."

Elliot made a face.

"You're right. Probably best to just grab a couple of hobos from the Common."

"Yeah, probably."

Elliot straightened.

"Okay, well I will get a coffee and a toasted bagelly something or other," Elliot said.

Milo gave her condescending look.

"Wow, your way with words astounds me. It's a good thing I know you, or you might get something that tasted nothing like a bagelly something or other."

"Why do you think I still come here? It would take years to train someone else to understand my nonsensical mutterings."

Milo chuckled, shaking his head.

"I have a break in a few minutes. I'll come sit with you."

Elliot narrowed her eyes.

"Should I expect my food when you come on your break or after you go back to work."

"You know, you're a friend I'll bring it to you before the break."

Elliot threw her hands in the air.

"Yay! I knew my hours of pestering and forcing this friendship would pay off one day."

Milo laughed and turned away. Elliot settled into an empty table. She rested her elbows on the top, scanning the cafe, her ears tuned to odd bits of conversation. A few minutes later the door opened and Cece strode in. She made a beeline for Elliot, right as Milo appeared with Elliot's coffee and bagel. Cece dropped into a chair.

"Hi Cece," Milo said, with a cocky smile.

He flipped a chair around, sitting on it backwards. Cece eyed him.

"You've been flirting with a girl who blushes easily, haven't you?" Cece said.

"You know me so well," Milo said.

"Sadly, yes. You really shouldn't tease the poor things, they get hopes and that sort of crap."

"I need practice if I plan on matching wits with you."

"Milo, the day we are finally able to match wits, is the day we get married."

Milo stood and pushed in the chair.

"Looks like I have some practicing to do," he said, leaving with a wink.

"One day he's going to break a smile," Cece said.

"Earlier, we were talking about how you stole one of his vital organs," Elliot said.

"I have contemplated castrating him."

"You have such lovely thoughts."

"It is Tuesday."

"It's Thursday."

Cece stole Elliot's cup and lifted it in salute.

"So that explains it then."

Elliot nodded.

"Yes, that makes everything clear now."

**********************************************************************

Heyo!

As life goes on I find myself pondering the really deep questions of life. That is what one does as times slips by isn't it? They contemplate why socks and sandals look awful together? Is there really such a thing as a secret menu at Starbucks? If so, what is on it? Are cats actually that impassive or is all an elaborate scheme to fall in love with something that will never love us back?

Vote, comment, follow. Tell me what some of your deep thoughts are.