[16] It's Judgement Day, Coward

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It's Thursday. As in, Thursday Thursday. Judgement day Thursday.

I either make it back home by tonight and Will does me the very generous 'favor' of not releasing my pictures, or I don't and level up from judgement day to apocalypse.

Maybe I should start looking for a bomb shelter.

Ugh, it's no use. I've been pacing along the length of my bed for the past half hour, before that I rolled around on the carpet for 40 minutes- before that I washed my hands for a solid 15. My day started at 6 am and now it's 9.

3 hours wasted with nothing but mediocre puns and a headache to show for it.

Maybe I need a change of scenery. My original thought was that since this is a dire and dark matter, my surroundings should match. Considering that I've made no progress, it's time to switch it up- since dreary gloom both internally and externally isn't working.

I crawl onto the bed and reach behind the headboard, whipping open the curtains. Behind the lavender silk drapes is a large window, extending from one side of the room to the other, taking up the entire wall.

Holy crap that is so much light. I scramble back to the foot of the bed, squinting and grunting my way there. Okay, now that there is sunshine, inspiration come to me.

As if on cue, there's an unrestrained knock on the door. Loud and rhythmless. Only Atty could have such a crappy knock.

"What do you want?" I grumble. As fun as he is, I need to be alone right now.

"Open the door, I need to talk to you."

I scoff, "well, good morning to you too."

From the other side I hear Atty clucking his tongue. "Except it's not a good morning. Now let me in."

Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.

Oh my god I'm losing my mind. I've been in one place too long and now I'm insane.

What the hell then, why fight him? If I keep going like this, I won't have much sanity left anyways. Not much damage Atty can do.

I swing the door open and gesture for him to enter but he remains in the hall, hovering near the splintering door frame.

Atty, surprisingly, looks less put together than me. He may have changed out of yesterday's suit, but both his sweatpants and t-shirt are crinkled and he's got noticeable dark circles. Not even the angles on his jaw or the curl in his lashes can distract from his fatigue.

"Did you not sleep? You look like shit," I comment. It seems I've entered the bitchy phase of my panicking.

He blinks, confused at first. "Of course I didn't, I was thinking."

"Is that Atty-talk for scheming?" God, please say yes. Please say you have a plan. Because I'm at my wits end with this battle between my meager dignity and a working sense of self-preservation. I don't know what to do.

"I wish. It turns out I'm not a very gifted conspirator."

A familiar blonde head peaks out from behind him. Jay smiles wide, hazel eyes twinkling with mischief. "He didn't inherit the conniving from mom, sucks for him."

When I spot copper curls next, my heart leaps with the urge to tackle-hug Presley. She chimes, "yet somehow he was topped off with enough evil to conquer the world. Twice."

Atty groans and rolls his eyes farther back than I thought he could. "When I asked for help, I was talking to my brother," he says pointedly, narrowing his eyes at Presley. She shrugs and elbows past him, planting herself in the middle of the bed. Jay follows behind like a duckling, smirking at Atty all the while.

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