Wednesday takes stock.

[callmewednesday]

Wednesday was not ill-pleased with the airport. It was an airport like any. It had modern conveniences. As lodgings went, the hotel was satisfactory, and a damn sight nicer than some of the rathole motels he'd had occasion to frequent. Yes, he had once occupied the throne Hlidskjalf in the great hall Valaskjalf from which he could survey all

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[neurotic_barbie]

Lately, Elliot hadn't had as many crazy cravings. The frequency of her desire for mustard, tomato, onion and peanut butter sandwiches seemed to be decreasing - in fact, lately when she thought about mustard, tomato, onion and peanut butter sandwiches she started to feel pretty ill.

For a doctor, I totally suck at this 'pregnant' thing. Ugh.

Anyway, she may not have been craving weird stuff, but she was still eating like a horse. Which was why she was currently in the restaurant kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for something that didn't make her want to throw up. So far, she wasn't having much luck.

When she heard footsteps, she grabbed the nearest object and whirled around, only to find it was an unfamiliar man she was pointing a ketchup bottle at. "Oh," she said. "You're not...Hi! Ketchup?" She held the bottle out with a slightly unsettling grin.

[neurotic_barbie]

"See, that's the thing," Elliot said, laughing nervously. "I, uh, I haven't exactly...chosen someone yet." A pause. "But every year since I was old enough to get married, I've reserved this church for the 21st of July, just hoping that someday I'd really make good on it, you know? And, well, now I'm pregnant, and I sure as frick don't want a bastard child. You know?"

He probably didn't. Nobody knew just why Elliot did what she did. Not even she did.

[callmewednesday]

"An auspicious day," Wednesday pronounced. In truth the day had no significance at all to his knowledge -- none to him certainly, or to any of his pantheon. The 21st of July this year would fall on Saturday, which was a day for work. Laugardagr, washday.

"It'll all come out in the wash," he said, voice smooth and reassuring.

[neurotic_barbie]

"You...what?" Elliot stared at him, and then asked, very politely:

"Excuse me, but are you on drugs?"

It really wasn't fair for Elliot to be asking other people that.

[callmewednesday]

"I wasn't aware there were drugs to be had," Wednesday replied equably. "We must have generous hosts indeed." The idea of drug addicts going cold turkey in an airport with no exits did not sound like the most benign social experiment in the world. Then again, neither did the idea of unhinged quasi-doctors giving birth to machine hybrids in an airport with no exits, and clearly the unseen masters of the airport had no qualms about this.

[neurotic_barbie]

"There's packs of cigarettes in duty free," Elliot said. "Though smoking is bad for your health. Drugs are, too, but smoking is better advertised."

[callmewednesday]

"Bad for your health, certainly. Most things are. Hell, living's bad for your health. It's a terminal condition." Ah, gallows humor.

[neurotic_barbie]

"That's a pretty depressing way of looking at life," Elliot huffed. He sounded like JD, except without the goofiness. JD was goofy even when he tried to be philosophical.

God, she missed him.

[callmewednesday]

"Only a bit of gallows humor, m'dear. The best humor there is." The best as far as Wednesday was concerned, anyhow. Pessimism might not be to Ms. Reid's taste, Wednesday imagined. It would take a certain untrammeled optimism to hold a wedding without slating a groom for the occasion. "Now, since our hosts haven't seen fit to provide us with a chef, I have a mind to fry up some bacon."

[neurotic_barbie]

"Bacon?" Elliot looked ill. "I think I'll stick to salad myself, thanks. I just couldn't find the ketchup. Oh, wait," she said, looking at the bottle still in her hand. "Nevermind!"