Elliot Phippen

June 5, 2020, 1:44 a.m.

You make it too easy

Sometimes JD was a bummer, but at least he could give a high five. It was weird how uptight the other guy could be, because everything Elliot knew about child stars said that they started to flame out in disastrous drug-fueled emancipated-minor spirals right about now. JD’s fussiness was probably just the buildup to a truly epic flameout.

The Pop Pensieve ordered the world’s most specific coffee (seriously, had Elliot spent a good portion of his childhood sitting on the floor behind a coffee bar with his DS, and what even was half sweet? How do you make a drink half sweet? It was sweet or it wasn’t) and then it was Elliot’s turn at the counter. He ordered his affogato (a perfectly respectable two-ingredient drink) and followed JD off to the side so they could wait for their drinks.

Elliot had never heard of Crave, but it sounded like a ridiculous sci-fi club, like Afterlife in Mass Effect. Every single thing JD listed sounded like it belonged on a spaceship. Elliot had many questions. Was the judgmental mirror also the one who broke up drunk fights—you know, like a real bouncer—or was that the dancing hit-wizards’ job? If you knew there were former assassins all over the place, you probably wouldn’t start anything, but the cages would get in the way of that. Also, were the ghosts fun, or were they like, old people who’d died and just decided to spook nightclub-goers for eternity? Actually, scratch that question: anyone who decided to haunt a nightclub was fun by default.

“Sounds cool,” Elliot said, like someone who wasn’t weighing whether the luck gained from drinking from a Felix Felicis hot tub would cancel out the diseases gained from drinking it. “My mom owns a nightclub in the city,” he continued. “Peregrine. It is nothing like Crave, but it’s pretty cool, I basically grew up there. You should come sometime. I get everything on the house,” Elliot added, lilting his voice temptingly. It’d be fun to show JD his New York.

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