“What did you do, Eustace?”
“Why does it have to be my fault?” Said at-fault fella stepped back, hands raised, trying to look innocent. He wasn’t very good at it. It was the thought that counted, right?
“Because there are two of us who live in this apartment.” Emily clearly wasn’t counting thoughts. “And I know I didn’t do it.”
“Maybe it’s a burglar?” He tilted his head towards the couch, and the mess all around the coffee table.
“A burglar that, what, came with a key?” Emily, in turn, tilted her head towards the locked and deadbolted door, the windows with their security grates, the view indicating that, as they had been yesterday, they were still on the twenty-ninth floor. “Or flew?” She looked down at their unwanted guest. “Well, I could believe flew, if the windows were open.”
“See? See?” Eustace flailed with both hands. “See? It could entirely have been not my fault.”
“Eustace. There is a stoned elf on our couch.”
“Euphoric. It’s not stoned, it’s on euphorics.”
“Why are you calling it it?”
“Have you looked under its fur?”
“….no?” Emily wasn’t quite that curious. “Besides, since when do elves have fur?”
“Since when do elves ride the Metro? I’m not entirely sure it’s an elf. You can get the ears tipped by any good cosmetic surgeon.”
“And what about under its fur?”
“Well, I can’t think of a surgeon that would do that, but maybe an angry girlfriend. But I think that explains the euphorics.”
“…Eustace. You’re saying that the euphoric elf on our couch is… a eunuch?”
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