Logan Echolls

All carrot-related items in the fridge have been tossed in the trash. This is stuck to the fridge door:

Logan catches Rory between classes. "Hey," he says, cheerfully. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Logan's working in his notebook on and off during the whole class, writing things down, scratching them out, and writing new things. After class, he pulls Parker aside.

"Okay, here's the deal," he says. "I'm required to take care of you. So, here's the key to my house," he hands her a key. "There are three furnished, unoccupied rooms. Pick one, and it's yours for the week. You're welcome to use any of the common areas, including the pool and spa. You can have friends over as long as they don't disturb me or the pirate and you clean up after. I don't care about Jake. I'll have clothing for you in a couple of days. You are not required to wear anything I buy for you. In fact, I don't give a fuck if you do, but I'm providing. Please give me your clothing sizes so I don't have to get Rory to peek at your labels." He smiles at Parker. "I'll set up an account at Luke's Diner so you can eat on me for the week."

"Now, the catch - for sixteen waking hours over the next week, you will not say anything negative or derogatory about myself or my friends. Including, but not limited to, Angelus. In fact, you will be entirely supportive of my friends *and* vampires in general. *Not* in a sarcastic manner, either. You will be as sincere as humanly possible. You will pose for photographs and provide interviews on the subject, if requested." He smiles. "That's it. That's all I'm asking of you.

"Your safe 'word', should you need it, is 'No, master, my fragile ego can't take it anymore.' Any questions?"

Logan's walking through the hallway between classes when he hears his phone beep. Checking the text messages, he sees
GT LTR FRM SCHL. C U PRNTS WKND! - T

"Oh, fuck," Logan groans.

Logan's Xterra screeches into the driveway at the Echolls residence. Anyone wishing to track Mr. Echolls from his car to his bed would need only follow the trail of slamming doors and stomping feet.

"Bitch!" he yells, rummaging through his cupboard for the nearest available alcohol. Fortunately the Booze Fairy had shown up sometime between yesterday evening and this morning.

And last night with Rory had gone so well.

Logan finishes off one half-empty bottle of vodka and smashes it against the wall. "Bitch!" he yells again, and follows that with a high-volume stream of profanity. He throws the neck of the bottle across the room, where it knocks over the lamp. In the sudden darkness, Logan swears again, then stumbles over to his bed, fumbles in his nightstand and curls up with a bottle of whiskey for the night.

When Logan wakes up, he's lying on a bed in the clinic. His head is pounding. Wow, he thinks. that must've been a hell of a party last night. He sits up slowly, and notices Rory sleeping nearby.

Slowly, the memories from the weekend return to him. Dinner with Rory's folks, which ended in violence before the food could be served - fortunately, it was the zombie-attack sort of violence, so he's maybe still got a shot with Rory. Although blowing up her stepdad's diner probably didn't help. Logan grins a little at the memory of the explosion.

Then there was yesterday. Getting breakfast at the yearbook thingy. And then - Logan frowns.

He'd thought he was his dad. Logan fumbles for the flask in his back pocket, and takes a long swig. Then another. He's downed half the flask by the time he screws the cap back on.

He pulls himself to his feet, determined to make his way home and take a very long, very hot shower. Or possibly just boil his skin off.