( He's already riding a high when Fiddleford joins the party, and Peter's only barely aware how it really happens — a phone call checking in maybe; how long's it been since they last spoke? The spaces inbetween their meetings are long and weird, and Peter ends up with a visitor there on the last week of November.
It's Fiddleford's turn to see how he lives, and it's messy in a way that's not at all charming like the man's spooky little magpie home. At least not once you get past the rest of the house, which is charming in Luna's similar magpie way. No, Peter's room is singularly a travesty. There's dirty clothes on the floor, dust on his guitar and keyboard, and a couple of plates of stacked-up food only barely shoved under the bed. A few half-empty water bottles scatter the floor like bombshells: sure evidence of The Depression. A little mechanical bird lies on its side near a curled up pair of underwear.
Also worth mentioning is the tank against a wall, within which is a two-headed fish, which will be staring at Fiddleford literally the entire time. )
Want a bong? ( Peter asks from where he's sitting on the floor, back against the wall, one knee drawn up to his chest. He's got the goods ready, a spread of things: pre-rolled joints and more ready to stuff into bigger equipment. His eyes are already reddened at the corners, bloodshot, and painfully swollen underneath, like maybe he's been crying for three days straight. Maybe he has! )
— Fiddleford McGucket (cw: drug / marijuana use, depression... unsanitary living arrangements)
It's Fiddleford's turn to see how he lives, and it's messy in a way that's not at all charming like the man's spooky little magpie home. At least not once you get past the rest of the house, which is charming in Luna's similar magpie way. No, Peter's room is singularly a travesty. There's dirty clothes on the floor, dust on his guitar and keyboard, and a couple of plates of stacked-up food only barely shoved under the bed. A few half-empty water bottles scatter the floor like bombshells: sure evidence of The Depression. A little mechanical bird lies on its side near a curled up pair of underwear.
Also worth mentioning is the tank against a wall, within which is a two-headed fish, which will be staring at Fiddleford literally the entire time. )
Want a bong? ( Peter asks from where he's sitting on the floor, back against the wall, one knee drawn up to his chest. He's got the goods ready, a spread of things: pre-rolled joints and more ready to stuff into bigger equipment. His eyes are already reddened at the corners, bloodshot, and painfully swollen underneath, like maybe he's been crying for three days straight. Maybe he has! )