“You're Grace Park, Margo.” Eliot extends a hand towards her, begging her to fucking get it.
Luckily, and also because Margo’s amazing, she does. She gasps, her eye widening. “I’m Grace Park.”
“Yeah,” Eliot says. “And we have ourselves a bit of a Gene Hackman in The Conversation.”
“I didn't see that one,” Margo says, almost shamefully.
“Yeah, right, um..” Eliot says, flipping through his mental pop culture catalog as he brushes back that stubbornly gorgeous curl that always falls over his forehead. “Someone is ‘xoxo, Gossip Girl’-ing our shit.” He gives Margo a knowing look as she turns his words over in her mind. “Remember James Marsden in X-Men, hm?” Margo raises a hand to her eyepatch, a shiver going down her spine as Eliot continues. “Your Marsden is xoxo-ing us full on that great song by The Police.”
He can practically see the rage surge within Margo as she gets it. “That Fairuza Balk in The Craft.”
“Yeah, more Cersei Lannister.”
“Hey, glad I made you read those,” Margo says, giving him a knowing look.
Eliot nods in agreement, and then says, “Well, I read the wiki.” At Margo’s disappointing look, he shrugs. “What? Those books are like a million pages long. I have a life.” Obviously.
“Okay,” Margo says with an eyeroll.
“Anyway,” Eliot says, leaning forward slightly, “whatever your Marsden would xoxo, Cersei xoxo's. So, we have to keep it very best episode of Buffy.” She’ll get this, for sure.
“Musical?” Margo asks with a smile, displaying minor jazz hands.
“Okay. How do we Lizzie Borden the shit out of this thing? 'Cause I am about ready to go full '07 Britney.” Margo leans back, giving Eliot a triumphant look.
Eliot shakes his head. “Maybe we could've back when this place was Pottered up.”
“Still,” Margo says, on a roll, “Even without a wand, Harry would figure some shit out.”
Eliot nods, raising his eyebrows in agreement, and shrugs again. “Honestly, I didn't quite finish those books either,” he confesses.
Margo huffs in frustration, leaning forward. “Our Harry, I mean.”
Eliot nods, getting it. “Oh! Him.”
