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Panel 1: AAAAAUGH! Elly-butt!
Panel 2: That's supposed to be a sharp outfit? I wouldn't even wear that to work, much less to go out.
Panel 3: But it gets a reaction from John, so that's good. Wonder what makes him so enthusiastic? Is she wearing the same colors as one of his locomotives?
Panel 4: Hovercar.
Panel 5: Now that's interesting. Wonder how often John makes this courtly gesture.
Panel 6: Apparently not unless it serves the gag.
Panel 7: Okay, Elly has lived in Canada her whole life. She never anticipated that this would happen?
Panel 8: Wow, I had no idea John was strong enough to lift Elly in the air! Especially impressive since he's lifting her by her ribcage: you know the ass grab/hoist is out of the question.
Panel 9: Good grief, it takes TWO people to get her up a flight of stairs? Lay. Off. The. Muffins.
Panel 10: Okay, so they're eating. Is she going to thank him? Unlikely.
Panel 11: And they're driving again. Wonder how they got to the car?
Panel 12: Jeez, Elly, calm down.
Panel 13: Ha...ha. Whatever; at least it wasn't about the pets.
Meanwhile, this is from raeling
"You shouldn't take this so seriously, bro."
Paul Wright looked dazedly up from his third beer. He wasn't much of a drinker, so his vision was already a little blurred, but even through his tipsy confusion he recognized the face.
"Aren't you- aren't you that guy? The one who... in White River..." He looked back down, embarrassed at his slurred voice.
"Okay, I'm cutting you off here." And the firm hand reached over Paul's shoulder and pushed his half-full beer away from him. "No more drinking- I know from experience that's not going to help."
"It won't help. Nothing's going to help." His head slumped in his hands. "Ugh, I'm the most pathetic drunk..."
"You are, but I don't blame you." The man's reflection in the bar moved as if her were going to sit on the stool next to him, but instead Paul felt hands on his shoulders. "Up. You're getting some fresh air and going home."
"I'm intoxicated. I can't drive."
"You're such a boy scout. Well, you can't stay here all night." The hands were pulling insistently at Paul's shoulders and he found himself being unceremoniously dragged to his feet.
"I don't have anywhere to go- not anymore..."
"No more melodrama. Come on, sleep in your car or something."
"I did everything I could! I went up every weekend- used all my vacation days- catered to every little whim-!!"
"I know, I know." And those hands were somehow very effectively bundling Paul out the door into the warm July air. "Look, you have to stay the night somewhere to sober up. If you don't have anywhere else to go, you can crash with me. I have a motel room here."
"I don't even know you- besides, why're you being so friendly...?" Paul tried to raise a sensible defense, but he's staggering down the street with the man despite himself.
"Let's just say I know what you're going through."
A more sober Paul might have figured it out, but after driving all the way up from Milborough without a break and downing three beers, he wasn't about to make that particular leap of logic. It was all he was capable of to make it up the stairs to the motel room (with assistance from those damn persistent hands on his back) and collapse all over the sagging bed. The rest could happen in the morning.