Multiversal

Who: Don Draper and Pepper Potts
What: Not quite business as usual.
Where: Don's office/apartment, Sunter
When: After the distribution of lottery spoils (so BACKDATED).
Warnings: The map is not the territory.

Donald Draper, is what the envelope has to say. Nothing else. He flips it on its back, slits it open. Stops putting off pouring a drink.

Baedal traced in different hands. Lines that surge bold through Howl Barrow drain by Chimer into scratches; alleys and groves detailed as flourishes, scribbles, amputee triangles. The fog dissipated, no longer a malevolent swirl.

He folds it up, hands working quick and sloppy. It has the feel of paper but more elasticity, gives like whatever's caving in his chest.

He goes to find a steering wheel to spread the map over. The door slams after him.

Night's descending when he returns—not drunk but looking it, the sway of the El in his gait, city on him like a stench, eyes slipping past her to the window. “Calls?”