soldtoarmenians

Xander stared at the package on his bed, which he'd just retrieved from the post office, a walk that his still generally-aching body wasn't real happy about. He'd had an idea what was in the package, though, and no idea how long it would last before spoiling. It was postmarked London, Florence, O'Fallon, and Castle Rock. It had stamps on it, but the date on them was slightly obscured by what he assumed were owl footprints. So yeah, he was gonna guess butterbeer and pumpkin juice.

He opened it carefully, or as carefully as his splinted-up hand would allow.

Butterbeer, pumpkin juice, and flobberworm larvae (dead). Joy.

He opened up his laptop. ( Dr Willo: )