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[Before Diarmuid leaves school one particular October day, he stops by Quentin's room.

It'd been some weeks since their meeting — which had been terribly stressful, but it was at least done with, and they could move on a little. It didn't necessarily make things go away, but one could anticipate as much; there's one particularly embarrassing moment where he'd moved to give something to Quentin and jerked his hand back like he'd nearly been electrocuted, but the moments of fear are far in-between than that day they had met for tea.

(... Even if the broken arm in its cast makes everything a smidge awkward for them, surely.)

Anyway, Diarmuid's been a mess still. Quieter, not quite so eager to ask questions, but... time heals some scars, even if only a select few. He puts the basket of goods on Quentin's desk, pressing it forward a little toward him; a nice smell drifts out of it, one of bread and stew in containers and wrappings in it; a scarf is sitting at another side, bundled up neatly.]

... Um. For you.

Winter's coming soon, so... I thought perhaps I should make sure everyone has a proper scarf, to keep warm.

[ It takes all of Quentin's restraint not to stop and bother Diarmuid about the Fillory book. In an alarming display of self-control he manages to keep quiet about it whenever he sees him, which is a miracle.

When Diarmuid pops in, Quentin flashes a small smile and goes back to erasing a few quadratic equations from the board: it's a lot more complicated than Diarmuid's seen, as he'd been helping out one of his AP students just prior.

That, or the AP student wanted to distract him so he'd forget the quiz. It worked. ]

Hey Diarmuid, what's up?

[ The smell hits him, and holy shit, that smells amazing, and he looks down at it and then the scarf, confusion visible on his face despite the fact that the kid has made it quite clear what's happening. ]

Did you--did you make these?

Yes, I did... I — learned how to make the bread at the monastery, and I had wanted to make lunches for everyone. I know we've already gotten our food back, and I'm sure everyone's been eating plentifully, but... I just...

Thought I would offer something hearty, in case anyone would like some.

[He thins his lips for a moment, before motioning to the scarf.]

And it's going to be getting colder, so I used my expenses to make sure everyone has scarves, to keep their necks and faces warmer. And I thought... that scarf felt to be one you would like. It's — sea maps, and you enjoy a good journey, so I thought...

Edited 2019-10-10 06:11 (UTC)

[ He's eyeing the stew hungrily--it's Quentin, it doesn't matter if he's hungry, he'll eat it, it's one of his faults--and so instead he busies his gaze by picking up the scarf.

Shit. This is really, really well done. Time to try it on. ]

You didn't have to--but holy shit. I mean--uh---holy cow. [ Yeah, that grin is genuine. Quentin stops himself before he can strike a pose. ]

You've really got a good eye for this, you know? Thank you. Did I ever tell you about the Muntjac?

... Many thanks. I couldn't knit — [Because of the arm... you and Eliot broke... Maybe that's not really a good topic to veer into. He clears his throat.] So I thought the best option was to seek what matched everyone, in the shop.

[Curiosity colors his expression, though.]

What is the Muntjac?

[Or a better question: why is holy cow a sort of exclamation of disbelief.

Is that related to the golden calf?

He has questions.]

Well, you got it right. [ In his defense, Quentin's very good at hiding the flicker of guild that passes through. Especially as the other talks--he's opened yet another can of worms. ]

You know that Fillory book I gave you? The World in the Walls?

[He nods urgently.]

Of course...! I’ve been reading it. With the Time Witch, the Watcher Woman.

I’m not as literate as I could be, but I think I’m improving enough... It doesn’t take me as long to read the chapters now.

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