[ There's a few things Quentin is still processing. One, that Fillory--fucking Fillory is real, and the other is that he's a goddamn King. He doesn't think the novelty will ever wear off. Sure, there's a million things that can go wrong and have, and sure, he feels ragged and worn, like he hasn't properly slept in ages, and sure, he's desperately piecing together how to win, but there's still that warmth in his chest. It's real. It's real, and he's a King--and the High King, that's one of his best friends.
One of his best friends who is probably dying since he can't come out and party. Quentin's eyes are burning, he's been up all night trying to find something, anything to help, and he's about to drag himself into bed when he passes the bar Eliot was always at. He smiles, wistful at first before he shakes himself out of his exhausted fog. ]
Why the fuck not?
[ Heads up, Eliot: Quentin's usual messenger bag is practically bursting when he heads into Fillory, clink clink clinking with every time he takes a step. It's just the two of them save a few guards when he walks into the throne room. Quentin's exhausted, but the dark circles around his eyes only seem to mirror Eliot's. ]
Hey.
[ He's still two parts giddy and one part nervous when he sees Eliot in his crown, draped like a proper king in a proper throneroom.
~itselbitch sometime around s2
One of his best friends who is probably dying since he can't come out and party. Quentin's eyes are burning, he's been up all night trying to find something, anything to help, and he's about to drag himself into bed when he passes the bar Eliot was always at. He smiles, wistful at first before he shakes himself out of his exhausted fog. ]
Why the fuck not?
[ Heads up, Eliot: Quentin's usual messenger bag is practically bursting when he heads into Fillory, clink clink clinking with every time he takes a step. It's just the two of them save a few guards when he walks into the throne room. Quentin's exhausted, but the dark circles around his eyes only seem to mirror Eliot's. ]
Hey.
[ He's still two parts giddy and one part nervous when he sees Eliot in his crown, draped like a proper king in a proper throneroom.
It's Fillory. ]