[ Quentin scoffs, his grin still light as he finally takes a seat and watches Eliot. It's not a proper seat--both legs are up on the chair, knees to his chest--but it still counts, and once Eliot hands him the drink he sips gratefully.

Quentin is well versed in pills and booze--most of their group is--but Eliot knows how to turn blue curacao into something that doesn't taste like ass. Even if that's thought of by the guy who has no problem drinking natty lite until he passes out. ]

I guess that goes with the territory, Your Majesty.

[ Royalty, bitches. Oh, God, he didn't realize he actually needed a drink until now, and he leans into the back of the chair. It's a miracle he can even sit in in properly. ]

I really do think Alice is gonna find something, you know. To stop this.