[ 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.
[ He’s lounging with as much (or as little, really) grace as he can muster while bored out of his mind on yet another day in Fillory as High King and no backup. Or alcohol.
Being evening, he’s been left to his own devices, which is so dreadfully and mind-numbingly bland when even his wife has gone off to deal with official business that his Highness is too highly esteemed to be attending, and the couple guards will, once again, be his only company until he decides to retire. At least the blond one is cute.
God, he never thought being a king could be so awful. Then again, he never thought his friends would really ditch him in another world because it happened to fit their needs, and yet here he is, alone, weary, and sober.
It’s such a regular event in his life now he doesn’t even anticipate the visits anymore. He used to try, bother hoping even as he told himself not to hold his breath, but it only hurt worse when each day passed and he was simply expected to deal with the troubles he’d inherited before all else. The cosmic joke really comes down to the fact that, for whatever royal blood he has, his upbringing ended up mattering more here than anything else he’d ever learned for himself. In Fillory, he’s truly no one of worth, crown removed, and Eliot doesn’t quite know how to deal with that realization yet.
There’s not enough coke in the world to help.
Ha. Get it? Because there’s none?
When the familiar face comes into view, there’s a delay between the greeting and the sharp inhale of recognition as Eliot forces himself upright. ]
My, God, you’re alive— [ And his eyes drift to the suspicious clinking carrier, eyes gradually widening. ] —and you come bearing gifts?
[ Before, the mass of his clothing and body could have been mistaken for a slug, but his muscles seem to remember themselves as he draws abruptly to his feet to, ahem, investigate the goods. ]
Please tell me you don’t have any other companions lagging behind and that we’re not sharing.
[ Eliot looks like he's handling things well, considering. He looks exhausted but exhausted more bored, and there's a strange sort of part of Quentin that can't understand why and is also jealous. He wishes he could be bored right now. He doesn't wish that he could ever be bored of Fillory.
But what's important is that his friend is there, wit and all, and Quentin nods, wincing as he lifts the bag up from over his head and onto the floor. It's a lot to carry, and he may be built like a box but he's not actually that strong. ]
I didn't know what you wanted or what you might like, and I coudn't carry your mixing set or anything, but--- [ He stoops down, pulling bottles out. Rum, vodka, bourbon, whiskey, gin, the works ] --I figured you could work with it.
[ He does glance over at the two guards, brows raised. 'Are they joining even though we're not sharing?' ]
[ He immediately starts checking the bottles, oohing and aahing in his own way at anything to take his mind off of the humdrum new reality called his life. ] Gorgeous work, Q. Color me surprised, you actually do have something that could be mistaken for taste.
[ It’s a tease of course, and he offers a small, tired smile to his best friend before looking toward the guards and gesturing them away. There’s some clear reluctance in the idea of simply leaving the two of them along in the throne room, but it’s obviously a common enough occurrence that they decide not to protest before vacating to the doorway and closing the large double-doors behind themselves as they depart.
Plucking a few choice bottles from the floor, Eliot hums thoughtfully before sweeping toward the sitting area to the side. He blatantly expects Quentin to follow. ]
So how are the real housewives of upstate New York?
[ If Eliot wasn't making fun of him, there'd be something wrong. Quentin finds himself smiling, still sort of squatting with the bag before Eliot gets up. He trails slightly behind him, mostly because he's temporarily lost in how elegant the other looks--and also because hey, bag, heavy.
He does set it down and start properly pulling everything out, concentrating more on that as he speaks. They're alone now. He feels like he hasn't been alone with Eliot in forever, and as his hair flops into his face he completely ignores it. ]
Alice fell asleep a while ago, uh... Margo's still looking to get you unstuck in Fillory somehow. Who knows where Penny is.
[ They really have been working their asses off. ] I was going to try to get a few hour of sleep, but, uh--I figured you might like company.
[ He almost remarks how it’s amazing that it’s actually night for his friends too, but he doesn’t want to seem unbearable. For as much as he suffers in silence these days, the fact Quentin’s showed up all on his own means he’s not forgotten, and that’s all Eliot needs right now. ]
And sacrifice your rest? For little, old me? I’m honored. [ It’s dry as he starts haphazardly trying to make anything out of the other liquids he has around. He manages a decent enough mix that isn’t too appalling for simple Quentin’s delicate sensibilities quickly enough and wonders if there’s a competition for best shitty drinks using the shittiest ingredients list competition back on Earth that he’ll probably never attend and win first place in. ]
Most people that come here just want to complain about something.
[ 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.
Well, if anyone will, it’ll probably be her, but I don’t plan on holding my breath. [ He remarks before taking a hefty drink of his goblet which has an extra splash of gin in it. ]
Not everything can be fixed.
[ It’s a reminder, in case Quentin’s forgotten, but he settles into his seat too, slouching toward his dear friend and letting the aches of the day seep away into the bottom of his cup. ]
It wouldn’t fix the other things that are broken anyway. [ Which is to say, yes, he had been conscious when Quentin and his Bambi had been gossipping about him, and yes, he’s not so stupid that he really let himself believe that he wanted to try this purely for the sake of being a good person. ]
[ It's a lack of sleep. It has to be, because Quentin's been perfectly fine until Eliot prods-without-knowing-he's-prodding, which is what he's good at, and it's not like Quentin ever realized this was something he had in the back of his mind until now. ]
You know? Like--if we don't believe that it can, if we can't fix this place, if we can't stop things from becoming a monumental fuckup--then--
[ He scrunches his face, groaning at himself before pressing at his eyes with his index and thumb on the bridge of his nose. ]
Sorry. It's... [ An exhale. ] Sorry. I've kind of been up for more than 24 hours.
There a grave difference between believing in something and simply doing it, Quentin. [ He offers this as advice, though he quickly gives a shrug to dismiss it. ] Even if we do figure things out, I don’t know that it means any of this had a point.
[ He stares hard into his cup for a few moments before continuing. ]
I didn’t ask to have a wife. Or to be a father. Sometimes, it’s— [ and he takes a breath to even psych himself up to say it ] —just the way things are, and you have to learn to live with it.
[ For better or for worse, like that's that, and Quentin wants to be even more upset but he's too fucking tired to. It's Eliot. That's just how Eliot is, cat-like and to the point even through a thin veneer of humour.
Quentin sighs, pushing his hair back up and out of his face, tucking it behind one of his ears. He follows suit in the drinking department. ]
Uuuh--
[ He clears his throat, moving one of his feet from the chair to hit the floor. ]
That's, uh... The ruling thing not going to well?
Edited 2019-04-18 22:35 (UTC)
retcon alice talk bc we're dumb fucks idk it's sth about julia now or whatever yawn
[ Eliot hums, holding his usual nonchalance as tragically dry as humanly possible. ]
I suppose it depends on who you ask.
[ For the kingdom, he likes to think he’s done rather well for someone who didn’t know they were going to become a king a day before they actually became one. And they do have crops now, for however slowly the manual effort words toward growing it. Fen, even having come forward with the truth of her past continues to support him, believing in him to do what is right even when he doesn’t know himself what exactly that means.
But does he fit the mold even slightly? Sorry, this rainbow-colored triangle peg doesn’t like these single colored slots for squares. ]
Finding people I relate to is a challenge even on Earth. [ There’s a pause as considers his next words, sobering despite the alcohol. He hasn’t had hardly enough yet since he can still feel his face. ] At least the rest of you have that.
[ He’s the only one trapped here, unable to really be wherever he wants to go, which isn’t surprising considering what he’d agreed to, but he’d hoped, like with so many other things around the time when he’d decided to marry a complete stranger, that it would have just ended things for him without any other consequences. Dumb, of course, but he was also really, really high at the time, on top of his overbearing depressive streak, and that’s his excuse. ]
I’m not sure I know who I am here.
this is definitely why voicetesting is a thing thank god
[ Quentin can at least relate to that. The feeling of not knowing who you are--and maybe Eliot's doesn't come with the numbness that usually floods over him on those days where he doesn't know who he is and he can't be bothered to get up or eat and do nothing but sleep.
It's a crisis, small one, and Eliot likes to blow the little things up dramatically to hide the big ones skittering on the floor. He opens his mouth to speak, and while he doesn't think better of what he's going to say, he's slumping over the table to reach the other's glass. A silent toast. ]
Here, right now, you're my friend. Not a King, just you.
[ God. What did he ever do to deserve a precious idiot like Quentin in his life? The shadow of a smile drifts across Eliot’s face as he gestures with his cup back. He does like being himself, it’s true. He’s fabulous. ]
I’ve missed this. Drinking into the evening, just the two of us.
[ Which isn’t to say he’s never done the same with Margo and enjoyed those as well. He has a lot of love to give, and he knows how to share. ]
We haven’t really done this in a while.
[ Things have been tense, after all, with everything going on. Eliot’s pretty sure Quentin’s already gotten over how sleeping with him and Margo broke Alice up with him, but that’s only because Alice’s death overshadows it.
Also Quentin isn’t know for being the sharpest tool in the shed with the best memory, even when he isn’t self-medicating. And Eliot’s the only one stuck in Fillory. And he’s also married now. So. Yeah, not surprising that it hasn’t happened in a while, especially since time flows faster in Fillory. ]
You know, if you want to get more rest in, you could just catch up on sleep here before returning, right?
[ Frankly, they could also be doing this when it comes to researching and whatever else that doesn’t have to directly happen on Earth itself, but these days, Eliot doesn’t really know what the plan is anymore. His friends aren’t intentionally withholding, but Eliot doesn’t see the point in prodding every time they return when the plan’s going to change again within a few hours of Earth time after they leave. ]
[ It's wholehearted agreement said a little softer than he normally does, and there's a small thunk as his other leg hits the floor so he's actually sitting relatively properly. The drink is damn good, considering he'd literaly just pilfered what was closest to him. Then again, it's one of Eliot's many talents. ]
Every time I sleep, I'm not doing anything to help.
[ But somehow this is okay to Quentin's brain: drinking. Maybe it's because he's here for Eliot, not himself. ]
[ It doesn't sound cheap--it adds more weight to it, if anything. Here is the most distinguished mess Quentin has met in his entire life--he loves it, he loves it so much--but he's giving advice. Maybe it's advice he wished he'd actually use. Who knows?
God, he needs to drink more. He shouldn't, but here he is, taking a big gulp instead of quietly sipping. It slides down his throat, warms his chest, and he sighs. ]
Ditto.
[ It sounds so stupid--Eliot is doing the Eliot version of pouring his soul out--and Quentin is just weakly mimicking it. It's enough for him to smile into his cup, though, grin light, like they're back in Brakebills. ]
You would think it wouldn’t be so difficult, but apparently they have yet to pick the right climate zone to grow our grapes in, and the process is still very much trial and error. [ Eliot rocks his cup lightly before taking another drink. ] Should have studied up on how to make wine before I came here.
[ He slides down in his seat and sighs a long sigh as he slips. ]
But how are you doing? I’m sure your visit isn’t just because you wanted to save me from falling asleep in the throneroom.
[ How is he doing? Not good. Not so fucking good, but he's less angry and more defeated. He's tired, not just because he hasn't slept for what feels like days, but also because he's trying to cobble everyone's pieces together and it sucks but it's all he can do.
Eliot's right. He's usually right--and it breaks Quentin's heart just a little more when he realizes that Eliot suspects there's an ulterior motive. There isn't, asides from maybe wanting a friend. He can't hide his slightly surprised expression--hell, Quentin can't hide anything, he's always been too expressive--and he shrugs. ]
I mean, do I actually need a reason? I can't just hang out?
[ It's everything to worry about. Quentin remembers how alone he's always felt, even in the presence of other people. Is that Eliot, too? Has it always been? How does he hide it so well?
He has to stop thinking. In general, but about the situation, about others... Can't he just get shitfaced like he used to? He huffs, bangs finding their way into his face one more. He can't shake it. Alice always had the ability to have her hair in her face and never fuck up--why can't he?
They lapse into silence, and Quentin at least feels like it's the comfortable kind, like a warm blanket. It's nice. Eliot's company is nice. ]
[ Quentin half-heartedly shrugs. It's something important to Eliot, of course he's going to ask. His drink's already half empty and he's eagerly anticipating a few more before the conversation's over, if anything just to stretch out their time together.
Eliot's right, though. It might actually be alright if he catches a few Z's. ]
You being a dad, though, that's-- [ He chuckles. ] --I don't think anyone saw that coming. Not from the king of orgies.
[ He smiles wryly, not really knowing how to respond. As much as he’s pleased he will actually be a father, it’s not really something he’d asked for either. He can’t say that he didn’t want it; there is the thought that maybe kids would be nice sometime far in the future. That had always been something he imagined far far into the future though. And now... Now this is his new life and he can either accept it or let Fillory fall apart. ]
Not so interesting anymore, am I? [ It’s said like a joke, but of course it’s never a joke. ] Turns out orgies won’t ever be a thing for me again.
I’d ask you to attend some in my place, but I’m sure you’d probably get lost and start crying. Somehow end up in the kitchen drinking hot cocoa.
[ Still interesting, Quentin thinks, but the other speaks again and he's left with downing his drink entirely. It's a good thing he did, too, otherwise he'd probably spit his drink out at how casually Eliot has not only called him out but got it (mostly) right. He has never been in an orgy, but-- ]
You act like I'm new to group sex.
[ That one threesome while they were all fucked up on emotion magic definitely counts. Even if it wrecked his relationship, which--
--well. He's not going to think about that. He's trying desperately not to be a depressing sadsack like usual. He keeps the tone light and holds his glass out, a silent 'refill, please.' ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
~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. ]
no subject
Being evening, he’s been left to his own devices, which is so dreadfully and mind-numbingly bland when even his wife has gone off to deal with official business that his Highness is too highly esteemed to be attending, and the couple guards will, once again, be his only company until he decides to retire. At least the blond one is cute.
God, he never thought being a king could be so awful. Then again, he never thought his friends would really ditch him in another world because it happened to fit their needs, and yet here he is, alone, weary, and sober.
It’s such a regular event in his life now he doesn’t even anticipate the visits anymore. He used to try, bother hoping even as he told himself not to hold his breath, but it only hurt worse when each day passed and he was simply expected to deal with the troubles he’d inherited before all else. The cosmic joke really comes down to the fact that, for whatever royal blood he has, his upbringing ended up mattering more here than anything else he’d ever learned for himself. In Fillory, he’s truly no one of worth, crown removed, and Eliot doesn’t quite know how to deal with that realization yet.
There’s not enough coke in the world to help.
Ha. Get it? Because there’s none?
When the familiar face comes into view, there’s a delay between the greeting and the sharp inhale of recognition as Eliot forces himself upright. ]
My, God, you’re alive— [ And his eyes drift to the suspicious clinking carrier, eyes gradually widening. ] —and you come bearing gifts?
[ Before, the mass of his clothing and body could have been mistaken for a slug, but his muscles seem to remember themselves as he draws abruptly to his feet to, ahem, investigate the goods. ]
Please tell me you don’t have any other companions lagging behind and that we’re not sharing.
no subject
But what's important is that his friend is there, wit and all, and Quentin nods, wincing as he lifts the bag up from over his head and onto the floor. It's a lot to carry, and he may be built like a box but he's not actually that strong. ]
I didn't know what you wanted or what you might like, and I coudn't carry your mixing set or anything, but--- [ He stoops down, pulling bottles out. Rum, vodka, bourbon, whiskey, gin, the works ] --I figured you could work with it.
[ He does glance over at the two guards, brows raised. 'Are they joining even though we're not sharing?' ]
no subject
[ It’s a tease of course, and he offers a small, tired smile to his best friend before looking toward the guards and gesturing them away. There’s some clear reluctance in the idea of simply leaving the two of them along in the throne room, but it’s obviously a common enough occurrence that they decide not to protest before vacating to the doorway and closing the large double-doors behind themselves as they depart.
Plucking a few choice bottles from the floor, Eliot hums thoughtfully before sweeping toward the sitting area to the side. He blatantly expects Quentin to follow. ]
So how are the real housewives of upstate New York?
no subject
He does set it down and start properly pulling everything out, concentrating more on that as he speaks. They're alone now. He feels like he hasn't been alone with Eliot in forever, and as his hair flops into his face he completely ignores it. ]
Alice fell asleep a while ago, uh... Margo's still looking to get you unstuck in Fillory somehow. Who knows where Penny is.
[ They really have been working their asses off. ] I was going to try to get a few hour of sleep, but, uh--I figured you might like company.
no subject
And sacrifice your rest? For little, old me? I’m honored. [ It’s dry as he starts haphazardly trying to make anything out of the other liquids he has around. He manages a decent enough mix that isn’t too appalling for simple Quentin’s delicate sensibilities quickly enough and wonders if there’s a competition for best shitty drinks using the shittiest ingredients list competition back on Earth that he’ll probably never attend and win first place in. ]
Most people that come here just want to complain about something.
no subject
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.
no subject
Not everything can be fixed.
[ It’s a reminder, in case Quentin’s forgotten, but he settles into his seat too, slouching toward his dear friend and letting the aches of the day seep away into the bottom of his cup. ]
It wouldn’t fix the other things that are broken anyway. [ Which is to say, yes, he had been conscious when Quentin and his Bambi had been gossipping about him, and yes, he’s not so stupid that he really let himself believe that he wanted to try this purely for the sake of being a good person. ]
no subject
[ It's a lack of sleep. It has to be, because Quentin's been perfectly fine until Eliot prods-without-knowing-he's-prodding, which is what he's good at, and it's not like Quentin ever realized this was something he had in the back of his mind until now. ]
You know? Like--if we don't believe that it can, if we can't fix this place, if we can't stop things from becoming a monumental fuckup--then--
[ He scrunches his face, groaning at himself before pressing at his eyes with his index and thumb on the bridge of his nose. ]
Sorry. It's... [ An exhale. ] Sorry. I've kind of been up for more than 24 hours.
no subject
[ He stares hard into his cup for a few moments before continuing. ]
I didn’t ask to have a wife. Or to be a father. Sometimes, it’s— [ and he takes a breath to even psych himself up to say it ] —just the way things are, and you have to learn to live with it.
For better or worse.
[ Yeah, time to gulp down some more punch now. ]
no subject
Quentin sighs, pushing his hair back up and out of his face, tucking it behind one of his ears. He follows suit in the drinking department. ]
Uuuh--
[ He clears his throat, moving one of his feet from the chair to hit the floor. ]
That's, uh... The ruling thing not going to well?
retcon alice talk bc we're dumb fucks idk it's sth about julia now or whatever yawn
I suppose it depends on who you ask.
[ For the kingdom, he likes to think he’s done rather well for someone who didn’t know they were going to become a king a day before they actually became one. And they do have crops now, for however slowly the manual effort words toward growing it. Fen, even having come forward with the truth of her past continues to support him, believing in him to do what is right even when he doesn’t know himself what exactly that means.
But does he fit the mold even slightly? Sorry, this rainbow-colored triangle peg doesn’t like these single colored slots for squares. ]
Finding people I relate to is a challenge even on Earth. [ There’s a pause as considers his next words, sobering despite the alcohol. He hasn’t had hardly enough yet since he can still feel his face. ] At least the rest of you have that.
[ He’s the only one trapped here, unable to really be wherever he wants to go, which isn’t surprising considering what he’d agreed to, but he’d hoped, like with so many other things around the time when he’d decided to marry a complete stranger, that it would have just ended things for him without any other consequences. Dumb, of course, but he was also really, really high at the time, on top of his overbearing depressive streak, and that’s his excuse. ]
I’m not sure I know who I am here.
this is definitely why voicetesting is a thing thank god
It's a crisis, small one, and Eliot likes to blow the little things up dramatically to hide the big ones skittering on the floor. He opens his mouth to speak, and while he doesn't think better of what he's going to say, he's slumping over the table to reach the other's glass. A silent toast. ]
Here, right now, you're my friend. Not a King, just you.
voicetesting? i don't know her
I’ve missed this. Drinking into the evening, just the two of us.
[ Which isn’t to say he’s never done the same with Margo and enjoyed those as well. He has a lot of love to give, and he knows how to share. ]
We haven’t really done this in a while.
[ Things have been tense, after all, with everything going on. Eliot’s pretty sure Quentin’s already gotten over how sleeping with him and Margo broke Alice up with him, but that’s only because Alice’s death overshadows it.
Also Quentin isn’t know for being the sharpest tool in the shed with the best memory, even when he isn’t self-medicating. And Eliot’s the only one stuck in Fillory. And he’s also married now. So. Yeah, not surprising that it hasn’t happened in a while, especially since time flows faster in Fillory. ]
You know, if you want to get more rest in, you could just catch up on sleep here before returning, right?
[ Frankly, they could also be doing this when it comes to researching and whatever else that doesn’t have to directly happen on Earth itself, but these days, Eliot doesn’t really know what the plan is anymore. His friends aren’t intentionally withholding, but Eliot doesn’t see the point in prodding every time they return when the plan’s going to change again within a few hours of Earth time after they leave. ]
no subject
[ It's wholehearted agreement said a little softer than he normally does, and there's a small thunk as his other leg hits the floor so he's actually sitting relatively properly. The drink is damn good, considering he'd literaly just pilfered what was closest to him. Then again, it's one of Eliot's many talents. ]
Every time I sleep, I'm not doing anything to help.
[ But somehow this is okay to Quentin's brain: drinking. Maybe it's because he's here for Eliot, not himself. ]
no subject
We need you. And you have to take care of yourself.
[ There’s a pause as he takes a drink. ]
I know that sounds cheap coming from someone like me, but that goes for all of us.
[ It’s why he hasn’t actually given up yet, really. Well, that, and he has some weird luck that’s been preventing him from dying anyway. ]
no subject
God, he needs to drink more. He shouldn't, but here he is, taking a big gulp instead of quietly sipping. It slides down his throat, warms his chest, and he sighs. ]
Ditto.
[ It sounds so stupid--Eliot is doing the Eliot version of pouring his soul out--and Quentin is just weakly mimicking it. It's enough for him to smile into his cup, though, grin light, like they're back in Brakebills. ]
You still haven't figured out champagne?
no subject
You would think it wouldn’t be so difficult, but apparently they have yet to pick the right climate zone to grow our grapes in, and the process is still very much trial and error. [ Eliot rocks his cup lightly before taking another drink. ] Should have studied up on how to make wine before I came here.
[ He slides down in his seat and sighs a long sigh as he slips. ]
But how are you doing? I’m sure your visit isn’t just because you wanted to save me from falling asleep in the throneroom.
no subject
Eliot's right. He's usually right--and it breaks Quentin's heart just a little more when he realizes that Eliot suspects there's an ulterior motive. There isn't, asides from maybe wanting a friend. He can't hide his slightly surprised expression--hell, Quentin can't hide anything, he's always been too expressive--and he shrugs. ]
I mean, do I actually need a reason? I can't just hang out?
no subject
[ Ah, but time does go much more quickly here. ]
...it’s been a long time for me. Since you’ve wanted to. That’s all. And I missed that. Didn’t know if you’d ever want to again.
[ Eliot shrugs, because this too is just another fact to him, and he tries not to take it personally. ]
It’s just lonely sometimes. Nothing to worry about.
no subject
He has to stop thinking. In general, but about the situation, about others... Can't he just get shitfaced like he used to? He huffs, bangs finding their way into his face one more. He can't shake it. Alice always had the ability to have her hair in her face and never fuck up--why can't he?
They lapse into silence, and Quentin at least feels like it's the comfortable kind, like a warm blanket. It's nice. Eliot's company is nice. ]
So. Fen alright?
no subject
[ Even Eliot can’t deny that he’s sort of excited at the prospect, despite how completely unprepared for fatherhood he is. ]
Why?
no subject
Eliot's right, though. It might actually be alright if he catches a few Z's. ]
You being a dad, though, that's-- [ He chuckles. ] --I don't think anyone saw that coming. Not from the king of orgies.
no subject
Not so interesting anymore, am I? [ It’s said like a joke, but of course it’s never a joke. ] Turns out orgies won’t ever be a thing for me again.
I’d ask you to attend some in my place, but I’m sure you’d probably get lost and start crying. Somehow end up in the kitchen drinking hot cocoa.
no subject
You act like I'm new to group sex.
[ That one threesome while they were all fucked up on emotion magic definitely counts. Even if it wrecked his relationship, which--
--well. He's not going to think about that. He's trying desperately not to be a depressing sadsack like usual. He keeps the tone light and holds his glass out, a silent 'refill, please.' ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
im gonna switch icon sets soon i swear
♥
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)