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011 » I don't mind if I don't see it [Closed]

characters: Quentin Coldwater & Eliot Waugh.
location: Beginning at the Hirano residence and ending in Stoker Park.
date/time: Day 11, night (after the moonshine mingle).
content: Quentin and Eliot get drunk, discuss their spooky Day 10 experiences, and are generally gross about each other.
warnings: TBD.

[ Eliot had meant to find Quentin sooner. It had been the first thing on his mind when he'd woken up, late in the morning, reeling from the strange dream he'd just had. Or was it a dream? It hadn't felt real, per se, but it hadn't felt imagined, either, and as Eliot sits up he realizes he's covered in dust.

Gross.

And then, as he brushes it away, he sees his bloodstained hand. And he knows he needs to find Quentin, but first he needs to try to clean himself up. But finding Quentin in the small town is harder than it should be, like they keep missing each other somehow, so Eliot is beyond pleased (and relieved) when he finds Quentin at the moonshine thing. Drinking together is easy and familiar. Eliot virtually forgets about whatever it was that happened to him the day before, falling into a pleasantly drunken stupor with Quentin - and making sure Quentin doesn't get too obliterated. This stuff is strong even by Eliot's standards.

So, when Eliot is vaguely reminded of the way they felt after messing with emotion magic, he figures it's time to call it a night. He nudges at his friend to get up. ]

Come on, I think we need some fresh air. Let's go walk.

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Mmmm. [ It's inebriated Quentin speech for 'yes,' because they are quite drunk, and Quentin has vague memories of thinking this wasn't going to happen when talking to Malcolm Bright.

Oops.

Eliot's right though, fresh air would help, and it takes some finagling between the two of them to right themselves properly. Quentin leans on Eliot, Eliot leans on Quentin, and they're a bit of a sloppy mess but they don't actually fall. It's easier when they're walking and in motion, and by the time they do hit the cool night air, Quentin isn't exactly sober but he certainly has his wits a little more with him. ]

Hey.

[ Quentin sniffs at the air, like it's somehow offended him, and leans a little too heavily on the taller man, as if pulling will steady the High King as they walk forward so he can rest his head on his shoulder. It doesn't work. ]

Why's your hand red?

[ Eliot likes this. He feels instantly soothed between the cool air and the way their shoulders bump together as they walk. Then Quentin asks his question, and Eliot looks at his hand, and he remembers that he'd meant to tell Quentin about this literally hours ago. ]

Oh. Yeah.

[ Eliot frowns at his red tinted hand. He wonders how long it will take for the redness to go away. ]

I had a ... Dream? I don't know. I thought I was in Whitespire but it was a hall I didn't recognize, and there were these doors, and I went into this room that had a chest or something. I was sort of lowkey hoping for wine but there was just a bowl and a knife and the knife had some weird writing on it and then there was just blood everywhere. I didn't really hang out to see what happened next.

[ Quentin listens, and as he does his hand drifts so he's practically holding Eliot's. He's listening--really listening--but he's also idly touching the other's arm, moving his fingers down it to clasp his hand, stopping so he can get another look at it.

It's all very important information Eliot's giving him, information Quentin will no doubt talk about and absorb fully in the morning, when they've sobered up. Or Quentin's sobered up, at least. He has no idea if Eliot's drunk drunk or his normal drunk. It's always so hard to tell.

He busies himself with touching the palm of Eliot's hand. ]

I had something happen to me, too. I wanted to tell you earlier, and ask about this, but then I saw you.

[ He's far more drunk than he thought. ]

And I saw that you were happy.

[ It's good that Quentin's grabbed his hand first, otherwise Eliot would have been the one to start holding hands, and it's probably just easier this way. Not that Eliot being a total asshole and ruining their future together ever stood in the way of them being touchy with one another. There were still prolonged touches, kisses to foreheads, things that are just normal when it comes to Eliot (and to Them in general).

He looks at Quentin, huffing a breath out of his nose while his lips curl up into an amused smile. ]

Am I? Happy, I mean.

[ It's probably just because there's alcohol now. Or, really, because Quentin's here. ]

Do you have a place to stay yet? Where have you been staying?

You know--I don't know if anyone's ever happy happy, but you're always more content when you have a captive audience.

[ Quentin's smile is goofy, and a little slack, eyes glazed even in the dark. He squeezes the other's hand. Eliot with a crowd, Eliot at a party, it seems natural. It proves Eliot's not it, too. ]

I've been crashing a the boarding house when I let myself sleep.

Yeah.

[ There's a moment where Eliot just lets himself stare at Quentin's ridiculous smile and his ridiculous drunk face. He didn't think he was ever going to see it again. ]

That's completely unacceptable, Quentin. I found a house. It still needs some cleaning, but the important rooms are okay. Magic can probably help. Is your magic sort of fucked here, too? I can't really get it to work the same.

[ 'Yeah,' Eliot says, and Quentin thinks he should just tell him now: he should just tell him that he doesn't regret sacrificing himself to save Eliot, and that he's sorry he didn't fight harder that day on Castle Whitespire's steps. He should tell him that he still looks unbelievably good, and that while he loves Alice with all of his heart, it's a different kind of love than what they have. Or he should just kiss him, just get it over with. Instead, he nods after a sharp inhale. He'd love to stay with Eliot. ]

Works easier if you adjust your pinky to fifth position when you're doing third. Doesn't work every time, though. And there's a secret passage in the library. I think.

Edited 2020-11-11 01:13 (UTC)

Don't ... Fucking tell me how to do magic. [ Eliot laughs, and he gives Quentin a light push. ] It's easier if you adjust your pinky.

[ As if Eliot isn't the better magician. Which isn't actually fair. Quentin's a great magician, it just comes to him differently than it comes to Eliot.

He twines their fingers together so Quentin can't decide to stop holding his hand, and adjusts their direction so they're heading towards Eliot's claimed home. ]

[ Quentin laughs at Eliot's push and mockery, and he finds himself surprised at how it's real--he's grinning, too, and it's not just because he's drunk, it's only mostly. His lips have permanently curled upwards, glad Eliot's holding his hand proper. He keeps wanting to move further right than he intends to, currently directionally impaired. ]

Hey. We need to look at that tunnel. And wherever that castle could be.

But like. Tomorrow, right?

[ He could do it now, if Quentin wanted, but they're both too drunk for adventure and Eliot still needs to recharge before he's ready for some sort of quest. ]

Also. Did you ignore the part where I said the room was full of blood?

No, I heard. [ Quentin's unusually happy about something like this. It's more than just alcohol, too. ] That's why we have to go.

[ He looks up at the other, resolution firm. ]

We should go now. Tomorrow may be too late.

The tunnel will still be there tomorrow and you’re at least fifty percent too drunk for me to let you adventure in good conscience.

[ He squeezes Quentin’s hand, gently pulling him up the walk to a small house. ]

Anyway. We’re home now. I can’t offer you a drink but I’ll share my cigarettes with you.

Mmm. Okay. [ Just like that, the urge to go is gone. Probably because Eliot's drunk, too, and cigarettes sound promising. So does a home. Eliot leads him up the path, and Quentin frowns. ]

Where'd you get cigarettes?

The general store.

[ Eliot ushers Quentin inside and locks the door behind them. It might be a bit of a moot point, considering the condition of some of the windows, but it creates an illusion of security.

The house isn't necessarily messy. The people that lived here before whatever happened kept a nice home, not too much stuff but enough furniture and decor to make it homey. The living room is relatively clean (there's still some dust in places, and that dust is seen through out most of the visible rooms), but the couch and a chair are clean enough for sitting. Eliot pops a couple cigarettes in his mouth, and, it takes a couple tries - no, he doesn't adjust his pinky - before a faint fire flickers from his fingers and lights them.

Eliot plucks one from between his lips and hands it to Quentin. ]

Not my ideal brand, but it'll do.

[ Quentin unceremoniously flops onto the couch, completely oblivious to the state of the place. It's clean for him, even by normal standards: what matters is Eliot, and how he offers the cigarette, and Quentin, tilting his head up in a drunken smile, happily reaches up to take it. Their fingers brush as Quentin leans back entirely, whole body boneless, the back of his head supported by the top frame of the couch. He looks comfortable, and at ease. Like this may as well be their house, or the Physical Kids' Cottage, or the tiny shack they raised a beautiful boy together in.

It takes him a moment, but the silence doesn't really feel suffocating like it has been the past few days here. He thinks about Eliot's red hand, and the room full of blood, and the mirror he found. His stomach twists, but he's unsure if it's because he overdid it or he's just not comfortable around mirrors like that. Not anymore.

He takes a long, slow drag from his cigarette to stop that train of thought. His hands move to his lips, enchanting them, and when he exhales the smoke, the silver tendrils twist up and form a speech bubble, the letters HI clearly in them, also written in smoke. It dissipates soon after. Weed's better with enchanted smoke rings, usually. ]

Hey--Eliot. Do you think we can help everyone out of here? [ His voice is a little quieter after a brief pause. ]

Do you think we can keep doing this?

Q.

[ Eliot lets out a sigh, that soft one he does when he's feeling fond but also feeling like Quentin's being a gentle idiot.

He sits next to Quentin on the couch, draping his arm along the back of it so his fingers brush against Quentin's hair, and takes a thoughtful puff of his cigarette. ]

No, I don't.

[ Or maybe they can. This is sort of their thing, isn't it? Solving problems like this, saving people. The problem is that they take one step forward and three steps back. The stopped the Beast, magic was weird. Quentin killed a god, magic was totally fucked. They saved magic, Quentin died to save the world from a Monster. Then the literal moon was supposed to explode and destroy earth and somehow, they stopped that, too. Eliot doesn't know if that was the end of it. He doesn't know what was supposed to come next, and he doesn't know if they'd keep outrunning fate or if it'd eventually catch them.

What he does know is that he's tired of trying to save people. ]

I'm not really discounting the possibility that we're all dead and this is where we ended up.

[ That tone is something Quentin seems to respond to--that gentle, one letter nickname, the way Eliot says it like he's gone and spilled food on himself by accident. He missed it. He missed it almost as much as he missed that hand idly brushing against his hair, and he allows himself to tilt his head back, staring up at the ceiling since it's easier than looking at the other.

Eliot's always been honest with what he thinks. The fact that he doesn't think they can help everyone barely hurts because of it. His eyes slip closed, cigarette still in his hand. It's a long time before he talks again and his eyes open. ]

When I dreamt about the library, there was a mirror.

Yeah?

[ Eliot, of course, doesn't understand the significance. He hadn't even been there during the gang's venture through the mirrorworld in the first place, so there's nothing about a mirror that stands out to him. As far as he's concerned, it's just another clue like a secret passageway that Quentin's trying to work out in his brain. ]

I didn't realize bookworms were concerned enough about their appearances to keep mirrors in libraries.

[ Maybe it's the booze. Quentin's smashed, Eliot's a little drunk--that hand in his hair is blissful, really, enough to make this easier. He keeps his tone neutral, carefully conversational as he stares at the smoke his cigarette is making. ]

I think it was on purpose. The mirror being there, I mean. [ He lets his eyes slip close, quiet for a few moments. ] The Seam, where we had to put... Uh, the mirror leading to the Seam, it broke.

[ He leans back up again, sitting up and moving forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The cigarette lays languidly between his fingers. He's awake now. ]

So I did some minor mending.

[ Eliot watches Quentin, like he's watched him so many times before, taking in the look on his face and the hunch of his shoulders. To most people, Quentin probably just looks like a melancholic drunk, but Eliot can see easily enough that Quentin's bothered by something.

He sits up, too, running his hand up Quentin's back and up to the nape of his neck, which Eliot squeezes gently. ]

Well. It's good that you fixed it, right?

Yeah. [ Quentin says it lazily, and he takes another puff off of his cigarette. Eliot's a godsend, he thinks, leaning into his touch. He'd forgotten how much he'd craved it. He'd forgotten how much he missed Eliot. Not that thing that was Eliot, but Eliot, sweet and confident and always with the right thing to say, be it a quip or just staying silent in the moment. ]

The thing about the mirror world... you can't cast. Even something like Harper's Fire Shaping goes off like a grenade.

Well. That sounds reasonable. Circumstances are probably fucked.

[ Eliot keeps his hand on Quentin's neck. He enjoys the physical connection, and he knows it helps keep Quentin a little more grounded. ]

Do you think the mirror you saw can take you back there?

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011 » I don't mind if I don't see it [Closed]

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