Eliot stared hard at the message on his phone. Willing it to disappear, to change, to stop stating that Quentin Coldwater was gone. Because he really wasn't willing to believe it. He'd only just started to mourn when he'd arrived here, to find him alive. And, they'd only had a few weeks to be together in a way, he never thought would happen. Because, the man he loved was dead back home. And, he'd barely had the chance to show him how much he loved him, before he was taken from him. But, nothing happened.
Sighing, he tossed his phone on the table, and threw himself into the nearest chair. With a wave of his hand, he pulled a bottle of whisky to himself telekinetically, eternally grateful that magic worked here. Putting the bottle to his lips, he mentally figured out what other substances he had, figuring he might need to go out to get something stronger. He knew his coping mechanisms sucked, but he didn't know any other way.
It didn't take long for the bottle to be half empty, and for Eliot decide he was numb enough to find something else to stop him from feeling. Handling his emotions, was not something he was very well equipped to do. And, only slightly unsteady on his feet, he headed out of the door. Knowing that someone at Harmony probably had something stronger, possibly Lucifer. He seemed to know how to get these things.
It didn't take him long to find the devil himself, and after an exchange of favours, Eliot soon found himself in a corner sofa, drink in hand and a little bag of pills in his pocket. He wasn't exactly sure what they were, and he didn't exactly care either.