Eliot the Spectacular, High King of Fillory (the_spectacular) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2018-08-06 21:32:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | alice quinn, eliot waugh (helladjacent) |
Who: Eliot Waugh 2 & Alice Quinn
What: The old coping mechanisms Eliot relied on in his old world aren’t going to work here.
When: Part One: August 4th. Part Two: August 6th.
Where: Eliot has made Alice’s couch his new home
Warnings: Drug and alcohol abuse
Status: Complete in gdocs
On the first night, when all was said and done and they'd come back to Alice's apartment to indulge in Max's fresh bottle of vodka, Alice hadn't minded letting go of her couch in order to give Eliot a place to stay. She was observant enough of the network to notice Quentin referencing going out of town. She wasn't sure about whether or not Margo had either, but considering Margo hadn't been around to assist them with the quick removal of Eliot's possessions, she had a feeling Margo wasn't available. In all likelihood, the Cottage was filled with just the other version of Eliot and his family. There was no way that Alice was going to demand this Eliot vacate her home and go back to that if he didn't want to. Plus, she had drank plenty herself that first night and suspected he'd drank far more. He wouldn't have been in much of a shape to head back. All throughout the next day, Alice said nothing about it and occasionally came round to check on him, but largely gave him space. If he needed her, she came. Otherwise, she was hunkered down in a chair with a laptop clicking away throughout the day as she worked on her continued research about the portal and its properties. By the time it was late again, she'd shut the laptop down and set it on the coffee table, flashing a look in Eliot's direction. She'd assumed he was asleep. Moving away from the living room, she'd stepped into the kitchen and sent a message off to Takashi to ask if he wanted to come over. It hadn't taken him long to arrive and she padded through the living room, ignoring Eliot's figure, and promptly opened the door to let him in. Without so much as a word, she shut the door behind Shiro and headed off in the direction of her bedroom with him. It was now just a little over six in the morning and she pulled open her bedroom door, shutting it behind her so as not to disturb him, and made her way for the kitchen. Coming up to the sink, she snatched up a glass to fill with water, and promptly brought it to her lips to take a drink from as she leaned against the counter. She was sporting a pair of pajama pants with a butterfly pattern up and down the fabric but also the shirt Shiro had been wearing when he'd arrived the night prior. “He’s pretty,” Eliot said with a sigh. It was hard to say what Eliot was on. He wasn’t drunk. This was something else. Something that addled his brain enough that he gave Alice a very wobbly thumbs up before his arm went limp back on the couch. “Are you making breakfast? I’d love breakfast,” Eliot said. “Don’t put yourself out, I’ll have whatever you’re having.” She glanced over her shoulder just in time to catch the thumbs up before his arm dropped back down. It was still dark enough that she could potentially go back to bed if she wanted but it wasn't like sleep was something she got much of. More so these days than back when she had first arrived, at least. She set the water glass down for a moment before shifting to yank open one of the cabinets. A few moments later, she came around to the living room and took a seat on the floor beside the couch, holding out a box of Cookie Crisp for him should he want it. "I don't cook," she reminded him, before taking another drink from her water glass. “You made me breakfast,” Eliot said, taking the box of cookie crisp and shoving his hand in the box to take a handful. He looked genuinely touched by the gesture, as though Alice’s kindness knew no limits. Once he had a handful of cereal, he ate them one tiny cereal cookie at a time. "Sure." She didn't necessarily feel like she had but if he wanted to credit her, she would accept it. She watched him for a moment before reaching out to take hold of the box herself, pouring some onto her hand. She set the box down. "Did you get enough sleep?" “Hm? It’s not important. I’ll crash hard eventually.” Eliot shrugged as he ate a few more bites of cereal. He never saw himself as a cereal person, preferring to make crepes or something else that might impress an overnight guest, but crunching on it happily, it certainly had its charms. "That doesn't sound ideal," she commented, though not in a tone that was pressing or nagging. It was more simply that she was stating her differing opinion. She scooped up a few pieces from her hand and tossed them in her mouth before delicately turning the rest over onto the bare coffee table. -- Eliot did not move from the couch. He thought about it. There were times over the weekend, after getting his things back from the hotel, that he considered relocating to the cottage. Except he was in some sort of guest room of the cottage watching his duplicate cope with his own problems. Eliot Two thought the Cottage was too small for the both of them the moment he arrived in Tumbleweed, but now he worried it was for entirely different reasons. He waited until Alice left, got into his own stash in the trunk he had lovingly, and protectively moved from the soon-to-be-former hotel, and for only the second time, sampled the small vial of opium he had taken with him when the hotel dropped everyone off in Victorian London. Just a drop. He was being so much more responsible this time. He just wanted a vacation from his feelings. Most of the drugs in his trunk were for trade. Eliot had friends at the hotel, but it was based on a network of understanding and agreements. Inside the hotel, you paid someone to face whatever discomfort the hotel threw at you, with you. Outside the hotel, where if you died it was for real, you were paying them to stick with you and accept that risk. Friends were more like the people tended to pick as your survival crew. And Eliot had befriended survivors. He half remembered having a pleasant conversation with Napoleon, he of the angelic face and patient nature too good to be true, before zoning out into the Euphoria he’d been seeking. Alice had bore witness once before to what Eliot could be like when he was in pain. It wasn't difficult to remember the way he'd sunk further and further into himself, and escapes, in the aftermath of the what had happened with Mike. She knew how bad things could get. Her allowance for him to remain in her house hadn't been undertaken without some sense. She'd been aware enough to be mindful. She couldn't say with certainty that he hadn't taken anything until this point but she had been fairly certain he hadn't. It was just the alcohol as far as she'd known. That was still a concern but she'd felt safe enough to go into work, get the information she needed, and return back to the apartment to continue her work day from home. But then Napoleon's message had come through. It took her no time at all to get back to her apartment. The longest aspect of her travel had been hurrying back through the corridors of Fort Neill to get to an exit so she could effectively construct a portal to get her back to the apartment complex. She pushed open her front door, eyes locking down on him. "What did you take?" “Hi Alice,” he greeted with an airy, sing song voice. She was always so serious. Sometimes that worked out for them. And well, sometimes she niffined herself to save everyone’s life. He sighed, and then relaxed into the couch. "Eliot," she stated, not as a greeting but as a call to focus. She didn't know if he was going to actually come out and answer her. She shut the door, hard, behind her as she moved further into the apartment. Eyes were bouncing around the area that he was currently occupying, trying to get any indication of what it was he might have in his system, and whether she needed to worry about hurrying to get it out. “Alice?” Eliot responded, he was able to make some conversation at least, even if his voice sounded like it came from a half sleeping place, blissful and comfortable. “You seem to be very anxious. I had a lot of weed. Would you like some? You look like you could use some.” He barely moved from his relaxed position. She had already lowered herself down to glance at the coffee table, picking up the remnants of clutter that she directly pin on herself, Eliot or Max, and glancing underneath. She had just bent down further to look underneath the coffee table when he suggested how she could use some. She lifted her head, glancing over her shoulder, and scowled in his direction through the strands of hair that had fallen across her face. "No, Eliot, I don't want some." She stood back up fully, brushed her hands down her dress to smooth it out, and then moved from the couch, looking around still. "And did you have anything else other than pot?" “Oh, I didn’t smoke in your apartment. That would just be rude.” Eliot nodded his head sagely. “I just had a very small amount of opium.” Eliot held his thumb and index finger very close together to demonstrate the miniscule amount he’d had. “You don’t really strike me as an opium kind of person…” "I don't care if you smoke in here," she commented as her arms crossed over top of her chest, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. She was still waiting for her question to be answered. Her head tilted to the side and she stared at him as he said that. "That's all?" She questioned, sarcastically, before moving towards him. She dropped down to sit beside him on the couch and yanked out her phone, opening up the internet browser, quickly typing into google. She kept her eyes focused on the phone. "Did you get it from the hotel?" “I mean, ignoring the potential threat of the hotel or the possibility of any of my friends being there, that’s ninety percent of the reason I wanted to go in,” Eliot admitted. That was much easier to admit when he was high, and he spoke as if what he was was perfectly reasonable. His hair was an uncontrolled mop on the top of his head that heightened the slight mania in his eyes with his lazy smile. She glanced up from the phone for a moment, the frustration and minor concern driven panic being pushed back to show a flash of sympathy across her face, the frown very evident and clear. She brought in a breath and turned her gaze back down to look at her phone, thumb pulling down on the touch screen to continue reading. But as she did so, she was quietly shaking her head. She should have known. "Is it in the trunk?" She asked as continued to read. “The trunk is my baby,” Eliot sighed wistfully. “You can help yourself to the weed. It’s not as rare of a commodity here, I’m guessing. I basically used it as currency.” She gave him another flash of a look. "I'll keep that in mind," she commented, before backing out of the browser and hitting the button for the network. "What would weed buy you?" She asked, more to keep him talking as she began a message for Margo and Quentin. “Friends,” Eliot said. He seemed immune or unaware of Alice’s looks. Instead he just let himself enjoy the euphoric high. “People tended to split up into smaller groups when things got bad. I tended to spend time with zombie apocalypse survivors. They were resourceful and badasses.” "How do you feel about us having our friends come round?" She asked, as she continued typing out the message on her phone, giving him a sideways glance. "Given what you've said about where you were, I think I would follow your example on that." “Okay. Sure.” Eliot rolled onto his side to get comfortable, realized it wasn’t and rolled back. His feet dangled off the arm of the couch and he was otherwise comfortable. |