weareallnegan (weareallnegan) wrote in helladjacent, @ 2017-04-01 19:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | !jumps: post-zombie fog, character: eliot waugh, character: negan |
Who: Negan and Eliot
What: Eliot says thank you
When: Wednesday afternoon
Where: Room 504
Warnings: Language
Eliot did not especially want to leave his room. He did, however, need to eat occasionally and since the other residents had not been transformed into monsters there was no excuse. He also owed one rugged, aging psychopath a favor. Although technically he might have owed Judith for himself, Eliot had been the one to speak for Molly.
On days where Eliot was feeling particularly serious or depressed, he tended to go a little heavier on the eyeliner. Today was one of those days, though he was otherwise clean and well dressed. He was not a goth, sometimes he just liked their makeup technique.
And despite Negan not announcing his new room number, Eliot seemed to find it easily enough. He leaned against the doorframe and knocked lazily on the door. In his other hand he held the tackiest flask he could find, complete with American flag and head of an eagle. The magician had picked it up at the gas station along with a new, more minimalist silver flask for himself.
Negan was enjoying the fuck out of having his own room. Claire wasn’t exactly a bad roommate, but having a teenage girl as a roommate was just inconvenient as shit, especially before he had the memories of raising one. Now, he was probably better-equipped to handle it, but he was glad he didn’t have to.
Part of that enjoyment was letting himself feel his age once in a while and taking a nap without Claire harassing him for being old. So when he was woken up in the middle of his nap, he was less than enthusiastic, and slow-moving as he groaned and rolled his way out of bed.
“You better be the motherfucking Queen of England or some shit,” he called towards the door, scratching at his overgrown beard as he looked around for a pair of pants. Then, deciding his t-shirt and boxers were fine, he went to the door, opening it just a crack to see who it was first, before opening it the rest of the way. “You’re definitely not the Queen of England, Eliot.”
“No, but I am the High King of Fillory. Close enough.” Eliot gave Negan a once over before holding up the very patriotic looking flask. “I saw this at the gas station. It reminded me of my favorite DILF. You’re welcome.”
It took Negan half a second of mental processing to figure out what the fuck Eliot just called him, and when he did, he laughed, reaching out to give Eliot a one-armed squeeze around the shoulders.
“Awww, shucks, you shouldn’t have,” he said, still chuckling as he pulled back and took the flask. He stepped back into his room, giving a nod. “Wanna come in a minute? I’ll find a fucking pair of pants.”
The flask was full. The bottle of Pappy that Louise had found had very little in it left, and most of it was consumed shortly after she handed it over. Eliot had noticed, however, a few drops left, which was enough to use for the spell. Negan had mentioned being partial to whiskey.
Eliot entered the room, closing the door behind him.
“Erik mentioned you had a seizure as well.” The magician frowned. He hadn’t meant to bring it up. Eliot sure as hell didn’t want to talk about his, but sometimes in the heat of awkward small talk, shit slipped.
“Yup. It was fucking great.”
There was sarcasm in Negan’s voice, but it was actually true. Getting his memories back was easily the best thing that had happened to him since he’d gotten to the hotel. The seizure itself, though? Not so great.
He gave the flask a shake as he crossed the room to his wardrobe, and twisted it open, giving it a sniff.
“Hold the fucking phone-” He took another sniff, and then took a healthy swallow from the flask. “You even filled it for me? Shit, Eliot, you know me so fucking well.”
Eliot preened very slightly, “Oh, I did better than that. It’s self refilling. Never runs out. I had one back home, had the idea to make myself a new one when I lost it. Thought you might want one, too.”
“Holy shit, I think I’m in love.”
Negan was grinning, wide and excited, and he took another drink from his flask. Self-refilling. He’d only taken a couple of sips, but he could tell it wasn’t getting any lighter. The regularly restocking bar in the Lounge was usually good enough for him, but this was way better.
“You, sir, just became my favorite fucking magical person ever,” he said, digging a pair of jeans out of his wardrobe so he could pull them on. “When the fuck did you get here? Why the fuck did we not become friends sooner?”
Not that Negan really had friends. But he’d call them friends, because calling them useful people he collected was insulting, or something.
“I'm mildly heterophobic,” Eliot said wryly.
“Shame on you for being so fucking close-minded,” Negan shot back at him, and snorted.
“Some of my best friends are straight,” he retorted and paused. “No wait. That’s a lie. There’s only you, Judith and Erik and you’re the prudest people I’ve ever spent more than fifteen minutes with.”
He half smiled, though. Being as undersexed as he was, there was nothing for him to do but laugh at his own misery.
“You’re the only fucking person who’s ever called me prude,” he said, chuckling as he went to sit in one of the chairs in the sitting area of his room. “I’m not prude. I’m just not gay.” He smirked, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head at Eliot. “Maybe you really are a fucking heterophobe.”
“If you’ve never sucked cock you’re at least fifty percent prude,” Eliot said. “How on Earth would you function in a fivesome?”
He was teasing, naturally. Negan seemed like the sort of person to find his sense of humor amusing without being easily offended.
“Uhm, I have functioned in a fucking fivesome, thank you very much,” Negan said, giving Eliot a look that said how insulted he was at the implication that he wouldn’t- but it had nothing to do with the dick-sucking comment. “It was me and four of my wives, and the best fucking birthday present I’ve ever gotten.”
He followed that with another drink from his flask.
Eliot rolled his eyes. “Ugh. Lady orgasms are so much more fucking work, and let’s be honest, your average woman does not give nearly as good head as your average guy. If Margo ever shows up, never tell her I said that, she would cut me.”
Eliot pulled out the last of his cigarettes. Most had been smoked or shared last week, and if he hadn't left some in his room that locked him out, they would have all been gone. Still, it was only polite to offer one to Negan as well as to wordlessly ask do you mind?
In response, Negan reached out to take one of the cigarettes from Eliot’s pack.
“Man, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he said, and shook his head. “Lady orgasms are so fucking worth it. I could spend hours eating pussy.” Then he smirked. “I have spent hours eating pussy. Sounds like you’re just fucking lazy.”
Eliot put his cigarette to his lips. His hands made a couple of fluid gestures to keep the smell of the smoke off him, lighting the end of the cigarette finally with a snap of his fingers before he took his first drag.
“I might be biased,” Eliot conceded. “My wife never complained. Unfortunately. I liked her well enough, I guess.”
Eliot looked at Negan,as though doing some sort of social calculation. The thought flickered away with the next drag of his cigarette.
“If she had any fucking clue how much of a pain in the ass you think lady orgasms are, she probably figured complaining wouldn’t do her any fucking good anyway,” Negan said, rolling his eyes. He looked from his cigarette, to Eliot’s, and then to Eliot, and raised an eyebrow. “You mind? I don’t know where the fuck my lighter went.”
“I think she knew,” Eliot said a little guiltily. He leaned forward and snapped his fingers at the end of Negan’s cigarette. Once it was lit his hands did a few gestures to keep his clothes and self smelling smoke free, not that he thought Negan would particularly care. “It's not that I don't find pussy mildly interesting. Sort of like, let's have Thai food tonight. One political marriage with a magical contract later, and it was going to be Thai food every night for the rest of my life-- which, wasn't very long anyway, I guess.”
Eliot looked at Negan. “You are more than free to change the subject now.”
Negan took a slow drag from his cigarette, relaxing back in his seat with the cigarette in one hand, and the flask in the other, watching Eliot with an amused expression that had nothing to do with what Eliot was talking about. He exhaled the smoke out lazily, ending in a low chuckle.
“What, and stop you from bitching about your wife?” he snorted, following it with a sip from his flask. “You find something to stick your dick in here yet? That’d help you feel a whole lot fucking better.”
“No,” Eliot sighed. “Honestly, I am almost at the point of desperation where I’d go lady myself for a night or several of tasteful debauchery, but like I said, lady orgasms are work, giving and receiving them.” He shrugged.
Negan let that process for a few seconds, for a second not sure he’d heard it right.
“Wait, so like… you can just fucking turn into a lady for a while?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he took another drag from his cigarette. “Your magic can do that kind of shit?” Getting used to the fact that magic was real didn’t take much time. After being attacked by flying Christmas decorations, and being killed by Krampus, when he first got there, anything seemed believable.
“Magic can do all kinds of shit,” Eliot said. “Some things come naturally, some through study, it depends. I can’t heal people with my magic, my battle magic blows, but basically anything related to drinking, fucking, event planning, and drinking? Sure.”
“Huh.”
Negan thought on that for a moment while he took another sip from his flask. He’d only had it five minutes, and he already knew he’d be drinking from it far too much, just because he could. For now, he twisted it shut. He didn’t need to be getting drunk in the middle of the afternoon.
“So did all that shit come naturally, or did you study party magic?”
“I studied magic, parties are just what I choose to apply my knowledge to. There are many magicians in the world- my world- not so many quests to go around. Some just end up magical podiatrists. I thought I'd have a distillery, not running a magical kingdom. If I'd known that, I would have done more drugs.”
Since they were having a conversation, Eliot decided to slide into the chair next to Negan’s. “A lot more drugs,” Eliot added.
Negan snorted and took another drag from his cigarette.
“Just what every fucking kingdom needs,” he said, and chuckled as he flicked the ashes from the end of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out slowly. “A drugged up King. Or, better yet, one whose brain’s already fucked up from drugs. How’d you end up being a fucking King, anyway?”
“They don’t even have the good drugs in Fillory,” Eliot said mournfully. His eyes went to Negan, “You want the long version or the short version?”
“Short version.”
“I took a blood test and they made me their king. Yay.” Eliot exhaled smoke. “It is a hopelessly fucked up world, fucked with by one of the more benevolent gods who thinks he’s hilarious.”
“Sounds like every fucking world I’ve heard of since I got here,” Negan said. He didn’t think he had to point out that that included his own, although he would’ve said whatever god was fucking with his world was malevolent. “So were you like, the only fucking king in existence who wasn’t fucking someone besides his queen?”
“Marriage works differently on Fillory than it does on Earth. On Earth you can have affairs, or mistresses, or polyamory. Royal marriages on Fillory come with a magical catch. Someone was wronged and appealed to Ember for the rule? I don’t really know. Do you have the Fillory books on your world? Or is it just my version of Earth where all the children’s books actually exist as real worlds somewhere?” Eliot was still not quite fully over being in the same hotel as Rowena Ravenclaw.
“Man, I’m not the fucking person to ask,” Negan said, and laughed. He’d been a teacher at one point, but he taught history, not English or reading or whatever-the-fuck. “If there was, I never read them. Magic and shit isn’t really my thing.”
“Well it is now,” Eliot said. “So, not that I don't blame you, but I noticed you chose to come back here rather than stay on your world.”
Negan squinted at Eliot as he took another drag from his cigarette.
“And?” he asked on his exhale.
“Judith made it sound like you were royalty. Or that she was. Though you certainly leapt at the opportunity to be king for a week. Was enjoying it just an act?” Eliot actually wanted to know. He had not particularly enjoyed being king, as comfortable as it was. Though he didn't expect to go home, he still was curious about the choices and motivations of other leaders.
“Nope,” Negan replied, and decided this conversation needed more Scotch, at least while he was still tolerating it. “But you’d have to be a huge fucking dumbass to decide to stay in that shitbucket of a world instead of this place, no matter how many fucked up things it pulls out of its ass.”
That was something he and Judith agreed on. No matter how bad the hotel got, it was better than their world for a number of reasons. The Scotch he was drinking, even though that was from Eliot, was one of them.
“How long have you been in the hotel?” Eliot asked. The longer Negan had been there, the more relieved Eliot would be. After remembering his death, he was partially convinced this was some sort of Hell is Other People sort of afterlife.
Negan had to think about that for a few moments, his brow furrowed as he pulled from his cigarette and ashed it lazily, bringing his other hand up to scratch at his beard.
“Shit, I don’t know,” he said, and shrugged. “A few months, at least? Christmas shat all over this place when I got here. It’s been a minute. Longer than pretty much everyone else here, except Gretel, but she’s got me beat by a fuckton.”
Eliot had been in the gas station. He had, weirdly enough, been ready to do something suicidally stupid to try and help the others when the vampire entered. It was hard not to have heard what Eric and Gretel had been arguing about.
The Magician frowned.
“I guess I’ll see how I feel in a few months,” he said quietly. Eliot wondered if he hadn't been stupid to simply stay off in New Orleans. At least that had been a fairly modern, normal Earth.
Negan raised his eyebrows at Eliot, blinking a few times as he put the end of his cigarette out on the arm of the chair he was sitting in, and blew out his last exhale of smoke.
“Whatever,” he said, chuckling again as he flicked the cigarette butt off to who the fuck knew where. He wasn’t prepared to sit down and have an existential conversation with anyone… except maybe Judith, but she got away with a lot of things that other people didn’t. “Well, Eliot, thank you so fucking much for the amazing present, but-” He clapped his hands onto his knees, standing up from his chair with a low groan and a stretch. “I got a nap to get the fuck back to.”
Especially now that he’d had some Scotch to warm him up and make him really fucking happy they had the actual hotel back again. All he wanted to do was nap, drink, eat, probably go fuck someone, and go back to sleep.
“Sure thing, Papa Bear,” Eliot said airily. He stood and cracked open the door to the balcony. Because this was Eliot, he wasn't content to simply flick his cigarette butt into nothingness- and certainly not into Negan’s room, that would be rude. Instead the butt transformed into a sort of origami hummingbird and flew off, its beak still smoldering red.
Just one of Eliot’s familiar party tricks. It was comforting to him, in a weird way, even if he didn't think Negan would appreciate it. “Rest well, and dream of large women.”
The Princess Bride reference was also probably wasted on him. Eliot closed the door to the balcony and showed himself out.