Eliot couldn't help but scoff at the name of the being who had created such an absurdly named place. It wasn't surprising that neither the god nor the world lived up to their names. If Fillory had taught any of them anything? Hell, if their entire lives had taught them anything? It was how to deal with disillusionment. Nothing was ever as shiny as it was on the surface - except maybe Quentin's laugh.
A part of El was convinced he'd never actually saved the world. That he somehow died in the proverbial boom, but if the dying meant being in fucking not-Narnia and seeing him again? Well, maybe he would take it. On the flip-side? He desperately needed a drink or two. Maybe twelve. "I'm far too sober to engage in a riveting conversation about the mechanics of time or whatever other fuckery is going on here. So, how about we stick with 'Q took a detour'?" Simple, basic, and a hell of a lot easier to wrap his mind around at that moment. "At least until we raid the Beaver's stash."
Because there wasn't a chance in hell, Mr. Beaver didn't have one. It would probably taste like river water, but he'd probably drink anything right now, as long as it had some sort of alcohol in it.
Then Quentin was staring up at him, and he couldn't help but reciprocate, which only led to a shake of his head once they both snapped out of it - yet he smiled all the same despite that brief instance of awkward. He was definitely too sober. "That makes two of us." His eyebrows arched at the mention of Julia, though. "Doesn't surprise me that she's here too. She has a knack for being everywhere."
He could still hear that 'I don't trust you', falling off her lips. Things between himself and Julia hadn't ever been sunshine and rainbows, but that was par for the course.
All thoughts of Julia skittered away at Q's next line of questioning. Shuffling through his pockets for the cigarettes that were thankfully on his person when he dropped into Goodland, El hastily lit up and moved to lean casually against the lamp post. Where had he even gotten these? Probably from that never ending party he'd resided himself to repeat forever. At least until the door appeared in front of him.
"A year," he finally said abruptly. "Give or take. Feels like longer after my stint as Bill Murray. Last thing I remember is saving the world. You know. Again."