Alice the Infallible (phosphoromancy) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2017-08-21 21:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | alice quinn, quentin coldwater |
WHO: Alice Quinn + Quentin Coldwater
WHAT: Alice packing to leave the Cottage.
WHEN: Early August
WHERE: Alice's (former) bedroom @ the Cottage
WARNINGS: None, it's fairly tame
STATUS: Complete
Alice was standing in the middle of what she supposed could still be called her room. She wasn't gone yet. All around were a scattering of boxed and suitcases, with items thrust neatly inside, as Alice stood in the center. Her one arm was tucked around her chest, fingers pressed underneath of her arm, while her free hand was up near her face, with fingers pressed against her bottom lip. She'd been working to get everything packed away for days now but it was still not complete. The truth was that she hadn't been able to fully commit herself.
She was certain that she was making the right call but with each passing day, more and more of her memories of the months before were slipping away, while the memories of this room became more vibrant. She recalled nights curled to Quentin's side or lazy afternoons sitting by the window with her Practical Applications text book in her lap. She thought of mornings when she'd have her door closed and she'd lay on her floor, singing along with Chris Martin to old Coldplay songs.
She didn't want those memories. She wanted the exploration that she'd only had weeks of. She wanted that back. That, in addition, to her magic. Her earliest textbook from Brakebills was laying on her bed with Popper's Number One demonstrated on its inner pages. She was learning to ride a bicycle once more.
Her fingers slipped down and she moved her other arm to circle around her, squeezing tight, as her head bowed, allowing for one moment of displayed vulnerability.
Alice leaving was, in a word, difficult. Quentin had a feeling it was for the best. It would be good for Alice to be around other people, to find herself again. It didn’t dull the aching in his chest at the idea of her being gone...again. Only he might be able to see her, but something told him he’d have to accept it if she never spoke to him again. He was trying not to hover too much, but just watching her made him feel...sad. It was a loss, but he...needed to deal with it because it wasn’t going to stop. This was the reality.
Today, however, he stopped in the doorway, trying to find the words, to find anything to say. For a while, he just watched her because nothing he was thinking in his head was worth the saying. After a few minutes passed, he said, “Do you need any help with this?” Because that seemed like something he should ask. There wasn’t as much neutral commentary as he wanted, but that was simple enough.
Her composure shifted with the sound of his voice. Her back straightened and her arm tightened around herself. She glanced upwards at the ceiling as though she were trying to keep level before allowing herself to speak. After a few moments passed, she turned her head, looking over her shoulder to Quentin.
"Do you really want to help?"
She knew well enough that there was no way Quentin was happy about this. But wouldn't it have been this way if their lives hadn't been uprooted in the way they were? If she'd never become a niffin and they'd returned from Fillory after defeating Martin? Their personal conflicts had been put on hold, temporarily, but there was still the issue of what had happened just before their journey. Wouldn't she have left as a result of all of that?
Of course, the Cottage was her dormitory in a way, back at school. Maybe that would have stopped her. She supposed it would have. Regardless, she watched him, waiting for an answer.
Did he really want to? No. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t help. He couldn’t exactly show that he wasn’t the same person he was if he refused to help and just hid in his room while she packed and left. He might have wanted to do that, but...what would it have accomplished? He wasn’t sure Eliot would have let him, though.
“Yeah.” He didn’t step into the room because he still wasn’t sure that she wanted him to come in. There were a lot of things to consider, but the most important thing was that he let her feel like she had a choice. He’d realized, talking to Kylo, that he’d taken her choice away, that he’d been her parents. Probably worse than because they seemed not to understand what they were doing. He, on the other hand, had understood, had met her parents and known how they were. He’d seen the way she reacted to it and the way she felt about it. He knew that he should have known better, but he also couldn’t just let her stay...dead.
“Do you still need things packed or…?”
She didn't look away from him and the usual anger that she'd been carrying these past few weeks wasn't as apparent. It was still, obviously, under the surface but more than anything she just looked tired. And perhaps a bit sad. She tried to maintain his gaze but finally she looked down to the floor and allowed herself to speak. "If you want to, fine," she said, as she unfolded her arms and moved to sit on the edge of her bed.
Once she was sat, she looked up to him and thought on the question. "It's slow going right now," she said as way of an answer. Without her magic, everything was slower.
"I do want to ask you to do something for me," she then said, watching him, and wondering if he would. It was going to be a lot to ask for.
Quentin had trouble trying to fathom what exactly it was that she wanted to ask him, but he didn’t say so, he just...walked carefully into the room and started to sort through things. He didn’t do it with magic, mostly because it didn’t feel like something he needed to do with magic. Probably because it gave him something to do with his hands.
“Okay. What is it?” Because there was no way to find out what she wanted him to do without asking. Even when they were together, Quentin had never been a mind reader and so knowing Alice was a work in progress and understanding her was about the same...but he felt like he knew her better than he had at the beginning, which meant something...didn’t it?
"Make a portal for me," she said, with caution, lifting her gaze just enough to look at him as she finished the final word. And then she looked away, moving across the room, to busy her own hands with some of her packing. She moved to pull open a dresser drawer and pulled out an article of clothing.
She worked at folding it while she waited for an answer from him.
The request wasn’t exactly what he was expecting, but it made sense once he thought about it. He looked at her for a moment, studying her quietly for a minute. He couldn’t really see any sort of reaction or look that gave her away. Before she’d known he was there, he could see something, but not so much after.
“You’ll have to tell me where you’re staying so I can make the portal.” Because he wasn’t sure how well blindly making a portal would go. “Since I assume you want a portal from there.”
"I know that," she responded, quickly, though she didn't allow the words to have as much bitterness as she'd had in previous interactions. Then she nodded her head, sweeping a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah. If I have to come here to study, I want it to be as easy as possible."
Then she turned back to her folding attempts. "You willing to do it?"
Quentin resisted the urge to smile. “If I wasn’t willing to do it, do you think I’d request to know where you’re living?” Well, he might have, but he thought probably not. He couldn’t very well make a portal out of nowhere, though. So she’d have to tell him first.
“So where do you want me to connect the portal?”
She was glancing down at the laundry when he made the comment and was glad her gaze was cast downward, because for a flicker of a moment, she smiled. Then she cast her eyes up to him. "Point taken."
Scooping up the folded articles of clothing, she made her way towards a box to set them in. Once she placed them inside, she shifted, moving to pull something out of her pocket, to which she immediately held it out for him. It was a folded scrap of paper. "Here."
Quentin looked at the paper, taking it from her before opening it. He read the words there before getting himself ready. He had learned portaling. New York had been a strange adventure. But he would make this portal for her...even if everything in his rebelled against him because he hated the idea of her leaving. He knew it was for the best, though. So he did it. For her. To make things better.