margo hanson (thedestroyer) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-05-15 14:25:00 |
|
|||
When Eliot got to the backyard, Margo had already been there for about ten minutes, walking a groove into the ground with the pacing she was doing. The Sorrows were in her hands and a sword was laid out nearby on the patio table. When she spotted Eliot coming into the backyard, she nodded at the sword. "Pick it up, Waugh." Margo didn't do well with talking out her problems. Repress and let it all come spilling out at inopportune moments, was her motto. But this weirdness between her and Eliot, she couldn't let that keep going. So she was going to fix this shit now, even if it meant they had to beat each other up a little first. There probably was a better way to do this, but, honestly, they probably both needed to get some things out with a little fighting. Eliot had not put down the cocktail, but by his own estimate he was not fully drunk either. He found he was a much more pleasant person to be around not sober and had done his best to avoid being around the others in the cottage in such a state. His eyes went to Margo. The weapons. Then back to Margo. “Last time I was in a duel, I got treed, unless you know something I don’t know.” Eliot’s face was visibly skeptical, but he picked up the sword anyway, letting it dangle limply at his side in a loose grip. Margo twirled her axes in her hands and frowned. She stepped a few steps closer, getting into Eliot’s personal space and sniffed him. “Bitch, did you really keep drinking after I told you to sober up?” She demanded, glaring up at her absurdly tall best friend. Letting out a little huff of annoyance, she stomped her foot and turned around, launching the Sorrows at a target that was set out across the yard, hitting the bullseye dead center. “Fuck!” Using her free hands now, she turned back around and grabbed the sword out of Eliot’s hand, putting it back on the table and dropping down onto a patio chair after. “Fine, guess we’re going to drink it out instead of fighting it out. Sit.” She reached back until she could get to the latch on the outdoor bar they had. Pulling out a bottle of vodka, she didn’t bother with mixers or glasses. She just twisted the cap off and started drinking straight from the bottle. A couple of chugs and she put it down on the table next to the sword. “Alright, we’re fixing us,” she said, voice a little rougher for the drink. “Tell me to my face what the fuck is up.” “I mean, that at least feels more fair,” Eliot said, when Margo changed the nature of their duel. Being a badass was Margo’s thing. Running away to live another day was Eliot’s. He put up zero resistance when she sat him down in a chair. “You don’t need me,” Eliot said, dryly. The alcohol had helped him feel matter of fact about it, but since the vodka was there he reached for the bottle and took a swallow. “If there’s harpies, if Whitecastle…” Eliot paused, he was hungry but that wasn’t what he meant. “...Castle Whitespire shows up, you have friends now that are on your level. Friends who can keep up with you. I’m a few seasons behind in character development or whatever, and the power creep on fantasy tv shows can get so out of hand. Buffy taking on the first evil. Willow becoming the uber witch or whatever. I’m happy for you.” Eliot almost seemed sincere, but then, he was also a very pleasant drunk. If they were going to fight this out, his verbal style would be more defensive than offensive. Even intoxicated, Eliot was very good at talking his way out of things. The cold stone that made up Margo’s heart softened a little at Eliot’s little observation. He really thought she didn’t need him? That...hurt. And she got it, she really did. She had new friends, a job, and had established herself here very well. But before she had...she had been a fucking mess. And that had been because she didn’t have anyone in the beginning. She had been forced to figure her shit out because she was it, out of her world, and she wasn’t good with Marina at the time. Still wasn’t on the best terms, but they were at least polite to each other now. But she struggled and latched onto the people that kept wanting to talk to her and...well, here she was now. “There isn’t ever going to be a time where I don’t need you, Eliot Waugh,” Margo said, taking the bottle back and cradling it in her hands. Looking down at it, she very quietly admitted, “I was tired and people were nice, so yeah, I guess I made some friends. I was weak, but my life is always going to be better with you in it. Because I want you in it, you jackass. Whatever this bullshit about character development is, get over it, because I want you with me. Here. Away from the world ending dangers of our world. Where we can manage the bullshit and not have whole worlds depend on us to save the day.” “Then quit benching me,” Eliot said. The tone was sharp, but there was no real venom behind it. “I get jailbait Hellhound boy is unreasonably attractive, and probably even more useful, but I am fully capable of deciding whether I want to get in over my head or not.” He leaned back and sighed. From his perspective, it looked like everyone had their life together, a purpose on Vallo. Everyone had moved on. At least those that were on Vallo. “I could try to be less jealous when the rest of you go off and do your own thing without me,” he admitted, but made no eye contact as if that would give him the ability to deny he had ever said such a thing. “...Okay, first off, don’t talk about Scratch that way. I was his goddamn teacher and I’m not a creepy pedo like Mayakovsky.” While Emily had technically been an adult, it was such an abuse of power. Margo wasn’t down for any of that. “Fine, though. If you want to go running into danger with me, you’re in. But you’re learning to use that goddamn sword if you are.” Battle magic was good and all, but sometimes you didn’t have access to your magic. Things happened and Vallo was still too unpredictable for Margo to not plan for any scenario. She kicked at his legs under the table. “I don’t believe you about the jealousy, but I appreciate you saying that. What else?” “We’re not talking about what will or will not happen in the future,” Eliot said. He reached for the bottle of vodka to take another drink. Unlike their conversation so far, Eliot’s expression darkened, unable to hide how even the idea of Quentin dying hurt him; of Eliot telling him to fuck off only to be possessed by a monster for a year and Q to end up dead made him feel less than worthless. By the time he finished taking a swig, letting himself really start to feel the alcohol, his expression lightened again, as if he hadn’t set such a boundary at all. Eliot did not kick Margo back, but nudged her foot with his. “What about you? It can’t just me with shit to get off my chest.” “My shit was the jealous sidepiece thing you had going on,” Margo explained, trapping Eliot’s foot with her legs. “If you got that sorted, then I’m sorted.” She raised an eyebrow and asked, “You find someone to lose yourself in for the night the other day?” “...No.” Eliot had debated lying, but decided against it. They were wiping the slate clean and lying to Margo about a cute lay? Was lower than low. He was doing an excellent job of lying to himself anyway, pretending he wasn’t sabotaging himself. His tag profile was largely bullshit and when he’d gone out it’d mostly been to drink. But instead of thinking about it too hard, he shrugged. The news of Q had hurt him. Eliot just hadn’t put the two things together yet. Margo could tell Eliot had some thoughts about that, but wasn’t going to push. Not until he was ready. She had already tried pushing, to get him to deal with his emotions, and it hadn’t ended well. “...Alright, so we can fix that tonight. You’re still coming to this Fen thing, right?” “Naturally,” Eliot said. His gaze slid to the knife tree. Sort of ruined the idea of getting her a blade for her birthday. “Do you think a divorce would make a good birthday present?” he asked, lips pursed. He was the world’s shittiest husband and legitimately couldn’t tell if it was a good idea or a bad one. Maybe it was the alcohol. Margo gave him a deadpan look. “Finally ready to give up on the charade, are you? Of course it’s a good present. Girl deserves more than what her shitty father wanted for her. Write up a thoughtful letter, I’ll bedazzle the envelope for you.” She took one last swig of the bottle and stood up. Holding out her hand to Eliot, she said, “Come on, let’s fix that knife tree before it kills us.” |