WHO Eliot Waugh and Quentin Coldwater WHERE The Cottage WHEN Wednesday night, after Q's arrival WHAT Drinking, talking, etc. STATUS Complete WARNINGS Language, talk of death
Truth be told, Q couldn’t remember ever feeling like he’d lived a longer day in his life. Going from Fillory to Vallo, discovering what this world was like, finding out that most of his friends were here but from different points in time… seriously, it was a lot. And he’d thought he’d already seen more than most people.
By the time they’d gotten back to the cottage after his time at the DOA, he was pretty sure he could have slept for a week if he’d wanted to. Except he had other things he wanted to do first. Julia excused herself to go upstairs when she realized that the downstairs was quiet and mostly empty -- not the chaotic sort of greeting they’d both been anticipating. Q gave her a little wave and said he’d come say goodnight before he fell asleep and then turned his attention to the quiet.
“Eliot?” he asked quietly, hearing the familiar sound of the other man using a martini shaker. Not that it couldn’t have been someone else, but Eliot had a certain rhythm to the way he used it that Quentin had picked up on early in their friendship.
In retrospect, it was probably a miscalculation. The normal thing to do would have been to throw some big last minute party, whether Q was feeling it or not, and act like it was a big celebration to have him back.
And one was coming, but under pressure and knowing Q was on his way, in that five minute window he had decided to act little casual about his return. Perhaps too casual.
He set the shaker down on the bar with a satisfying thunk and walked over to Quentin. Quentin who had no idea what was going on. Eliot wrapped his arms around his friend and gave him a long hug, resting his chin on the crown on Quentin’s head.
“Took you long enough,” he said. There was a little bit of a grin there. “I was just fashionably late, but really you were just pushing it.”
Quentin was honestly thankful for the lack of celebration though it would hardly have been the first time walking into the cottage and immediately being assaulted by a party of some kind. No, that was commonplace in this house, though maybe not here.
The hug was deeply welcomed though and his arms went around Eliot’s middle with ease, letting himself be hugged into his chest. Even though he’d just seen him in his timeline, seen Julia and Margo, it somehow felt like it had been forever at the same time. Maybe that was stupid. Or maybe it had just been that long of a day.
“You always do things fashionably,” Q responded quietly with a bit of a laugh, letting the hug linger a bit more as they talked. “Sorry it took me so long though? I don’t even know how I got here.”
Eliot slowly released Quentin from his grip. His hand went to the shorter magician’s shoulder and led him to the cottage’s small but well stocked bar, until Q was seated at one of the stools in front of it and facing a row of different drinks.
Eliot’s lips adjusted to the leaf in his mouth, nestled against the right side of his cheek-- part of the ritual to become an animagus-- so he could speak a little more easily.
“So this weekend, we’ll invite a few people over and introduce you to the friends we’ve made. I really want this drink menu to say Quentin, so I’m going to need you to try a few things.”
Because if Eliot got Quentin very drunk and possibly a little hungover into the next morning, well that might buy the rest of the cottage from time from answering any of his questions. Eliot was truly a terrible friend.
His eyebrows shut up at the drinks lining the bar in front of him, staring at them for a moment before looking up at Eliot. “Are these all…?”
Of course they were. The other man was, as some would put it, extra as fuck. This was no different. Q’s nose scrunched momentarily, but he went for the first glass that looked appealing, taking a sip. Strong, but not too strong. And not too sweet, so there was that, at least.
“You know I said a drink, not eight drinks.”
He snorted with amusement and took another drink from the glass in his hand. “This one’s really good, though. For whatever that’s worth.
“It’s a new creation. I call it The Moderately Socially Maladjusted. Try this one.” Eliot pointed to a drink Quentin was not holding, guiding the other man’s wrist with the drink in hand downward and directed him to take a different glass.
There was no real reason for it, other than Eliot sometimes enjoyed being bossy. But it also gave him an excuse to touch his friend again without fawning over him.
And that earned an eye roll, even a playful one. “Of course you’d name it after that.” But he wasn’t mad at it -- not even a little. It was really comforting to be able to fall into something that just felt so natural, like there weren’t several months of time between them after all.
Then he was being guided from one drink to the next and he took the glass that was suggested to him for a sip. “Okay… not bad. Could probably use a bit more… uh. Well, what’s in this? Maybe a bit of tonic water? I don’t know.”
Not that Q had any idea what he was doing when it came to mixed drinks and he set the glass down, reaching for the first one again.
“So… different timeline, huh?”
“Honestly, who the fuck knows,” Eliot said. His brows went up and the idea seemed to disturb him. “It’s like we’re all Timeline-40 but who can say there aren’t multiple Timeline-40s. It’s a little too Rick & Morty for me to think about.”
Eliot picked up the one Quentin critiqued and took a long drink. After a pause he made a disapproving face, and then finished the glass. “You’re right. We’re not doing that one.”
Quentin paused for a moment, letting that thought wrap around him, even if it was wild to consider. Time magic was obviously a thing, so why not? “I mean, I wouldn’t say it’s out of the question that our main timelines would branch out like that somehow…?”
He paused. “Though I think, at least based on what little information Jules gave me, it’s safe to assume we’re all from the same timeline. Just. A different point in it, I guess?”
He watched as Eliot drained the glass and then took another drink from his chosen one. “What, um. Happened between where I’m from and you? Jules just sort of gave me vague answers and changed the subject, so…”
“I don’t think it is,” Eliot said. “Margo’s future is different from Fen’s. We can’t know if we’re headed toward either one of their futures or a completely different one.”
He paused and then pointed at the next glass he wanted Quentin to try. Neither one of them needed to be sober for this. Although, Eliot needed to focus on the goddamn leaf in his mouth. It was probably relatively stable? Right?
“So what I’m going to tell you might not even happen, and really? Why the fuck should we spend our time here worrying about it? This place is weird enough, isn’t it?” Eliot swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbed slightly. “But in my future, if humans kill a god, the gods turn off magic. Margo and I were in Fillory trying to Alexander Hamilton it, you were on Earth. With no magic Fillory was defenseless and a fairy army invaded. We did pick up a quest to turn magic back on, but also Margo and I were deposed by pissed off Fillorians. We would have died except our royal ship is sentient and had a serious lady crush on Margo and can fly.
“Quest to restore magic still in progress. In Fen and Margo’s futures it works.”
Eliot paused, to think of if he missed anything important. Not about the mosaic. He wasn’t going to bring that piece of their history up.
“Also Penny-40 died and is working in The Underworld for the Library.”
That was probably it.
Eliot had a point that maybe what his future was didn’t match to Q’s, but that didn’t stop him from nearly doing a spit take into his glass when he said magic was gone.
“Wait. I fucking killed magic by killing Ember?”
Cool. Nice job, Coldwater. Just destroying one of the only things you’ve ever truly found happiness in. He was quiet and set his drink down, thinking that over briefly before El dropped the bomb about Penny.
Which made him nervous laugh; yes, it was an inappropriate reaction to that news, but it left him before he’d even had a chance to try and stop it. “Fuck. How did he die?”
“You didn’t kill magic. Mommy and Daddy just grew very concerned about what websites we were going to and turned off the access until we’ve had a good think about it.” Magic wasn’t gone, it wasn’t dead, and they were fixing it. But here they had magic and so it seemed a little beside the point.
Eliot didn’t judge Quentin for his reaction to the news about Penny. But to be fair, his inappropriate laughter was more tolerable than crying.
“Being poisoned by the library,” Eliot said. “Because magic might be gone, but not what was killing him. Anyway, we still sort of talk to him. Or we sang together. We’ll probably get him back or something, I don’t know, we haven’t gotten that far yet.”
Eliot shrugged.
“I just don’t think it’s really worth worrying about. Maybe in your timeline Umber takes the blame for killing Ember and we all get off scot free. Who can really say?”
Well, now Quentin was glad he had these drinks and he grabbed the one he’d been nursing to finish it off, setting the now empty glass back down onto the bar top with a thud.
His hands came up to rub at his eyes before running through his hair in that nervous tic sort of way. So, magic was gone in their world — at least in Eliot’s timeline, but it was back in Margo and Fen’s. That was a good sign, right?
He breathed out a sigh.
“That… really sucks about Penny. I, um, hope he’s okay down there, though. Happy. Or whatever. That place is pretty weird.”
He looked back up at Eliot, his expression softening a little and the nervousness easing, slowly. “And I’m sorry about what happened to you and Margo, you know? Real glad you’re not dead, too.” Good talk, Q.
“I was a shitty king, trying to manage a shitty secret invasion, and that was without being on a quest to restore magic,” Eliot said, shrugging his shoulders. Fillory was a world designed to go wrong, to always be in crisis. Maybe that was why it finally had to stop existing at all.
He looked at him for a steady moment, brows furrowing just a little before he responded. “You aren’t -- weren’t a shitty king though. Like… at all. And even if you were, the idea that either of you did anything anywhere near close to something that deserved death would be impossible to believe. People in that world just have real, uh, medieval tendencies.”
Maybe Margo less so, but Eliot? He knew him well enough to know that despite his tough exterior, he was a bit softer on the inside. He gave a shit, whether he liked it or not, and tried to do the right thing.
Q took a beat, eyeing the row of glasses in front of him. Two down, at least. “So what else do you know that Julia wasn’t telling me?”
“Can we not?” Eliot asked. “Can we just… be happy that you’re here?” Eliot felt himself standing in Margo’s shoes now, Vallo was a break. At least, Eliot wanted it to be for his friends. Having arrived only the month before, he also knew that was a hard pill to swallow.
“From the first moment the Beast arrived, when have things not been shitty for us? Yes, the bullshit continues after you killed Ember, probably after I’m deposed, probably even after magic comes back. Can we just have like…. A few weeks of not giving a shit? A honeymoon, if you will? You should make a Tag profile, it’s like Tinder but with less tigers.”
Right. So Eliot didn’t want to tell him either. Consider that one noted for later. Quentin pressed his lips together for a moment and then grabbed another glass, downing it fairly quickly with a bit of a cringe. Ooh. That one had bitters in it.
“Why would I want to do that?” he asked, eyes narrowed a little, but mostly because he was confused. “Make a profile for Vallo Not-Tinder, I mean.” Because he wasn’t exactly looking to date or hookup, not after everything he’d done to bring Alice back and… well.
El was right there, too. Don’t be stupid, Quentin.
He cleared his throat a little. “Besides, I’m sure there’s something in my future I don’t know about that’s not shitty.” Or he hoped so, anyway.
“So you want me to spoil everything good that’s going to happen to you?” Eliot asked. “Fuck every rule in every time travel movie ever and just tell you?”
“Not if you’re going to get all huffy about it.” Pause. “And it’s not like we can really create a paradox here by you telling me anything. If that was the case, I’d already be fucked by knowing what happens to magic, to Penny, all of it. For all we know none of that applies here, right?” Because even though they had magic, their magic wasn’t the magic of this world and therefore, their rules probably didn’t apply.
Q ran a hand through his hair again. “Look, I just don’t like feeling like I’m… not being told things. Especially if they pertain to me. And maybe it’s for the best if I don’t know, I guess, at least not before I get some sleep.”
“Good,” Eliot said, agreeing perhaps too quickly.
That almost caught Q off guard and he went quiet for a moment before sliding off of the bar stool. “I guess forget it. Thanks for the drinks and warm welcome, El.”
Eliot frowned. He should have opened his mouth, he should have said something. But it was simple math, wasn’t it? Say nothing and Quentin would feel slightly put out. Say something, and they’d both feel like shit.