logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

characters: everyone.
location: around town.
date/time: october 9-17.
content: the hallucinations begin...
warnings: psychological horror. please cw tags appropriately.

it's probably something that shouldn't be said out loud

October 9 feels like a normal day at first, save for the red lighthouse beam cutting through the darkness overhead. You know by now—or you've heard—that the lighthouse is only active during ferry arrivals and events... And there's definitely no ferry docked at the, er. Beach. The town is quiet, the forest spirits behave business-as-usual, Rastus doesn't know what's up. Whatever's going on, you'll have to figure it out for yourself.

And you will, though the hallucinations are subtle at first: objects moving when they shouldn't, people's proportions looking just a bit off, voices in an empty room, and so on. Is it just your mind playing tricks in the darkness? Might be! Will did warn you all about the effects of living without a sun and a proper day/night cycle.

As the days go on, the hallucinations are harder to ignore, no matter how much you may wish to wave them off as flukes. What's wrong with everyone's faces? When did all the howling start? Who do you hold onto when the world drops out from under you? And those hands...

While you might know it can't be real, it certainly feels real. But at least it can't last forever!

...Right?

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[ there's a part of him that knew this too, even without q saying it. it was a secret only for them, of their shared life with arielle, of a world so distant now but that had been theirs for years. decades. it's the reason why he'd said it at all, in his brief moment of freedom, the escape from the happy place. only quentin would know. could know. and it was beautiful that way.

he hopes it's enough, that what they shared and who they were is all quentin needs to remember. eliot isn't sure that he can be, though. ]

Okay. Then. Then if you're unsure, you can say "peaches" and I'll answer with the rest. So you'll really know. You can't complete the other half without knowing the whole thing, so.

[ he pauses to sigh. and then: ] You know, I never thought I'd be coming up with a safe word before we actually got to anything kinky, but I guess there's a first for everything.

Okay, yeah. Okay, we can-- try? And- and yeah, it's going to be fine.

[He doesn't feel like it's going to be fine, not for a long time, not with the ghosts of past mistakes haunting him like this, but he can try. For Eliot. Because he's not going to go to the river, staring in to the swirling lights at the bottom and he's not going to see if he can catch those lights with his hands, even if he wants to.

Because like this, always when he was like this, doing what he wants isn't a good idea.

Quentin laughs out a loud, a startling watery thing, but it's a laugh all the same and rubs his face against Eliot to clear his head a little.]

Peaches and plums wouldn't be good safe words for something kinky. It takes too long to get out. And also, I've always wanted my safe word to be Quidditch.

[ he knows q says it to reassure himself. eliot doesn't really believe it either, but he's hoping, and sometimes that's all you can do.

turning he presses a kiss to quentin's neck. it's gentle but. well. the monster didn't do that kind of thing apparently, so it's probably fine? he's hoping it's fine too, anyway. ]

Mm. I'll allow it. I'm never going to talk about Quidditch so if I ever say it again, then you'll know something's up. Besides, I like peaches.

Oh, you'll allow it?

[Quentin teases, the trace of a smile in his voice and his hands are like vices, fisted in to the back of Eliot's shirt so he can't notice them shaking.]

I like peaches, too. I mean, they're up there? On-- on a list of fruits that I like? Peaches are up there near the top. Jesus, this sucks. Okay, so. Okay, we can go home. I'm ready.

[ eliot huffs in laughter against quentin's neck, not drawing away yet because he knows q isn't necessarily as ready as he claims. ]

I have an image to uphold, you know. I'm too Bellatrix Lestrange to be talking about your silly little game, Potter.

[ as he jokes, his hand reaches up, finding quentin's arm and tugging one loose so he can twine their hands together. ]

Edited 2019-11-04 19:39 (UTC)

No. No, I always thought-- if you had to be someone, you'd be Lucius Malfoy.

[Quentin lets go, but only because holding on would be weird and it might make Eliot stop to look at him, and right now, Quentin doesn't want to be seen. And he wishes for his hair back, from before Brian cur it all off and left his face all unprotected with nothing to hide behind.

He squeezes Eliot's hand though, releasing his other hand so they can walk without stumbling all over each other.]

You even had a cane and everything.

[ when they move to walk, he has to let go of quenitn's hand briefly to retwine their fingers more properly without hurting them both. that's not really the goal here, after all. ]

Quentin Coldwater, I am shocked. [ and he laughs. ] I can't be that annoying and dim-witted to you, can I?

Though I guess you got the part where my dad is indefinitely disappointed in my existence correct.

[It's two steps forward and one back, and Julia's calls rise up, like she's crying softly in to his ear, begging him with a small, tear-choked voice and Alice-- oh, Alice.

But Quentin clenches his jaw and stares straight ahead, holding on to Eliot so tightly.]

Lucius wasn't the dimwitted one, that was his son. Lucius was just-- protecting his family. By any means necessary. But-- no, I could never see you kneel for anyone.

[ he sees mike in front of them, and swallows, gasping back tightly as well. there's not much else to do but ignore him. and. keep talking about dumb shit, at least to fight it back. ]

Nonsense. He made a poor bet by betting his life and his family. And he was a shit dad. That's pretty stupid to me. You shouldn't use other people's lives like that. You'll only set yourself up for failure.

I would kneel for you, though. If you asked me to.

What? No, no. See-- see, Lucius wasn't a shit dad, he was buying things for Draco all the time? And-- so, I know the books say it was Narcissa who sent the-- the, uh, the chocolates and shit to him at school? But you know Lucius knew. Okay, I'll admit he was stupid as shit about the house elves, but. That was-- uh, that was--

[Quentin tries to speak over the voices, ignore them and maybe they'll go away. Keep talking shit about fantasy books he didn't even like in the first place, because if he stops talking? If he stops talking, he might start listening and that's just not good.]

But aside from being a racist and following a murderer, he doesn't really do bad things.

[When he looks up, Eliot's eyes flash orange and Quentin closes his eyes, takes a deep breath.]

Well-- I'm not saying I'm against the idea? But I think we should be somewhere with, like, carpets or something. Since you, you know, might down there a while?

[He tries for a smug kind of smirk, but it probably only twists his face up in to something close to crying. Quentin clears his throat, licking his dry lips.] Bellatrix had sex with Voldemort. You don't want to be Bellatrix.

Are you kidding me? That noseless asshole is probably into some really kinky shit. Sounds like it'd be at least worth a try. [ he laughs in that careless old way he used to, at brakebills. it sounds foreign even to him, but it still holds a familiarity to it he's comfortable wearing, acting like nothing's bothering him in the least even though mike is grabbing at his free arm, trying to pull him away.

he keeps walking. ]

You can't say he was a racist and following a murderer and then follow that with "he doesn't really do bad things", Q. Those are literally bad things. And also he murdered too. For the murderer. Which following a murderer tends to lead to.

And thank you for thinking of my knees, but I'd be okay. I read those books about us too, you know. So I know you know I'd have no trouble doing a few chores for you. [ he glances over to q, lazy smile on his face as he winks. ]

But also, noseless. [Quentin points out, like that the most important part of that and not the fact that Voldemort murdered countless of fictional people, tortured people and was a general asshole for no reason through most of the story.

Eliot sounds as strained as Quentin feels, voice tight and back straight like it hurts not to.]

Okay, I wield. Lucius was an asshole, too. Maybe just stay away from that whole family all together? They were all assholes.

[Casting around for something else, something light and nonthreatening, something that doesn't have the gut-punch kind of feeling to it-]

But yeah-- uh, Quidditch. Because-- because of. All the ball hitting? Welters just doesn't have the same-- uh, the same ring to it and-- and flying? Oh! [It's not quite a flush, but it's closer to embarrassment than terror.] You read that? I--uh, yeah, well? I already told you, I like your dick.

Edited 2019-11-05 06:51 (UTC)

Are you kidding me? I would love to ruin Draco's day His reactions would be priceless.

[ in case quentin forgot for a second that his best friend is a dramatic mean girl.

it's always precious how quentin sometimes just has a time delay though, a thought processing in the back of his mind while the nerdy half strings words that would make a normal person dizzy just to think about. quintessential quentin. it's comforting to know things haven't changed.

eliot squeezes his hand gently. ]

Right, but my dick wasn't even the one that was out in that scene.

[Counting steps, because maybe that's going to make it easier to get from here to there. Not looking up at any of the voice, not reacting to the hands. Just, one slow breath after the other, one foot in front of the other and eventually they had to get there. Had to get to the wooden door and the dark cabin.

Quentin swallows hard, eyebrow raised.]

You mean, all yelling and threats and being an asshole? Yeah, I can see the funny part of that.

[Stay, stay, stay and his palms are sweaty with dread, clinging to Eliot's through the walk.] Your dick kind of was, though? I mean, it-- uh, someone named like you was giving one, and that made me think about your dick. I told you, a lot of things do.

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EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

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