logsinthenight | I once believed love would be burning red

characters: Quentin Coldwater and [SO VERY OPEN]
location: Around Beacon
date/time: Most of January
content: Quentin has a sad, and a lot of wine
warnings: Drunken shenanigans, sadness, more to be added

Jan. 01st - Jan. 06th. The cabin.

[Eliot is still dead.

He checked.

The bed hasn't been slept in, and there's still too many fancy shirts in the closet. Except for the one Quentin is clutching in his fist, the fabric all but ruined from being crushed and fiddled with for days. From being slept on.

He raises the bottle and takes a deep swallow of cheap wine, head tilted back and some of it runs from the corner of his mouth and down to the already-spreading stain his hoodie.

Fuck it. It's not like it matters anymore. The only one who's seen him so far is Riku, or Quentin thinks it's Riku. There are hazy memories of a lot of wine and something silver at the edge of his vision, offering food. It could have been a dream, though.

Fuck that too. Because Eliot is dead and they're not going to see each other again, because who the fuck knows what happens to people who stop being here. Maybe they wink out of existence. Maybe they go home. Maybe this is all a fucking big joke, to see how they'll all react to the dark and to the horror.

Classic dick move from a God.

Quentin settles down on the floor, back resting against the couch and he keeps drinking until there's a knock on the door]

What!?

Jan. 07th- ?? (when the booze runs out?). The Invincible.

[He didn't want to do this, didn't want to leave the familiar cabin and treck across Beacon in the freezing cold, but there was no wine left and even Eliot's stash of the better kind of alcohol was gone. In a week.

Maybe he should be worried. Maybe he should scream at the disapproving looks he just knows Julia would level his way, if she knew. You're better than this, Q and he didn't hate his name so much when it was her saying it.

Perched on the edge of a stool at the bar at the Invincible, Quentin slams back another shot of-- something? It could be wine, doled out in small glasses to make it go further. It could be fucking antifreeze and it would still be a lot better than the wine he had in Fillory after Alice died.

Like Eliot died.

Everyone just keeps dying around him and-- really, Quentin gets it. Hell, he even did it himself just to get away. Too bad he's stuck with himself now. Stuck in the bar, too, since the outside is a white-out of snow and freezing winds howling around every corner.

His elbow slips off the counter and he smacks his face in to the bar with a dull thump, leaving a red mark at the center of his forehead and Quentin just shrugs and toasts whoever is closest.]

Cheers! Bottoms up, right?

January ?? After the blizzard. The Invincible- the kitchen

[Right. So. There were still things to do. Still people to help and he'd even made a half-assed promise to someone. It could have been less than a promise, but more than a suggestion.

Whatever it was, it was enough to make Quentin slam down the empty glass on the counter and make his unsteady way to the back of the Invincible. There was a kitchen back there somewhere.

Kitchen means food, and it means not dying when the noises start or worse, throwing up. But. He's up for it. He's so up for it, and really? How hard could it be? All he has to do is chop things and wash things. Quentin is so down for washing things.

There's a loud crash as he stumbles to the sink, already pulling his sleeves up past his elbows, with red wine on every exhale and a little too much slur to his voice.]

Okay, so. Yeah, 'M here. Where-- uh, oh. So, where do you want me to start?

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[ She screams internally before opening the door, peering inside… well. He’s not dead. That’s something. ]

I uh… am not…

[ She skirts around the wine bottles until she arrives in front of the man, crouching down so she’s eye level. ]

Also… I brought cookies? There’s some chocolate chili… some lemon… There may be some peppermint too…

[ More internal screaming. ]

Cookies?

[Quentin rolls his head forward, hand still clenched around a bottle and he looks from the cookies to her face, almost hidden in the dark. The lanterns don't help much, especially not Quentin's which is sitting somewhere closer to the kitchen and the stairs.

It's easier.

Not having to remembering it for bathroom breaks.

Shit.]

Eliot dies, and you bring me cookies?

[Is that, like, good or bad? Is it something that people do, bring snacks?

Quentin just really, really wants to break something, but the last time he tried. Well...]

Have a drink. It's on me.

[ Fortunately for Coraline, with Quentin’s lack of lantern and hers being tied to her backpack, she “sees” his expression in full, excruciating detail. And at the… anger? Certainly displeasure. She very nearly bolts once more, though his words pin her down in place.

God. She really is pathetic huh. As if her shitty ass cookies would help.

The shadows around her curl inwards, nearly imperceptible except when the wisps hit the low light, dissolving and reforming in a visible manifestation of her anxiety. And for a moment, her desire to just disappear grows so great she seems to… dissolve. For less than a blink, before it’s followed by a muffled cry of pain and the sound of a plate dropping on the floor. ]

Oh god I’m so sorry I have no idea what happened!!

[ She quickly gathers up any cookies that had fallen on the floor, holding them in her hands since there’s no way she’s putting them back on the plate. ]

I’m so sorry.

[ She’s so glad her face is covered. Doesn’t show tears. ]

What?

[What the fuck just happened?]

Did you just-- wow, I'm so drunk right now, but did you?

[Disappear? Teleport? Like Nightcrawler, only with more cookies and less tail. Quentin cranes his head to the side-- nope, no tail.]

That's-- it's fine. Just, can you sit down or something?

Thanks? For the cookies. You can just put them where ever. I think there are plates in the kitchen, but I don't really know. I haven't looked in there for-- days.

I. I don’t know!

[ She says, panic evident in her voice as she starts shaking slightly. The sensations of what just happened fully hitting her. She had just…

Hearing Quentin’s request in the back of her head, she sits down with a thump, staring blankly at the cookies in her hand.

What.

What the fuck was that? It’s like she just… dispersed? ]

… I hate this place.

Yeah?

[Quentin toasts her with the bottle in his hand and gives her a wry smile.]

That makes two of us. Jesus Christ, this places sucks. Or blows.

[And he takes a long pull of the wine, letting the bottle clank to the floor once he's done.]

Why do you hate it?

[ She looks at him incredulously, a stare full of teenage judgement because really? Is he really asking why??? ]

Dude…

[ Rolling her eyes, she places the fallen cookies on the floor, resolving to sweep it (and the rest of the house) up before she leaves. She then grabs the bottle, if only to keep it away from him because there’s no way this is good for his post-mortem liver. Thanks for the timely distraction Quentin. ]

Edited 2020-01-29 22:01 (UTC)

Right.

[Stupid questions. They all hate it because being here means that they died. But honestly, there are-]

Things worse than dying. [Quentin just blurts out, like half of that wasn't just some drunken thought that slipped through his mind.]

There are. But you brought me cookies. That's-- not nothing. Thanks.

[Letting the bottle go without even noticing, still too drunk and too sad to notice much of anything. Except for how Coraline seem to vanish and come back--]

I mean that. Thank you, for-- you know. No, you probably don't know, because no one knows and it's-- it is just. Why aren't we keeping track of who comes back? Why isn't that in the bulletin?

[ She lets his words run over here as she stares at the bottle in her hands, rolling it back and forth slightly. There certainly are things worse than dying, and apparently, this is it… actually. No, it probably would have been worse if she lived. She can’t destroy the world here, or whatever the fuck they wanted out of her. She’s still herself in death, and that… well… it’s something to be thankful for.

She lets out a morose sigh. ]

I dunno… I guess cause we’ll know if they come back sooner or later?

[ She takes a sniff at the bottle, frowning at the faint whiff of… something. ]

You don’t have to say thank you to make me feel better by the way…

That's not why I said thank you, but okay?

[We'll know if they come back or not and yeah, that might be true, but it also sucks like all hell. To find out only after waiting for days in the church. After hoping and wishing and fucking praying for Eliot to come back, and then he just-- doesn't?

A small warning would have been nice.]

Only if-- we'll only know if the person had friends. Someone living alone? No one would ever find out and. And maybe there's a pattern. To when people come back, or not. Maybe-- maybe there's a way to make sure we don't lose anyone else.

[ H. She’s going to act like she didn’t hear that first bit. ]

Yeah… that’s a good point. I dunno, maybe you could ask Cao Pi? Emperor dude? He might know if anyone’s actually like, trying to keep track of this info.

[ She says, still staring at the bottle. She’s admittedly kind of curious? ]

Edited 2020-02-10 21:30 (UTC)

He has really cool swords.

[Quentin quirks his lips in to something like a smile, rolling his eyes at himself before holding the bottle out.]

You can have some, if you want. But yeah, maybe talking to that guy can't hurt.

Yeah! He does! And it’s worth a shot!

[ She says with a grin, which quickly turns nervous when he offers her some wine. Shit. She definitely isn’t 21. But then again… they’re dead right? Who’s going to report her? Who would they even report her to? Javert? She’s pretty sure he’s from a time where drinking laws didn’t exist, so like… ]

Well…

[ She takes a sip, immediately making a face as the taste hits her tongue. ]

Oh gross why is it so bitter!?

I once believed love would be burning red

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F for both of them

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coraline voice: yikes

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