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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[yeah he feels you on that, Q. Mitigating petty disputes between nobles is the worst part of ruling. You can't just kill them all, much as his father would disagree...]

It isn't for the faint of heart, either. But when thrust upon you, you must do what you can.

[he breathes a soft noise of humor over his glass] No, I don't think anyone thought it would be like this. I can understand why past groups failed. This place weighs upon you, I've already forgotten what the sun looks like and no amount of recalling old poems I learned will bring back that image.

I. I didn't? I wasn't a good king, and I wasn't even a good co-king? Or, royal advisor. I just wanted-- I just wanted to be the one, you know? For once in my life.

But. You know the really terrible thing about getting what you really want?

[The noise in the bar seems to quiet down, or maybe it's been quiet the whole time and it's just the two of them talking, two chairs apart.

But.]

The really horrible part is? When you get it and you don't want it anymore.

It wasn't like that with-- but it was like that with Fillory. And being a king.

[he smiles very slightly over his wineglass]

I cannot say that I have personally ever felt that, but I've watched it in others. Watched them struggle, and gain what they think they want, and then be left bereft, not knowing what to do with it.

But in the terms of kingship, how can you know you've made a mistake until you have it in your hands? It isn't exactly something you can decide against halfway through the journey. And I'm sure no amount of advice against the idea ever sounds like it's worth taking.

[the old folks can warn all they want, but those warnings fall on deaf, young ears.]

What? Being a king? I was one and I really-- so, I blew it. I know I blew it, the whole kingdom knows I blew it.

[And probably would have told him so, if Quentin had stopped being on quests and going on quests for long enough for anyone to say anything.

But that's just it-- he never did. He wanted to be King until he was one, and then it was all just meetings and councils and asking a sloth for advice.]

I wasn't really asking. I know what I am. And right now, I'm drunk and I am sad and that's-- that's just what it is.

[clearly no judging here, just a mutual understanding of sorts]

I would think, under the circumstances, you have a right to be. But you cannot stay that way.

[other people wallow, Cao Pi is always thinking of the next step. The way forward. The path.]

[Quentin snorts, the glass is empty and really? An order like that just makes him want to hiss out a 'watch me', even if that doesn't help anything.

Even if it's petty and pathetic, and not even true.

Because there's always something worse. It doesn't just stop with 'sad', but it spirals. Like sliding down a water-slide that you know will end in a snake-pit and broken glass.

Endless and downwards.

He raises his eyebrow.]

I need to do this. To mourn him, because-- because I never really got a chance to the first time and the second time, his body was still walking around, and this is how. By drinking and by getting so drunk it doesn't feel like my chest is being ripped open every time I even say his name.

I know. I cannot pretend that I don't understand. But at some point, you will have to ask yourself whether it's enough. [as he cautiously takes a sip of wine as secretively as he can. You know, it's rude to lord his half-full glass over the drunky.]

I suppose this is why we have official mourning periods in my time. Feelings last as long as they will but my people have always known that there is a point at which you have to get back to the business of living, regardless of feelings.

Jesus christ, he died two weeks ago!

[With all the drunken indignation Quentin could possibly push in to that one, explosive sentence and he falls back down in to his seat after, slouching down to put his head in his hands.]

The love of my life died two fucking weeks ago, and you're telling me that I need to suck it up and move on? Are you--

[Scrubbing at his face, Quentin turns around to looks Cao Pi in the eyes, for probably the first time since he sat down. They're wet and red-rimmed, his face showing all too easily just how he feels.]

Tell me again if I'm still sitting here in the spring.

[every little rise in emotion, anything that isn't sullen drunkenness, is a win for Cao Pi. All he wants is to see some spark of life, an indication that Quentin may, at some point, take his advice to heart. It's enough. He meets that gaze with a single nod.]

Deal.

[Quentin nods, fingering his empty glass and looking back down to where it left rings on the wood. Wet and unpleasant to rub his finger through, but it beats thinking.

Everything beats thinking at the moment, even arguing. He sighs.]

Great. Can I get back to drinking now? Because, no offense, I really just want to drink until I can't see straight and then find somewhere to sleep.

I suppose, if you must. Ask the spirits nicely, they are very good at tending the bar so long as one isn't a complete ass to them.

However, if you polish off all the wine before our next ferry, I will be coming for your hide. A man needs a glass before bed now and then, you know.

If you want to be sure there's still wine a week from now, you should probably get it now. I'm not making any promises.

[He flags down the spirits and when it doesn't pour him a glass of wine, he sighs and asks nicely. It chatters at him, gesturing wildly with its one too-many limbs before pouring him a very small glass.]

Once the snow dies down a little, I'll be out of your hair. And your wine.

[yeah uh. Good point. Excuse him while he slides off his seat and subtly goes to pawn a bottle of red wine and tuck it under his...armor...]

If you need somewhere to sleep it off, I'm one floor up. But if you snore I may roll you into the snow.

[and that's all he can offer, really. Now if you'll excuse him, this emperor needs to go and stash this booze somewhere he can enjoy it. If he can shake off the spirit clinging to his foot who seems intent on not letting people just leave with bottles if it can help it.]

I don't think I snore.

[How would a person even know that?]

I could throw up. I mean, that's not off the table at this point. But thanks?

(Quentin downs the glass, and gestures for another.]

Maybe I'll see you later.

[SPIRIT YEET]

If you do that I will definitely throw you in the snow.

[a wry parting shot. Just looking after the remaining brain cells of one of his best assets, Q.]

I once believed love would be burning red

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