Quentin Coldwater (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
moderatelymaladjusted) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
logsinthenight2020-01-07 07:12 pm
moderatelymaladjusted) wrote in logsinthenight2020-01-07 07:12 pm
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.
Jan. 07th- ?? (when the booze runs out?). The Invincible.
January ?? After the blizzard. The Invincible- the kitchen
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?
no subject
...Yeah. It's. You.
[ The silver-haired young man hangs his head, speaking soberly, eyes downcast with half his attention on the pot as it eventually comes to a boil. ]
You and the others. People who became...
[ Riku exhales softly: ] Important to me.
[ What Riku doesn't say is that he almost didn't make it. That the losses he suffered was almost great enough to sunder his heart. It was only by pouring his determination and the friendships he's forged here into the cracks of his broken heart that Riku has made it this far. ]
You're right. That's enough. That should be enough.
no subject
It has a name. Seeing faces where there aren't any. Something latin and something he feels like he should know, but it slips away. Like everything slips through his fingers.]
I had Eliot.
[Once. Twice. And it never seemed to stick. Maybe they were cursed? Maybe it's one of those ill-fated things that the gods liked to do - tear them apart over and over again, just to laugh at the result.]
I had-- I had friends? Back home. And--and do you want to know the crazy part? I didn't even miss them at much? Coming here? I was just-- so busy, trying to solve this quest like it actually matters and I didn't even think about them.
[It's horrible and it's true.]
I had Eliot, and--and I met you? You... you saved me. More than once, and. I don't just mean in the woods, or at the beach. I mean, you keep going. You just-- you keep going, and that's-- that's not nothing. That takes so much.
no subject
[ Riku's fingers curl around the edge of the counter that he leans the line of his hips back against, his head bowed. ]
I almost gave up. There was someone who came from the ferry a few days ago.
Someone from another world. He had... some of Sora's memories.
[ Even with the lights of their lanterns, it's hard to see. His face is fairly downcast, his eyes shine with damp in the dim lighting, and it's anyone's guess if that's just eyestrain or sorrow. Riku has never been known to cry.
But his voice is thick. ]
It means... he's gone. He's been gone. For a long time. Everyone I cared the most about... they're dead. I'm the only one left.
[ Admitting something he's never admitted to anyone else, he turns his face away: ]
It never should've been me.
no subject
Sora.
A friend who went out to talk to the spirits. The last one.
Shit.]
There's someone here who--
[He lets it linger in the still air in the room. Not on purpose, but it's hard to imagine. Someone having someone else's memories. All he ever got was a monster living in Eliot's skin and that had been--]
It's hell. Looking and seeing all the way they're not really-- who you want them to be. But. That's not-- [a deep breath before he goes on, and Quentin drinks again, the wine hitting his empty stomach like a lead ball, spreading warmth all through him.]
But the worst part? Is when you can't? When they-- when it's just right and you can forget for a second.
[Shaking his head, Quentin reaches out to pat Riku's boot with clumsy fingers.]
Destiny is bullshit. It's never about that, about who deserves it or who doesn't. Things just are.
[And quieter]
It was never supposed to me either. But it is.
no subject
[ That's all Riku says about there's someone here who because Riku thinks he knows what Quentin's referring to, or who, because meeting him is a big part of why he's feeling like it's all a little pointless. Why his outlook is so bleak. Quentin gets it, he breaks sometimes.
He doesn't agree on when it's just right and you can forget for a second because Riku never forgets, but there are days, hard days, when he wishes he could. When he wishes it was as simple as doodling a better image on paper and letting something fake and pretty subsume what hurts so much.
But that's the easy way out and Riku can't abide erasing any part of Sora's impact on his life. The water begins to boil, and he turns to add the noodles. ]
Sorry. I'm in a mood, I guess.
no subject
[Quentin holds his arms out, gesturing at-- everything. The room, himself, the bottle of wine. The clothes that's still on the couch before he slid down to sit on the floor.]
You've come to the right place for it.
[It's harder to host a pity party for two, and there's the smell of food in the air. Or, boiling pasta. What ever it is, it's still more than the smell of desperation and loneliness.]
It's this place. It's like-- it gives you hope and--and maybe happiness and then it just takes it away. How sure are we that this isn't literal hell?