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The Perk, Monday Afternoon

How long could a single magician run on rage and stubbornness alone? Margo had spent her life chasing the edge of that equation, clinging on to sheer momentum on her way past the next obstacle. But momentum ran out eventually. Temporary escapes were, well, temporary. Eventually anyone would have to make their peace with their circumstances, if only for a breather.

And Margo needed a breather. From the relentless drive to find her way home, from owning her armor in front of strangers, from worrying about Eliot and all the ways she and Eliot were both complicated and not right now.

She didn’t make a big fuss at the Perk this time around, ordering her beverage with a lift of her eyebrow and one casual wisecrack. She took her large PSL with her, and found a seat in the corner to stretch out in. She took the book out of her purse — Marduk’s Vexation, because there were benefits to living in the future for a while — and opened it to the very first page.

Time to take a breather. To be someone else for a while.

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Jon was here for tea, yes, but...look, he was trying to be good, and knowing things about Eliot would be about as far from that as he could get, but knowing where people were was more automatic than anything.

So he got his tea, fidgeted for a moment, then went to talk to Margo, standing what he hoped was a respectable distance away.

"Um. Hello?"

That long pause between the greeting and Margo’s eyes traveling up off the page was deliberate. She was here to read, and she didn’t recognize the voice. “Baristas are behind the counter,” she said, curt.

"Heh. Yes." Jon swallowed. "But you're Eliot's friend. I was hoping I could, um. Ask you a question? Or, well, get your opinion on something."

His hopes of that were disappearing, but he felt he had to try.

“I don’t snitch,” Margo said flatly, eye narrowed.

"Oh, um, n-nothing like that!" Jon fidgeted with his cup. "I just, um. I've upset him, and I-I'd like to know if there's...well, what would be good as a...as a peace offering?" He gestured at the counter behind him. "Coffee, or...or a pastry, or...something. I have no idea what he likes. Apart from gin."

Which he had an unlimited amount of already.

Margo took her bookmark and laid it carefully against the page she’d been reading. She closed the book, and set it down on the table.

“Honey,” she said, her voice sickly-sweet, “I don’t know you, you don’t know me, but that’s fine. We’re new here. I get it.” She waved her hand. “So I’ll give you some free advice about the epic mistake you just made.”

Edited 2021-09-20 18:06 (UTC)

"Oh." Jon winced. "I, um. I'm sorry."

“See, Eliot’s my best friend,” Margo said sweetly. “We balance each other out. He’s the nice one. When he gets upset, he goes home and drinks and doesn’t talk to anybody until he’s killed whatever brain cell contains what you just did to him.”

She picked up her cup. “Me, I’m not so nice,” she said. “And you just told me you’re probably responsible for his stupid I’m-just-fine binge this weekend.” The sweetness fell from her voice in favor of nails and brimstone. “So my advice is that you stop worrying about your apology gift to him and you start worrying about what you’re going to say in the next thirty seconds to stop me from cramming all twenty ounces of this PSL up your ass.”

Jon winced. "I-I'm not sure what I can say or...or do to make any of this better. I would if I could. It's not, um. Not something I meant to do, but I can't exactly take it back. I, um. I won't tell you what it was, because that's not...that's his choice to say or not, but I was hoping to...to talk to him, and maybe see if there was a way? I'm not familiar with your magic, so maybe there is some way to fix things, and I'd like to find it if there is."

It was nice of him to be so considerate about what anyone should or shouldn’t know about Eliot, days after the fact. Margo knew, of course she knew, she and Eliot had bared their souls to each other in freshman year right before they’d sprouted wings and beaks and flown to Brakebills South on nothing but wind and instinct.

But she didn’t know what this guy had done, so all of that meant nothing right now. She eyed him with impatience and not a damned clue what he was babbling about instead. “If talking to you is what put him in the state he’s in, I don’t think I like the idea of you talking to him again,” she said. “Because I’m sorry, the fact that you didn’t mean to do whatever you did isn’t exactly the mark in your favor you seem to think it is.”

Hey, secrets might be Jon's thing, but that didn't mean he had to tell anyone else.

Jon deflated, and scrubbed his hands over his eyes. "I know. I..." He sighed. She really did have a point. "Maybe if...um. I'd be willing, if he is, to meet with both of you at once? And try to see if there's something to do. Then if I start to do anything I shouldn't, you can...um. Stop me. However you need to."

Which he had a feeling would end very badly for him, but what was one more stab or burn or whatever scar?

Something flashed in Margo’s eye.

She was willing to consider that. (He wouldn’t like what she’d do to him if he fucked it up.)

But.

“What did you do to him, and what could you be doing that you shouldn’t?” she asked flatly. “I don’t need to know what he did. But you, you talk now.”

Jon nodded. "I can...He told me some things that he probably wouldn't have otherwise. And now he has nightmares. But he started, and I...I asked him to keep going. We were talking about it, and...and I tried to warn him, but he...and then I couldn't stop. If I just..."

He huffed in laughter. "Honestly, if you can keep me from asking questions, you're probably safe. Like I said, I don't know your magic. You can just...do whatever you need to to find out about me, and ask questions if you need to, and I can just sit there. Or...or try, I suppose. I'm not really very good at not talking."

In case you hadn't noticed.

"But I'm not, well." He huffed again. "I'm not any stronger than I look." Which was not very. "And I don't have any...any defences or anything that would stop you from stopping me. You...heh. You almost certainly can't kill me, no matter what you do, so it would just be a matter of hurting me badly enough to break my concentration, and I doubt either of you would have a problem with that."

“I can cast a spell to shut your mouth,” Margo said coolly, “If that might help.”

‘I can’t die’ just sounded like an invitation to get creative, if you asked her.

Jon nodded. "That would work. Or if...if I've already asked, you could knock me out or something, so I don't hear the answer. Also, um. Right now is probably...probably a good time. Or soon. I..."

He sighed and rubbed his eyes again. "I get...hungry. For the statements, the...the answers. That's why...well. It's easier to stop myself when I'm not starving."

He huffed again, in frustration this time. "I'm not very good at explaining, I suppose. If...if you think it would help, Eliot, he...he looked through, he called it a lens?" He gestured with his fingers. "To see my...my 'magic', though it isn't really that. It didn't hurt him, and it's safe to do as far as I know, but it...it might give you an idea of what you're dealing with. Just...maybe don't look too long. Just in case."

“Not really doing a lot to put me at ease here, dickwad.”

Nobody wanted to hear shit like ‘I get hungry’ in this context. Nobody.

But fine. Margo shaped her fingers (her belly was faintly warm from the coffee, it would be a full moon, they were surrounded by water) into the picture-frame of Mann’s Reveal, and peered through it at— “Jesus fucking cockbiscuits, what the fuck are you?”

Feel lucky, Margo. This’ll be way more fucked up when you get your fairy eye a few years from now.

Jon laughed briefly and humorlessly. "That's...that's pretty much exactly what Eliot said. Only without the, um. Never mind. It's called the Eye. It's not me, it's...the embodiment of the fear of being watched, of having secrets exposed, or of learning too much, being driven toward knowledge no matter the cost. An eldritch fear entity."

Like Margo said, she and Eliot balanced each other out. Eliot could talk about the end of the world like he was bored by it, Margo liked her end of human interaction emotion-forward so everybody knew they weren’t getting any bullshit and they better listen.

“You let some fucking Lovecraft bullshit into your head? What are you, stupid?”

Case, point.

Jon grimaced. She wasn't wrong. "Apparently so. It wasn't intentional, and I didn't notice it until it was already too late. It had...claimed me."

Margo dropped her hands to the table. “Yeah, I don’t actually care about your tragic backstory, 80s Danny Elfman,” she said. “Give me one good reason why the fuck I should ever let you near Eliot again.”

She had no idea how the hell she’d fuck up an Eldritch fear whatever, but it was Eliot. She’d find a way.

"Erm...what?" Sorry, Jon was thrown by the Danny Elfman thing. He was too young to remember the 80s.

He shook his head. That wasn't important. And he doubted "I want to apologise" or "I'll be in his nightmares anyway" would do much good here, so he looked for something Margo might find acceptable.

He settled on, "Because while I don't know there's much chance of fixing this, there's no chance at all if we don't try. And that's likely to take all three of us."

So was Margo. It was called ‘curating your Spotify’ and ‘being open to different eras of music’, Jon, jesus.

“How the hell do you ‘fix’ any of this?” she snapped. She really missed having two eyes to glare with right now.

Spotify what?

Jon took a deep breath. "I can't fix knowing what I do, but I hope there might be a way to break the connection and stop the nightmares."

“You hope.”

Jon sighed in frustration. "There are no guarantees - this has never been tried before! There isn't any magic in my world, only..." he gestured vaguely at his head, "only the Fears, and they have a vested interest in keeping things the way they want them. But I like Eliot, and I want to try to help him, and I am hoping that with your magic and my knowledge of what's going on, we can do that."

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