Eliot Waugh (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
existencemisspent) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomtownies2023-05-01 11:32 am
existencemisspent) wrote in fandomtownies2023-05-01 11:32 am
Entry tags:
The Magic Box, Monday
Was it weird that Eliot kind of missed being a sloth? It definitely felt weird. Enough so that he was being surprisingly industrious at work today. Well, industrious for Eliot, anyway. In that he wasn't napping behind the counter, but was, in fact, tidying. And organizing.
Arranging the shelves by color, even.
"No wonder Abigail is so aggro all the time," he mused to himself. "Being that slow and having that many feelings is truly frustrating."
But also a perfect excuse for lounging and decadence. And ordering other people to perform the horrifying executions for you. . . .
[open!]
Arranging the shelves by color, even.
"No wonder Abigail is so aggro all the time," he mused to himself. "Being that slow and having that many feelings is truly frustrating."
But also a perfect excuse for lounging and decadence. And ordering other people to perform the horrifying executions for you. . . .
[open!]
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He did look a bit curiously at the actual work that was happening, yes.
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"Jon." Eliot nodded at him. "I see you survived the attack of the . . . attack animals."
He could definitely have phrased that more gracefully.
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"As usual," Eliot observed, accepting it. "And I graciously accept, also per usual." He settled into a lean against the checkout counter. "So. I don't think I bothered to notice in my slothly state. Did you make it out unscathed, or were you be-animaled by Margo the Destroyer as well?"
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He refused to admit he'd been cute. "But you're, um. You're fine now. Unslothed. And Margo is too, I hope."
The last thing she needed was built-in weapons all over.
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"Margo is once again her beautiful human self," Eliot confirmed. "And thus only full of her usual levels of rage."
Which was good. He didn't need to be bodily lifted off the ground by his best friend more than once, thank you very much.
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"Jon, I say this with all the kindness in my heart." Eliot made sure he was making as firm eye contact as he dared with the 'ever watchful eye' or whatever it was was going on deep in Jon's soul or whatever. "Do you have a death wish? I mean, I know you're indestructible or whatever, but Margo is very creative. And you are extremely talented at getting on her nerves."
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And he was absolutely ignoring the existence or lack thereof of a death wish, thank you.
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"Your optimism is admirable, dear Jonathan," Eliot mused. "Still, I'd prefer not to have to clean up the inevitable mess. Perhaps start with a nice gift card in the mail."
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"Think of somewhere extremely expensive," Eliot suggested. "And then look for whatever company they aspire to be."
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"And you're doing well, I hope."
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Asking Irene was a good instinct.
"I'm excellent," Eliot said. Without . . . too much dishonesty. "The experience gave me whole new insights into the minds of my subjects back in Fillory."
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The way Rafe had said ‘set the spike’ when he’d translated that one. . . .
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"Oh, I was furious. I was just . . . rather less able to express my anger than Margo was in her new shape." Eliot shrugged. "Also . . . Margo."
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You were working, Eliot.
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"I'm fine, as you can see."
He was clearly having some sort of breakdown, yes.
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"Um. Yes, I see. I...did you... if there is anything I can do to help, I hope that you would let me know."
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Not a chance in hell.
"You'd be the very first to know."
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"Right." Jon fiddled with his cup. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean...not like...just an extra pair of hands or-or, heh. Eyes. Or...I'm sorry. I'll go."
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Would it help if the knowing also found out that Eliot wouldn't consider anyone's help? He'd nearly burned his relationship with Margo to the ground rather than ask for help in the past.
"Or don't. You do know people don't keep you around only because of your apparent usefulness, don't you?"
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"What, um." He paused and fidgeted. He wasn't sure what to do if he wasn't offering something. What else might help Eliot? He didn't have a lot of alcohol, and anyway, Eliot had his flask. Most of what he wanted he could get himself or from Margo.
"Do you...that is, if you like, you could, uh...could give me some fashion advice." Was that a thing? Hell, Jon would subject himself to an entire makeover if it'd help.
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