Say When (A New Year's Brunch)

[eliotwaugh]

Eliot had been warned by various people that New Year's often brings some kind of supernatural mischief to Darrow, and this news had only made him more determined to stick to his plan. No power of god or man or eldritch entity place-spirit or army of fish people will prevent him from throwing a damn party. 

It made sense, really, and part of him wishes he'd done something like this before now. He needn't frame it as a sort of surrender to this imprisonment, but rather just indulging in something frivolous because, as far as his understanding of the metaphysics goes, none of this really counts. So why shouldn't he enjoy it? He's been here long enough to decorate the apartment some, and it really is a marvel the amount of things available through Nile. There's more comfortable furniture, potted plants, and a series of apothecary cabinets and display cases for magical components that give the whole place the air of some eccentric explorer's gallery of curiosities. 

He's even managed to get enough appliances that the little kitchen is decently functional, and has spent a few days stocking up and preparing for what he hopes will a successful brunch. He has enough eggs to feed an army. There will be copious crepes. There will be mimosas for days. 

Eliot's used to working through a wicked hangover this time of year, so he built that into consideration in his prep time. Thanks to the night's adventure, though, he spends his downtime sober and scrubbing mer-blood off of himself, and still feels a bit frazzled by the time the first guests arrive.

[It's time for brunch! Brunch is a state of mind, not an actual timeframe, so please feel free to have your pups show up whenever in the day, honestly. Tag in, tag around, chase the memory of merman horror away with a mimosa, air your grievances and dirty laundry in the neutral ground of Eliot's apartment. This is a safe space. For Drama.]

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[eliotwaugh]

He tries to keep a straight face at the way Daine's ominous pronouncement deteriorates, he really does, but Eliot can't help a bit of a giggle. "Ugh, that'd be shameful," he agrees, still laughing a little. "Either way really, being a were-fish or just knowing you slipped up that badly. Still, came away with my pride intact and..." he considers the events of the previous night, how it honestly felt good to be out being heroic again.

"You know at least it happened now, in the winter? They smelled godawful but imagine if it'd been in the summer." He shudders dramatically. "Reminds me of this giant...snapping turtle we had to deal with, that was high summer and he stank like nothing else. Good old Prince of Mud." 

[wildmage_daine]

Daine isn't entirely sure her pride is intact, if only because it's gods-curst frustrating to face off against dumb, slow creatures she ought to have been able to handle, and find herself overwhelmed by their sheer numbers. But she's unhurt, and she knows she managed to do some good.

She hadn't even thought about how much worse the smell would have been in summer, and she wrinkles her nose with a good-natured groan. "Horse Lords, that would've been awful." Her mood makes an abrupt shift when the giant snapping turtle comes up, though.

"The Prince of Mud?" she repeats, plainly delighted. "What was the trouble with him?"

[eliotwaugh]

"Oh it was a huge ordeal." Eliot slouches in his chair, frowning at the memory of it. "We were on a, you know, quest to save the world from decaying and falling apart, extremely serious business, and Janet and I-" He pauses a moment, trying to think of a way to describe Janet that doesn't come off as deeply uncharitable to an outside perspective. 

"She's one of my co-regents, the most formidable woman I'd ever met, perpetual bad mood but I don't hold that against her. You'd hate her. Anyway. She thought we should ask this ancient turtle fellow what he might know about where we ought to go to fix the damn dying world problem, because he's been around a long time, immortal being and whatnot, all sorts of things end up in the swampland and he probably knows a great deal. So we go to see him, and he does know where we need to go, but for that information, and passage through his swamp, he wanted to eat our horses. Obviously unacceptable."

[wildmage_daine]

"The cold-blooded creatures do tend to be a bit... single-minded," Daine allows with a lopsided, sympathetic grin. It's not that they can't be clever or engaging, more that they've often got less energy, and devote more of it to finding food or a mate or whatever it is they're after. Wanting to be paid in horse meat does sound like something an enormous turtle would ask for, at any rate.

"But I suppose the rest of the quest would've been miserable on foot. What did you end up giving him, instead?"