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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[formicine]

She beams to see who she's stumbled into, and puts a hand on his arm in apology or possibly just fondness. "Food is, usually, a good idea," she tells him. "And you did all this, so you're due a sit down."

Blue has stopped counting most people under a foot taller than her as tall, but by that count Eliot still is, and she smiles a little, standing on her toes to return what is a really rather nice hug solidly. "Not terrible," she says, "and I'm assuming not for you either, because, well, brunch. New Year's in Darrow is always ..." She tries to decide on an all-encompassing word and just ends up laughing. "A little wild," she says, with a tone that implies she's being tactful.

She frowns, trying to see the collection through the eyes of someone who wasn't raised by fortunetellers, and can't. "I don't...think I'm the one to ask," Blue says, and lifts a shoulder with a small, amused smirk. "Was normal something you were going for?" It doesn't seem like Eliot's wheelhouse.

"I love it. It actually reminds me of home, a little."

[eliotwaugh]

"Right, okay, that's probably--yes." Eliot dips back to the kitchen to grab a few crepes, and takes the plate back over to Blue. He grabbed two forks, and offers her one.
 
"Of course nothing could prevent me from throwing a party," he says, taking a small bite. "But it ended up being rather a bracing time, even if it was, you know, horrible. Going out and killing monsters, like I had a real job again." It's enough to make a man sigh wistfully, if that wouldn't betray something rather pathetic about how he views his own life. Instead, he smiles. 

"Everything was very...palatial and rococo back in Fillory," Eliot explains. "I didn't exactly want to go full Clark Kent mundane here, so. Perhaps this is a middle ground? And also it's just practical, I need things to do most magic, so they might as well be organized." He pauses, thinking about it what Blue's said.  "It would make for an interesting environment to grow up in, certainly."

[formicine]

She smiles, taking it with a thank you. "Were you the one killing monsters where you were before?" She knows little bits, not large segments, of Elliot's life: she does know he was a sort of king, which to her suggests handing out orders rather than battling, but maybe it shouldn't. Besides, he also went to a magic school; maybe there's dueling.

What? She met Harry Potter. Everything that can happen, does.

"When you grow up with four seers -- when they didn't have friends visiting -- and a lot of cats, interesting is the default," Blue deadpans, taking a prim bite of crepe, and smiles. She does miss it. "And my father was a...tree wizard, or something, that my mother accidentally summoned on what I think was a lark when she was barely in her twenties. If the house had been boring it would have just been a front."

She runs her fingers over one of the cupboards. "It is very organized, for as cluttered as it looks, actually."