eliotwaugh | Say When (A New Year's Brunch)

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Say When (A New Year's Brunch)

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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Jack had spent the night slicing through an unexpected invasion of mermonsters on the beach. As extraordinary as the fact of that is, by the time they finished and Jack and Anne made it back to their apartment, the surprise had thoroughly worn off and he's tired and sore.

He considers just staying home and soaking in a bath for a few hours, but Eliot had said that his event was still happening. He does set aside his slime covered coat, washes, shaves, and gets a little sleep before he has to pull himself together to go.

He arrives in a knee-length dusty-pink coat with matching leather gloves, carrying a bottle of sparkling cider. He hadn't known if he should bring something or not, or indeed what to expect from brunch. It's all a little more free-form than he'd been expecting, and part of him wishes that Anne had come along with him right away. He sets the sparkling cider on the counter, removes his gloves, and attempts to find the host.

(Find Jack peeking into an apothecary cabinet or working through the supply of deviled eggs.)

Eliot's taking a break from kitchen duty but he'd kept his apron on whilst making rounds; he feels abruptly and unusually shabby once he catches sight of Jack wearing that, and makes his way over to the cabinet by the wall.

"Well shit, Captain, don't you clean up nice," he declares, smirking, by way of greeting. "Glad you could make it after all that brouhaha, but you know, make yourself comfortable, eat drink, be merry, et cetera." He looks up for a moment, scanning the corners for any sign of a small glowering redhead. "Is your better half here as well? She does know she's invited too, right?"

He's delighted Jack decided to show, since they were all understandably exhausted from a night stabbing horrible stinking fish people, and now Eliot feels as energized as if he hadn't spent all his downtime prepping crepes. He wants to ask where the fuck Jack got that coat and/or learned to wear pastels that well, but steers his babbling toward the safer ground of magical accoutrements.

"Let me know if you have any questions," he waves a hand at the multitude of drawers. "It's mostly bits of twigs from various species of trees, but--" Eliot stops, startled, and looks at the drawer Jack's just pulled out. A larger one on the lower shelf, containing only a cloth-draped glass box. "Ah." Eliot frowns, feeling very awkward indeed. "Could have sworn I'd locked that."

"Anne will be along later." He doesn't offer more explanation than that. If she were going somewhere dangerous, she would have said, and he trusts her to come back by whenever she's done what she needs to do.

Jack had already been poking through the drawers of the cabinet, but with fresh permission given, he pulls out one of the larger drawers. Part of him had just been expecting larger twigs, perhaps stones or crystals. Instead, it's a box draped in fabric, as if it needs to be guarded or protected from prying eyes. It feels like it might be important. Or private. Or both.

Jack places his hand on top of the box, then pauses. He's curious, and certainly he might normally move aside the fabric without consideration, but Eliot has been kind to him. If he has secrets to keep, Jack doesn't believe that they are the sort that will come to anything harmful. He's the one that has been poking around in Eliot's things, and he doesn't want to upset the man just to reveal something that he'd rather keep hidden.

He raises his eyebrows at Eliot. "May I?"

Eliot bites his lip, hesitating a moment. There's no point in refusing Jack, it's just that this was bound to come up sooner or later and it's turned into much later than is sensible, and that makes Eliot feel embarrassed. "Oh, go on," he says, exhaling in a bluff sort of laugh and not looking at the box because he knows what Jack will see. The crown of the High King of Fillory, with its gold openwork of intertwined spiral arcs made to resemble rams' horns. His crown, from a kingdom so far removed that compared to Eliot's day-to-day existence in Darrow it hardly seems real.

"I know I probably should have told you about this ages ago but it never really seemed relevant, and well...now here we are," Eliot says with a shrug. He definitely locked the drawer, he's sure of that, and he looks over the room to see Sweeney might be up to, the big ginger bastard. Of course Eliot's never done anything to induce any sort of ire from him, as far as he knows, but perhaps just having the leprechaun around is enough to make probability and magic go a little bit...off. It's the least of his problems for now, though.

"You're going to think I'm very silly," he adds, and glances sidelong at Jack to observe his reaction. He hopes he's wrong about that.

"Oh," it takes him a moment to realize what he's looking at. The first impression is gold, and delicate metalwork, and then... "Well."

He leans down to get a better look. It's a beautiful crown, organic and strange, undeniably regal, and probably worth a fortune just for the craftsmanship alone. He might like to pull it from its drawer, but there are a lot of people here today, and Eliot had locked it away for a reason. It's very likely that he doesn't want it to be shown out to everyone in the room.

The implication of it being here is not lost on Jack. If Eliot owns a crown, what does that make him? A prince? a King? Jack straightens, and as he looks back at Eliot, can't help sparing a moment to imagine him crowned in gold. He doesn't think that it would look out of place at all.

It takes a moment for the last thing that Eliot said to hit him. "Wait-" He frowns. "Why would I think that? Did you buy a crown? Or is this yours?"

He only seems to be curious, for now, but it isn't enough to fully assuage Eliot's wariness. Of course Jack's curious, it's an odd thing to have around in a drawer. It's odd on a deeper level, Eliot thinks, because he's not used to having any aspect of his identity hidden away or not immediately obvious. It was so much easier before, in Fillory. Not just the comfort of being known and respected, but the fulfillment of knowing that what he did mattered.

Eliot's cut off from that here, even moreso than he'd be if their plan had failed and the world had ended and they'd gone back to Earth. Here he can say 'Fillory' and it means nothing to anyone, it feels so much less real than it should. He feels less real. It's a pernicious weed of a thought, and he tries to push it back down from the forefront of his mind, because Jack is looking at him. Assessing him, it seems like, and Eliot grimaces a little as he meets his gaze, braced for...he doesn't know what. Nothing good.

"No it's--it's mine," he answers, sighing. "It's just silly, because..." No, he can't get into all his self-doubt baggage, not at brunch. There's no crying at brunch. Eliot clears his throat. "I just thought, you know, we've gotten on rather well so far, but as far as I'm aware pirates aren't traditionally known for having much respect for authority figures or, or being very friendly towards the idea of kings." He looks down at the crown in its case. "...or kings in specific."

Jack grins. Eliot's apprehension hadn't been about where the crown had come from or his position as a king. He was worried about what Jack might think of him. When was the last time that anyone was worried he might think poorly of them? It's a startling admission, and Jack can't help but be pleased by the care it implies.

"Eliot, kings and pirates aren't cats and mice. We're not natural enemies. God, Henry Morgan was knighted." He laughs, then quiets himself. He doesn't want Eliot to think that he doesn't appreciate the concern. He continues, a little softer. "It's true that it's not likely. Sanctioned piracy makes one a privateer rather than a pirate, and there is an important distinction there, but..." He shrugs. "I don't have any quarrels with you or your kingdom." It hardly matters here anyway, him without a ship, and Eliot without his kingdom, but he doesn't feel like saying that out loud. He'd still like to think of himself as a Captain, and despite him keeping it hidden, he's reluctant to throw away Eliot's title without his permission.

He smiles at Eliot, then looks back down at the crown. "It seems a shame to hide it away."

Eliot, a king. That will take some getting used to. He wonders what being a king is like in a magical land, and if Eliot was a good king to all the strange magical creatures and people there. He'd like to think so. He'd also like to ask more questions, but his friend being a king still feels like a lot to process. He has to think about what to ask first.

Eliot holds his breath for a moment, anxiety wrestling with frustration at himself for worrying over something so juvenile. As if the possibility of someone saying I don't want to be friends with you anymore is something unfamiliar and devastating. He out of practice at handling something like that, certainly. He doesn't usually put himself in a position to face rejection, but somehow here he is. So he braces himself.

Except the blow doesn't come, only reassurance and amusement, and Eliot blinks at Jack in utter confusion. He's laughing, and it's gentle and not unkind at all, and Eliot thinks that maybe he's just been incredibly foolish about this whole issue.

"I--" He wants to explain himself, but the words die in his throat at the sight of Jack smiling at him like that. Eliot can't remember what he was going to say, and fumbles for a moment, flushing, before he's able to fill the gap with etiquette. "I have to apologize, I...expected the worst somehow, and did you a great disservice." The shock finally gives way to relief, and Eliot smiles, crooked and flustered. "I am glad, though. That you don't mind. And I don't have it shut up all the time," he adds, starting to feel lighter now that he can actually talk about it. "Just that there's a lot of company over, plus I don’t have many occasions to wear it anymore. I like to be overdressed, you know, but perhaps not that much."

Edited 2020-03-04 21:59 (UTC)

Blue's investigating the shelves herself, both slightly nostalgic -- the place is a little younger, a little hipper than Fox Way, but the clutter and plants and bohemian air of it is still something that would fit right in -- and curious; she rounds a cabinet and nearly bumps into the man.

"Oh!" she says, "I'm sorry, I was -- um. Peering," she admits, with a little wry smile, gesturing at the curiosities inside. Given a moment, she processes his outfit. "That is a fantastic coat," she interrupts herself. It reminds her a little of something Dorian and Biffy might have agreed on, which doesn't help the slight achey nostalgia she's feeling today, but does make her like him immediately.

Jack takes half a step back when a young woman nearly collides with him, and he follows her gaze to the things inside the small cabinet. He'd been looking himself. He assumes that much of it is for magical rather than decorative purposes, but he does wonder about the small vase filled with glass marbles. What possible use could they be?

"Oh," He smiles, and returns his attention to her, surprised and pleased by the compliment. He smooths a hand down the lapel, settling it. "Thank you. I'm rather glad I didn't decide to wear it last night. I don't think that fish-monster blood would have been easy to get out of the wool." He huffs a short laugh. "Hopefully you weren't as close to the action as I was, ah—"

"I'm sorry, we haven't been introduced." He holds out a hand. "My name is Jack Rackham."

"Ugh, yeah, probably a good idea," she says, wrinkling her face at the memory.

"Blue," she replies, reaching to shake his hand firmly. "Blue Sargent. It's nice to meet you." His name sort of rings a bell, but she's not sure if it's because of him being mentioned by one of the other people she knows here, or if she knows of him somehow from something in her own world; usually she tries to sort of set aside pre-knowledge in this place, since it's generally not quite accurate anyway.

"We definitely saw some of those fish guys, but we skedaddled pretty quickly," she adds with a small smile. "I take it you were fighting for a while?"

"They just kept coming up out of the waves like overgrown sand crabs. Eliot did some magic to sharpen our swords, and that made it much quicker work." They'd gone on til morning, and by the end it had almost felt tedious, but no less strange and ultimately exhausting. After this, he would definitely like to go back to the apartment and sleep off the rest of the day. "But yes, for a while."

"You know," he says, nodding back towards the cabinet, "I don't think he minds anyone looking. Or if he does, I haven't seen him stop anyone yet." He lowers his head, hunching his shoulders a little further to direct her attention at an apothecary cabinet on the other side of the room covered in small drawers. "I looked in some of those. All twigs. Different kinds of twigs. Don't ask me what he uses them for. I hope for some kind of magic," His lips twist up into a barely restrained smirk. "otherwise he's a much stranger man than I'd initially thought."

Blue grimaces. Granted, she doesn't have a whole lot of experience with sand crabs, overgrown or not, since Henrietta is very much not the coastal area of Virginia, and although there are seafood restaurants that claim local catch, she's never really seen many here. But it sounds terrible, and she'd seen what the things looked like, and that's even worse.

She laughs when Jack nods at the cabinet covertly, and turns to look at where he's nodding, lips twitching into a smile, and holds up two fingers to indicate little twigs?. "I don't doubt Eliot has some ...quirks I'm, uh, unaware of, but I think those must be supplies."

"It all actually makes me feel a bit at home," she confesses, waving around. "My mother was a...well, a seer, a psychic. Our house where we lived with my aunts was full of all sorts of weird focal objects. And just things they picked up in some shop even though they were absolutely useless, because they looked cool," she adds with a wry little smile.

Jack nods to her unspoken question, his eyebrows raising in confirmation. He's sure too, about Eliot having a few hidden quirks. He's been a surprising man to get to know.

"There may be be some of that here, as well," he says, pointing out the vase filled with marbles with a brief smile. Even if some of the decor isn't required for Eliot's magic, it still makes this place feel like a reflection of Eliot's personality. Unusual, but charming nonetheless.

"Though I could be wrong." He gives the marbles a second assessing glance before returning his attention to Blue. "Magic as a reality is new to me. I can't imagine what it would be like growing up with it." He's not entirely sure what Blue even means by psychic (perhaps something to do with telling futures?), but he does wonder if her mother being psychic would mean that Blue also has those powers.

Edited 2020-02-28 09:02 (UTC)

Blue smiles at his gesture to the vase, which looks like it could be off one of those moodboard sites, though very prettily so with the light refracting. It widens into a smirk when Jack points out that maybe they aren't just pretty. "Sometimes the most benign looking things are the most powerful," she says, "but usually, they're just benign."

"It's..." She hmms thoughtfully. "Sort of like growing up any other way, I think, it's not until later that you realize it isn't the same as everyone else's. I mean --" She makes an assessing face. "Obviously, I knew it wasn't normal, I was around other kids, but -- I was raised by my mother and my aunts and no men, all in one little house, and that's just to start with. Nothing about me was normal for Henrietta. I wouldn't have known what to do with being normal." She laughs softly. As a teenager, she'd made the most of it, blown it up into a look that's only faintly more subdued now. That's another thing she finds relatable about Eliot.

"For me, it was more annoying than anything, I think, at the time. I don't have the same abilities as my mother," she explains, "but when I'm around, I make them stronger. So I was dragged around to sit through all sorts of people visiting wanting to know their futures and I always wanted to be doing something else, of course."

"There you are."

She smiles as she draws up beside Jack at her perch over a platter of eggs. She saw him the moment she came in, eyes always drawn to him, especially in that coat. He'd seen her too, though he hadn't come near. She'd stayed with Greta for a little while, met her friend, before finally managing to pull away. So it isn't so much that she's found him; just that he hadn't come to her.

That's all right, of course. But she doesn't want to be apart too long, with all these people around.

"Enjoying yourself?" She eyes the eggs, which are significantly depleted.

Jack breathes a small sigh of relief as Anne settles in next to him. He has been having a nice time, but he feels more at ease with her standing next to him. "You should try one," he says, indicating the platter of eggs. "They're good."

He keeps his eyes on her for a moment, not really sure where he wants to start. He wants to tell her that Eliot is a king and he wants to tell her that half of the things on these shelves could be used to do magic, but it also feels like there's a more pressing question to ask. His eyes flick down to the shirt that is definitely not the one she left in this morning, then over to where Greta is talking with a very tall redheaded man.

"You went to get Greta. Did something happen after you left?" He tries to keep his tone light, but some of his wariness about Greta creeps into his voice. He's not entirely sure what he's asking, but he is sure that Greta has been someone that Anne has started to trust. That's rare, for Anne, and as much as he wants Anne to have people to trust, he doesn't want to see her get hurt if that trust is misplaced.

He tries to push aside the worry that Anne being so thoughtful towards Greta might mean that his bed will be empty again in a month or two.

She does try one, and they are good, so she focuses on eating for a moment while she thinks about how to answer his question.

She knows what he means to ask, what he's really asking. The borrowed shirt might be close enough to what she wears, hidden enough by her coat, that no one else would notice; but it must be obvious to him. She can imagine what that might look like to him, what he might think. But she don't know how to address that. Feels like it would be a mistake to try.

Anne keeps her eyes on the spread of food as she answers, "One of them... things from last night. Straggler. It was outside her house. So I took care of it." She gestures over her front. "She wanted to get me cleaned up, so. Shirt's in her laundry. She gave me this."

That's the truth, and she can only hope it'll set his mind at ease. She picks up another egg and looks up at him as she eats it.

Edited 2020-03-15 07:07 (UTC)

He keeps his eyes on her a little longer as her gaze drifts away from his own. "It's fortunate for her, that you decided to check down that far." He knows that she meant to check on Greta, and there's something in that, but digging into that more feels like it would be a mistake. "I doubt she would have liked to get her hands dirty." He watches Anne's face until she looks back up at him, then he lets his gaze drift out over the rest of the party-goers.

His eyes land naturally on Eliot. He's faced away, talking to a young woman that he doesn't recognize, but he can tell from his posture and the way his head is tipped down a little, that he's smiling.

"I learned something about our host," he says, leaning towards her, but still watching the line of Eliot's shoulders. The corner of his lips lift up into the trace of a smile. "He's a king. Was a king, in his...other world." He chuckles a little, and nods towards the chest at the side of the room. "He's got a crown in there."

"He's what?" She blinks at him, her mouth full and her question muffled. She might've wanted to venture something about how there's more to Greta than he thinks, but something tells her that would be a mistake, and now it's all but forgotten. Eliot, a king, and Jack smiling about it like it ain't even surprising.

She looks across the room at Eliot, who seems to spy them looking and lifts his drink toward them in some half-hearted toast with a crooked smile.

Anne turns back to Jack at once. "He's a king?" she all but sputters.

Jack keeps his eyes on Eliot, and it's almost as if Eliot senses them watching, because he turns around and acknowledges them with a smile. Jack straightens his posture, feeling a surge of something like pride gathering in his chest.

Anne's reaction makes him turn back to her. He chuckles and nods. "He's a king. I can see it-" He lets his attention drift back to Eliot as he holds the attention of the people around him. "I don't think what he is is like being a king of England. More like a king out of a fairy tale. You see how he is with people, he has a talent for it. "

He looks back at her, a faint smile lingering at his lips. "He was afraid to tell me. He didn't think that a pirate would approve." He's still incredibly charmed by the idea that Eliot cared that much about what he thought. It's funny, and also it feels nice in a way that he can't properly describe to know that Eliot is invested in their friendship.

Anne's expression changes minutely as she watches Jack notice Eliot looking, watches him shift his posture, watches his smile change. By the time he's looking back at her, she's as guarded as ever, but she recognizes all of this. She's seen it before. She saw it when they first appealed to join the Ranger's crew, she saw it when Jack spoke loftily of Teach's brilliance. Here again, over this fairy tale king who's made his own interest clear, if not plain.

Fuck's sake.

She scoffs softly, turning to look back at the food, though she's lost her appetite. Jack wouldn't like it if she challenged his ideas about Eliot and his 'talent for it', or if she questioned why he was wrong to think Jack wouldn't approve. She doesn't want to sour his mood, and she supposes she probably shouldn't insult their host. But she has to say something.

"Awfully hands-on for a king," she says, thinking of how he'd fought alongside them last night. It wouldn't be a bad thing, and she might even agree with parts of Jack's assessment if she had a better sense about what Eliot wants to gain from it all. Jack doesn't seem worried about that in the slightest. She raises her eyes to him again. "You trust him?"

Jack hums in agreement to Anne's assessment. It was surprising to see Eliot in action last night. He knows that Eliot had been in some sort of battle, but how he had talked about it, it didn't seem like a common enough occurrence for him to become skilled at fighting. The creatures were easy to kill, but all the same, Eliot had settled in beside him and Anne naturally. Jack wonders if it seemed like second-nature to Eliot because of his experience...or just because they work well together.

He meets her eyes. "I do." He glances back at Eliot for a moment before redirecting his gaze to the spread of snacks instead. Maybe he shouldn't trust Eliot. The fact that Eliot hid information from him might be reason enough to doubt his intentions, but he doesn't doubt Eliot's sincerity. If anything, he feels like he might trust him more now that he knows Eliot had been worried about what a pirate might think of him.

Jack reaches out and adjusts one of the plates, feeling like he needs something to do with his hands. The party really is remarkably put-together for how long they'd been fighting last night. Eliot must be exhausted. "He likes to make people feel welcome. That's all."

Anne keeps her eyes on him while he answers, his gaze traveling to Eliot and then away again, reaching out to neaten the table with that constant, contained restlessness of his. And then he explains, only he don't explain the trust; she's not sure what he's answering with that. Several steps ahead, like he needs to outpace his own thoughts or something awful will happen.

He's been like this before. Brushing aside looks and questions with assurances and answers to questions that ain't been asked. It's all familiar, but familiarity's not much good when she has no more idea now what to say to it all than she ever did. When this, more than it ever has before, leaves her wondering if she's going to lose him.

She has no idea how to venture that subject, and thinks even if she could that it, too, would be a mistake. But it digs at her, the sense of a widening gulf between them, and no idea how to mend it.

In the end, she just turns and leans back against the table, arms folded as she lets her gaze drift over the rest of the people, most of them strangers to her. She settles on Greta as a familiar signpost, still talking to that massive Irishman.

"That one there," she says, nodding her chin toward him. "Says he was a king as well." He said far more than that, and she wants to tell Jack all of it, but later, when she's had some time to sort it out, when they can talk quietly just the two of them. For now, she offers Jack a wry smirk. "Didn't know we'd ever be in such fine company."

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Say When (A New Year's Brunch)

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