Eliot Waugh

He comes to in a sprawl on the floor of his bathroom, and above the tangle of memory and sensation and physical discomfort Eliot feels an amazing sense of relief. It worked, and he is himself again. He laughs, a sound of near-manic delight that bounces on the cold tile, and grins at his accomplishment.

Eliot’s knees creak as he shifts to look around the small room, taking stock of the ephemera he’d made off with while he was transformed. His memory is something of a jumble and looking at the physical evidence helps; a scattering of bottlecaps, stolen cigarettes, the beautiful piece of sea glass resting on the sink. It was, he thinks, a good day. He’s aware of the weight around his neck but it takes a moment before he really inspects the pendant. He can’t recall seeing Jack without it, now that he thinks about it, but he’s never had the opportunity to study it up close: a two-headed bird of some kind, silver set with a drop of carnelian and other smaller stones. It’s more intricate that Eliot expected, and he thumbs at the cord wrapped in brass rings and feels rather bad about the theft.

He feels too tired still to begin cleaning up the transmutation sigil but he does have enough energy to pick up his phone and check what he’s missed.

“Oh dear,” he murmurs, voice scratchy and unfamiliar, upon listening to the voicemail. He can’t help smiling, though. For all that he hates the thought of Jack being in confusion or distress about it all day, Eliot still feels some smug bird pride at the successful mischief. He texts back with a photo, feeling a bit silly. Perhaps he should get today’s newspaper to complete the effect of a hostage negotiation? But a reply doesn’t come right away so Jack must be busy eating or...something, and Eliot occupies himself with the business of setting things back in order.

When he stands he’s hit with an immediate wave of dizziness and he grips the edge of the sink for balance. He’s hungry, he realizes, and near sick with it. He grimaces. It’s not nearly the same bone-deep exhaustion he felt from being a goose, but it’s unpleasant enough that it takes a while to reason through the steps he ought to take to fix the problem. Eliot needs to feel comfortable; he needs to be grounded, present in himself, and he needs to fucking eat.

He’s halfway into his pajamas when the phone buzzes and he reads Jack’s reply. He should give the necklace back as soon as possible, and it would certainly be nice to have some human interaction again, to remember what that’s like. Surely Jack, of all people, will forgive his disarray. He finishes dressing, slips on a robe and, after a moment’s consideration, puts on his crown as well. The weight of it is familiar, soothing, and he straightens his shoulders and shuffles to the kitchen to eat a couple spoonfuls of peanut butter from the jar.

It’s enough of a boost that he’s able to tidy up the bathroom. It takes a while to clear up the magical effects in place and organize his plunder, but there’s a definite intellectual satisfaction in having everything just so. Once it’s done Eliot settles on the couch with a notebook, to document the results of his experiment, and to wait.