[ The last thing Quentin Coldwater remembers is being an old man and burying Eliot, burying him and finding a mosaic tile amidst the deligent work that he was doing to honour the his dead. As he had passed out in a grief that felt nearly unbearable, he'd woken up as if it had all been a dream. Sleep hazing out of his eyes; he pushed that haze away followed by his hair and struggled himself up to face the Retainer who greeted him, someone who he did not recognize but told him to follow them nevertheless.

This was not the strangest thing that had ever happened to him whatsoever. And it sure as hell probably won't be the last.

He was uncertain that it was Fillory, to little castles and not enough villager complaints. Even more unnerving was the fact that everyone seemed to be following his movements through town as if it was a walk of shame. Gods, this felt fucking familar, a walk of shame. There were questions about his quest with Eliot but that would wait, this felt a little bit more serious.

Once everything ceased to be overwhelming and after the long list of explanations where Quentin suddenly realized he'd been dragged into some sort of LARP Regency reenactment of Pride and Prejudice, he walked down to the parlor to find food.. and talk to people to see if they were just as perplexed as he was. ]

I can't be the only person that finds this odd or unsettling, right? What do you think this Pheme wants, it seems a bit cryptic, the message I got. What about you? [ To anyone who would listen ]

[ After Quentin was ceremoniously trussed up in typical regency garb of a forest green which was, surprisingly enough, just as uncomfortable as he had imagined it to be when he'd watched the 1995 miniseries. How had Colin Firth made it look so effortless? All he wanted to do was pull on his neckcloth until he could breath; gone was the romantic fantasy of sweeping Elizabeth Bennet into his arms or being romanced by Mr. Darcy.

The drink had been shoved into his hands by one of the staff at this function and that helped him to be a bit more comfortable with his lot in life. Yep, he was no stranger to drinks being shoved in his hands. Point in fact, so many of his bestworst mistakes have been bourne upon the wings of alcohol. Well, already he could see that mistakes were going to be had.

Might as well commit to them.

The drink though? Had no right to be so delicious, even as he shoved the little green cherry garnish into his mouth. There was a rising in the pit of his abdomen, part nervousness, part something else. It was something that felt suspiciously like, happiness, well fuck, that was a rare one ]

You know, I don't think this will be that bad, yeah. Sure, the cravat is borderline choking me, but I'm starting to be into it.

[ Once Quentin stepped over the threshold, he was treated to a space and time distortion of the most impossible degree. He was thinking about all of the episodes of Dr Who that he had ever watched as well as how this was definitely bigger on the inside. The sense of adventure in the pit of his stomach fornicated with every single nervous thought he'd ever had. When a Dryad tickled lightly underneath his chin, well of course he was going to follow-- how could he not.

It was not very effective though and the end game was not to catch them, but to follow them and their frangipani scent and how it was earthy and deep, full of promise and desire. He was a disaster and right now he was unable to help himself.

All well and good.. until he got lost and with the world spinning in a haze of verdant madness around him and the fireflies turning into kinetic wisps that blurred with motion. Except they were not moving, he was. ]

Oh fuck.. [ Quentin said as he fell to his knees, his hand pressed against a tree trunk as he attempted a few steadying breaths. ] Is there some sort of drunk in the drinks? [ Another pause ] I meant drugs.. it's me, I'm the drunk.

[ The heat of his restrictive clothing was getting too much for himself to bear comfortably as the night grew later and later. And thus, the moment that he came across the pond, he found himself scrambling out of his clothing. Yes, perhaps he was not going to be able to get into them the exact way that he had been put into by his valet, but that was 'hour-from-now' Quentin's problem. The green drink coupled with his own hubris was setting him on a crash-course into further bad decisions.

Once he slipped into the water was when he noticed the slightest sprinkling of pollen dust that had managed to get just underneath his collar (funny that it should, since the damn thing had been so tight.) however once he attempted to brush against the glow dust, he was finding that it just was not coming off.

Quentin dipped under water then, re-emerging a sputtering mess as he glanced down, the mark was still absolutely there like some 24-hour nightmare mascara that Bambi wore unfailingly. He would continue to rub it, however it just seemed to spread, then he glanced up as he heard a light splash ]

Who's there? [ He managed to call out in a breathless and embarrassed sort of whisper. Gods, he'd been mortified to be caught out like this indulging in the waters when he wasn't even sure it was allowed. ]

Hello, this is Nia! TDMing my second Trauma Wizard so please be gentle! Anyone not in the TON, you can find me at alwaysbeenasmiler Discord: ZemnianJoy#0664. If you TDM as a Magicians cast member and don't have an invite, feel free to HMU-- I have (2)

Anyone in the TON-- *wink wink nudge nudge* If you know, you know.

Great rolling with either Prose or Brackets, and Quentin's UN name is "Nothingmancer"