[ Eliot is quite for a moment. Margo finds the silver lining, digs her heels in and prepares to bend this place to her will. Eliot finds himself saddled with the same sense of dread he'd felt when the crown had been settled on his head and the stone walls of Fillory were closing in around him.

This is all fun and games until they really can't get back. Eliot drains what's left in his cup at that thought, then uncurls to both deposit his cup on the bar and stretch his now-empty hand out along the back of Margo's barstool. No bare skin. Safe. ]

Well, it's a plan.

[ Better than nothing at all. Better than drudge work. ]

It's like our first year at Brakebills all over again. Just with...worse drink options and no magic.

[ As if the latter is anything new. His thumb taps at Margo's elbow as he stutters over everything else he isn't saying. ]