definitely, maybe

“You’re such an idiot, do you know that?” Jamie asked, an amused smirk taking over their lips as they watched Quentin. “That poor kid is going to die and it’ll be your fault. I hope you can live with that.” Winking at the other, Jamie leaned back in their chair with a heavy sigh. “You’re right, you’re fucking old. Over thirty. Aren’t you already getting grey hairs and wrinkles and all that shit?”

The already tipsy duo were all laughter and celebrations, it was amazing. Not everybody agreed with Jackson’s lifestyle, or his personality, but it was good to have someone like Quentin. Him and Jackson were technically the same person, and they were quite the team when together. The mechanic laughed, but looked down at the ground as he waited for his head to stop spinning, his hands on his thighs, his chest hopping up and down as he chuckled happily. “Ahhh,” he mused. The shots had already proven to be the worst yet the best idea they could’ve had, but there was no way he could have sixteen shots and be able to walk two steps on his own –– not without giving it a break first. “Something less… aggressive. Much less aggressive. We flew, my friend, now it’s time to crawl. The only way we do it. How does beer sound?”

Quentin had a hard time not chuckling or laughing, or anything even remotely close to it right now. It was impossible not to be in a good mood when he was hanging out with Jackson anyway— the alcohol just seemed to multiply it by a thousand. Even if they would end up feeling like shit tomorrow, at least they were having a hell of a time right now. "Yeah, to crawl and then probably just...you know, not move at all, just lie still, pretend to be dead, flatten out." He said, laughing before he nodded a 'yes' to the beer. "Anyway, before I forget how to talk, tell me how you've been lately? What have you been up to?"

“Um–thanks. Yeah, you’re right, that’s what it means.” She smiled slightly, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Are you, um, from around here? You don’t really have much of, um, an accent.”

"I can't believe I knew that. Must be the alcohol making me smarter or something," he said with a laugh, clearly joking. "Yeah, I am. Born and raised her in Montreal, but I haven't really been around for the past decade. What about you?"

Lux was fairly sure livers didn’t work like that, but she didn’t say as much. Even someone who wasn’t studying to be a doctor knew that, but what this man chose to put into his body was his choice. “Lux,” she said, plucking nervously at the hem of her shirt. “It’s, um, it’s nice to meet you, Quentin.” 

"Lux? That's a pretty name. Means light or something, right? Or is that just something I just made up?" He asked, eyebrows knitting together in slight confusion, but mostly just in amusement at his own ridiculousness. "You too, sweetheart."

“No, it’s not. I’ve always loved this city, especially growing up with a family that has done so much for it. We’re in politics. My father was a senator and my mother has been involved in various organizations and offices in Montreal, including mayor. Where have you been?”

"Oh yeah? That's pretty cool, man. What's your name again?" He asked, curious all of a sudden since he did know a few people with parents in politics. "Mostly the States. New York and LA to be specific."

“—— perhaps I find my work fun, ever thought of that-” she’s moved to shuffle some papers around, organising them into individual compartments and not looking Quentin’s way as she speaks. “You’re disillusioned to think karaoke is fun, but if you really want to do something, I suppose we can go out for drinks.”

"I'm not saying you don't, you damn Debbie Downer, I'm just saying we could go do something even more fun. Being spontaneous and impulsive is good, you know? It keeps people on their toes." He said, as if he really knew what he was talking about. He did believe what he was saying though— if he kept from doing something impulsive for too long, he would go crazy. "Okay fine - no karaoke, but drinks sounds great. Come on, let's get going then, pretty lady."

“God, no, we so can’t do that. That would either go horribly wrong or I won’t hear the end of it for the next year. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that.” Jaxon chuckled quietly, shaking his head just at the idea of drunk dialing his family. “Of course they are. Piss drunk or nursing a hangover, there’s no other reason for teachers to cancel classes.”

Lucas smiled slightly. “I’m from here, yes,” he said. “I work in Quebec, but I’ve lived here on and off for most of my life. My family has a long history of public service in and around Montreal. And yourself?”

"That's nice, man. Montreal isn't a bad place to grow up, ey? What does your family do exactly? I'm from around here as well. Born and raised here actually, but I haven't really lived here for the past ten years."

“Ah! I don’t even want to be reminded of tomorrow. Given that I pretty much never drink and am probably the biggest light weight, then I’ll probably wake up feeling like complete and total death.” Emily assured the man. She wasn’t looking forward to the morning. But for now, she’d just enjoy the fact that she was having fun and able to get out of her shell a bit. Thankfully he made it so easy on her. She didn’t feel as uncomfortable as she usually did in this environment. “It’s probably just being around others that pushes them to do it. When others are drinking, they want to drink too. Plus, the whole act of being drunk apparently has some great appeal.” Not that she really knew what it was like to be drunk. She had drank before, but never really been drunk. “No no, no spending money on me! Though, I will join your for pizza. That sounds amazing, honestly.” Emily replied, giggling just ab it. “It’s a pleasure, Quentin. My name is Emily. First time shot taker!” At least, since the accident, it was the first time.

Lux had never been that much of a drinker – not that she ever went to parties where alcohol was being consumed, and in any case, it was still against the law for her to drink in the states. She was still getting used to the fact that she could drink here. “I was, um, more concerned about…about your liver.”

"Oh no, come on— I promise my liver will be fine. It's been through so much already, that I'm completely certain it's made of steel." He put on a boyish grin, looking over at the blonde and trying to reassure her somehow. "Anyway, what's your name, blondie? I'm Quentin, and it's a pleasure meeting you."

It was a profound feeling of being devoid of regular satisfaction with the personal aspects of a life as complex as those of passersby. The old woman taking out her dog for a long walk above the damp pavement, covered in puddles of molten snow, the neighbor who tended to listen to their music just a little too loudly or the adolescent doodling into a tattered notebook, marked by the time it’d been in use in the uncaring hands of a creative mind. The time in New York City had been clearly labeled as an immense failure, still wearing her down when those rare moments of undeniable self-doubt overcame her like a tidal wave and she drowned with the taste of salt lingering on her soft-spoken tongue, entrapped between countless taste buds. Awareness was solid, an old certainty she’d been taught to cling to by frequent assurance of those around her, those who loved her as much as she loved them. But even the most stout foundation would shake in vertiginous heights. 

Her fingers were tight around the small bag on her lap, hesitant to keep her eyes on him. An uncommon thing of her to agree to commit – avoidance of direct eye contact, the collision of crystalline irises in perfectly round shapes, due to merged feelings of disappointment and annoyance, a slow burning flame in her heart and mind and fast-paced thoughts trying to make time go by faster to no avail. Misfortune was the only thing she dared to blame as she leaned back in her chair, her body’s language implying an underlying message of defeat. Bring it on —-

She nodded as he repeated her name, her expression devoid of genuine wish to participate in banter only hoping to be improved. Her lips fell slightly ajar as she sat there with her eyes shifting from the coated and sticky bottom of an empty glass up at her forced companion for what she assumed at least a fragment of an indefinite while. A thick string of moments woven together, connected by a thin piece of lace, which were painted against her outlook on the future in hapless colors. Exaggeration truly was a virtue. A sigh. “If by ‘special diet’ you mean taking care of my body by maintaining healthy eating habits, then yes.” It was more than that, however, little eagerness mirrored inside her to actually elaborate. “No. I guess I will stay here for another while.” A glance upward, this time prolonged. “What kind of business?”

Quentin snorted a laugh that might have sounded a lot more obnoxious than he meant for it to sound. He was all for people eating healthy and taking care of themselves so they could stick around for their kids for as long as possible, or whatever heartfelt reasons there was out there. But the whole... fitness craze was starting to look a little ridiculous to him, with all these tiny little girls posting mid-pose yoga selfies, and sweaty armpit pictures from the gym to showcase how healthy and fit they are after their new diet of liquid kale and spinach. At least Quentin felt like he worked out for the right reasons; because it was fun and de-stressing for him. But then again, if Elena was a ballerina, she was doing it for the right reasons as well.

"That wasn't what I meant." He said pointedly, a smirk lurking at the corners of his mouth when his blue hues caught her dark ones. She was a picture of pure beauty, gravitationally pulling the eye to her in all her elegance and disinterest in anything that went on around her at this moment. He wasn't one to take it personally though, quite the opposite— he saw a riddle when he looked at her, and immediately felt the childish sort of tingle that came with wanting to solve something so badly. "You know, you can still be healthy and enjoy a drink or two once in a while. I'm not saying you should, I'm just saying you don't have to compromise everything because of your job." He shrugged casually, making sure the light smile stayed on his lips so he didn't seem like he was lecturing her or anything like that.

"It's not that bad, is it? Staying here, I mean." Quentin glanced around the big space, the dimmed colored lights setting a kind of futuristic mood, but in an almost elegant way. If there was even such a thing. It was definitely not as bad a place as a lot of other Montreal clubs he'd gone to in his younger years, that was for sure. "Mainly app development, and programming. Media stuff." He explained with a light shrug.