uh. also, what is WARJAMES??
One of the fics you’d be less excited for. :D Good choice.
Basically it’s “what if the Magicians trilogy had a fourth book and it was pretty gosh damned gay.” :D
I’m really excited to write it (I have so many notes) but it’s an intimidatingly big project, and it’s gonna take at least a year to write, maybe more. But it’s going to be a lot of fun! And I’ve already written the most romantic line for it that I’ve ever written for anything (Eliot to Quentin) and I can’t wait to write the rest of it so everyone who cares lmao can understand what I mean. :D
The idea is basically what if James avoided taking his envelope at the beginning of the first book (and warned Quentin from taking his) because he’d already been recruited by the Australian magic school Esquith, and had been forewarned by them about Brakebills’ shady practices. And what if Quentin ran into him again, all these years later, during a magical war game. :D
Quentin’s been getting by for the last few years with his latest job, as an external contractor to the Magicians’ Council. With his ridiculous paperwork (ex-King of Fillory?) and his employment history (who gets fired from Brakebills?), Quentin’s already holding onto his job by a thin thread. But when his path crosses with a deadly magical wargame, and Quentin ends up letting a suspect flee from a crime scene, Quentin quickly finds himself in a position he’s all-too familiar with: out on his ass.
Except Quentin’s older now, and unlike Fillory and Brakebills, this time, he’s willing to fight to regain what he’s lost. To clear his reputation, Quentin needs to solve who’s behind this deadly wargame, and stop it before any more lives are lost. His pride would probably stop him for asking for help, but apparently drunken Quentin the night before didn’t have any compunction in sending a message in a bottle to the High King of Fillory.
Eliot’s happy to help his old friend figure out the mystery, which is great, because Quentin’s going to need all the help he can get. Because the suspect he let escape, a capable and competent magician who could match even Quentin’s battle skills, was someone Quentin never thought he’d ever meet again: his old best friend, and Julia’s ex, James.
With the body count rising, and danger coming their way, Quentin is forced to join the deadly game in order to save James’ life. Just who is behind this killer game? What do they want? And why is Eliot so keen to help Quentin? Quentin has a thousand mysteries to solve at once, but is anything he’s facing more baffling than the human heart?
There was broken glass on the kitchen floor.
Quentin stared at it nonplussed, because he didn't remember breaking anything last night. He didn't remember anything past sinking onto his couch with a bottle of his mother's favorite Sonoma Chardonnay clutched in one hand.
He stared at the glass waiting for an answer to come, but his brain was sending back the mental equivalent of a line full of question marks. Well, if his memory was going to be no help, maybe he could still scrounge up something useful from the evidence. There were two colors among the glass shards that were scattered in a half-moon shape on the tiles, concentrated beneath a large, gilt-framed illustration that was about the only nod toward home décor Quentin had condescended to on renting the apartment. There had been a single nail on the long stretch of wall in the kitchen that seemed to mock him; Quentin had found the picture to hang from it on a whim, dropping into a thrift store on 22nd Street to avoid the rain. The black-and-white print was of a ship, forging its way through a roiling ocean wave, its prow cutting through the foam. There was a carved figurehead on the bow of a buxom ox with cat ears. It was only after he had brought it home, re-strung the back, and hung it on the nail that he realized there was a name etched on the stern: the Swift.
It could have been a coincidence, of course, that Quentin had unknowingly purchased Fillory fan art. If he'd been paying more attention at the time he bought it, he wasn't sure whether he would have. Sometimes just the thought of Fillory ached like an old scar, and he already had enough of those.
The clear glass shards were obviously from the picture, then, as only a few shreds of it remained in the frame, like jagged teeth trying to eat the Swift whole. The green glass was a distinctive color and one quick glance at his kitchen counter confirmed it: the Quentin of last night had obviously decided to finally sample the bottle of absinthe that Gretchen and Beatrice had given him as a house warming gift. He figured for a second that it must have been found wanting, but there was no stain on the wall, so the bottle must have been empty when he threw it at the frame. But there wasn't enough glass to account for an entire bottle, either.
Those facts didn't tell him anything coherent. Quentin sadly concluded he probably wasn't gumshoe material.
WIP Title Game - Ask Me About Any Of These
