Eliot Waugh

The invitation arrived the way trouble often did for Eliot: casually, and with excellent timing.

He was behind the bar at Sanctuary, halfway through polishing a glass that didn’t need polishing, when the woman slid onto a stool. She was dressed impeccably, in a way that stood out even there.

"Eliot Waugh," she said, like it was a conclusion she’d already reached.

He blinked. "Ah yes, hello, that’s me. Have we met, or is this one of those situations where my reputation precedes m?"

She smiled wider and placed a card on the bar. Not a business card. Too heavy. Thick, textured paper.

"Invitation," she said. "Tomorrow night. Very exclusive."

Eliot glanced down at it. Only an address written on it, along with a silver-embossed symbol - curving, elegant, suggestive without being obvious.

Before he could open his mouth to ask more, she added, "And you’re welcome to bring a guest."

He looked up. She was gone.

Naturally.

Eliot turned the card over, and then slipped it into his pocket.

He didn't even debate who to invite. There was something about the woman's demeanor and the slight suggestiveness of the symbol on the card -- if this wasn't some kind of sex party, he'd eat his hat. So Nyx it was. Definitely.

Which was how they found themselves standing outside the next night, at the address on the card.

Of course, there was no sign. No line. Just an unmarked door down a side street that looked like it led to storage, not decadence.

Eliot glanced at him. "Maybe I'm imagining it, but I swear the card just named a little in my pocket."

This was a pretty weird time for Eliot.

He was at the restaurant tonight, the fancy one with the expensive cocktails where he still got less tips than he did at Sanctuary. But he was also pretty sure he was going to get fired the next time he showed up at his other job. After all, the night before he'd literally almost burned the place down. He was surprised Kersen had just told him to go home instead of canning him on the spot. Though maybe it was also because he'd had to confess to Eliot that he was a vampire.

At least he still had this job, though he knew he'd never be able to cover his rent with a single bartending gig. Well. That was a thing for future Eliot to worry about. His shift was over soon, too. Maybe he'd... scout out some bars for a new gig. As in, do his own personal bar crawl. And also drink a lot while he was at it.

"Hey, what can I get--" he began as he spun towards a newcomer at the bar. And then smiled broadly when he saw who it was. "Hey gorgeous."

Eliot had been a vampire for about a month.

The strangeness had not worn off. The nights still felt too quiet, even with their thousand tiny sounds. He noticed everything now. The way wax dripped and hardened on candlelit windows. The threads fraying in a woman’s glove as she passed him by. A mouse darting beneath a cobbler’s cart, heart thudding so loudly he could feel it in his jaw.

He walked slowly, hands clasped behind his back in a way that made him look almost serene. He didn't quite feel serene, though.

The city wasn't large. He had walked this same route as a human more than once, though “stumbled” was more accurate. Drunk, angry, heartbroken. Tonight, he glided. He'd promised Harry he wouldn't drink himself into a stupor anymore, though he did always find himself tempted when he passed by a bar.

He did pause, considering. What would Harry do if he broke his promise? Kill him? After all, he couldn't enjoy a good meal anymore, shouldn't he enjoy something?

Eliot really should have removed the google alert for his name, or at least the push notifications to his phone. But all of the press around the play's opening night had been so positive...

Or at least, as he sat down at the bar and waited for Sam to arrive, he could have ignored the notification. Or closed the app the moment he saw Mike's name in the byline, and even worse, the little thumbnail photo of his smug face. Instead, he read it on his phone:

“Ghosts in the Spotlight: Eliot Waugh Returns to the Stage, but Can He Escape the Past?”
By Michael Reade | Theatrical Wire

Last weekend's premiere of Angels in America at the Wilshire Playhouse marked a long-awaited and emotionally fraught return for actor Eliot Waugh, whose once-soaring career has been haunted by whispers of scandal, tragedy, and personal collapse.

Waugh, who became a Broadway darling after his Tony-nominated turn in the revival of Company, fell from grace nearly overnight following the implosion of Fallen Grace—a show that, for all its ambition, became infamous for backstage chaos, substance abuse rumors, and the devastating suicide of co-star Quentin Coldwater.

In the years since, Waugh has largely disappeared from the theater scene. Most recently, he was spotted working as a singing waiter at the kitschy Midtown-style Stardust Diner in Hollywood, charming tourists with renditions of “Defying Gravity” and “You’ll Be Back” between plates of mozzarella sticks.

Now, with the Los Angeles revival of Angels in America, he’s returned not just to the stage—but to the conversation.

Waugh plays Prior Walter, a role some might say hits a little too close to home. It’s a striking choice for an actor whose own life has played out so publicly under the weight of grief and controversy.

One might expect him to be in a more celebratory mood, but a somber Eliot Waugh said on opening night that though he is happy to be back on stage, it’s difficult not to be haunted by Quentin Coldwater’s tragic fate.

Critics in attendance largely praised his performance, with one calling it “a beautiful performance full of raw nerve.” But not everyone was convinced. “You want to be moved,” one attendee was heard saying during intermission. “But it’s hard not to wonder how much of it is catharsis, and how much is strategy.”

Waugh’s return, for all its acclaim, hasn’t erased the past. The tragedy of Coldwater still casts a long shadow, and whispers about Waugh’s relationship with the late actor continue to linger. As one anonymous source from the Fallen Grace production put it, “He’s always been good at tragedy. It’s just harder to applaud when you know how real it is.”

Eliot's frown just got deeper and deeper as he read it, and then that last line... it really stung. He told himself that Mike had just made it up. Though wasn't sure he really believed that.

He was still looking at his phone when he spotted Sam in the mirror behind the bar out of the corner of his eye. He spun on the chair and forced a smile. "Hey there!"

Eliot perched on the edge of a beige leather armchair, fingers tapping restlessly against the armrest, eyes flicking toward the door every time it so much as creaked.

He didn’t want to be here.

But he was.

Because, despite everything—the career implosion, the relentless tabloid whispers, the lingering ghost of Quentin’s name in places he never expected it—some inconvenient, infuriating part of him had decided he should at least try to be a person again. Plus he knew he could not fuck up the opportunity he finally had. Could. Not.

He'd also been pretty surprised when the therapist whose name Aaron had given him had actually agreed to see him. Despite knowing about his shitty health insurance.

The clock on the wall ticked in an insufferably even rhythm, and Eliot exhaled sharply, rubbing his thumb against the inside of his wrist like it might ground him.

One of the reasons Eliot really liked this bar was because he used to work here. When he moved to New York City after graduating from Yale, he'd worked multiple jobs for a while to scrape together enough for his shithole apartment while he went on auditions. Bartending here - a decent gay bar, just not the most central or trendy neighborhood, a bit off the beaten path - had done him well enough in tips to keep him in both food and cigarettes.

Of course, he was making enough now playing Bobby in an off-broadway revival of Company, that he was able to stop his side gig writing NYU students' history and philosophy essays and quite bartending. He didn't think he'd go back to the essays. Honestly if he needed the money after this he'd probably leverage some of this temporary low-level fame into creating some Only Fans content or something.

He didn't exactly have a plan for the evening when he'd come in, just gone to the bar to get a gin and tonic (double, with an olive) and looked around while he waited for the drink. He gaze eventually landed on a guy sitting by himself. Conspicuously by himself. He wasn't even looking around.

Eventually with the drink in hand, Eliot went over and slid onto the stool next to him. "You look like you could use some company," he said, tilting his head as if considering this very seriously. Then he picked the toothpick off of the top of his glass and slid the olive into his mouth. "Lucky for you, I'm delightful."

Between Nyx's accident and Astarion dumping him, Eliot had had a rough couple of days, and following them he'd thrown himself into work. Picking up extra shifts at both bars. Especially Nyx's bar, since according to Winter Nyx was in the fae lands healing up. Which was a relief, but at the same time Eliot was worried about him.

And worrying about Nyx, remembering how self destructive he'd seemed before the accident, at least made Eliot be a little wary for himself. He knew how he tended to cope with his own bad feelings. He could have spent his nights at clubs and bars, popping pills and picking up guys, but... Instead he just worked. And also read trashy romance novels and made a pan of brownies that he picked at all week.

Though one night when he wasn't scheduled for work, he got a message from Winter that Nyx was back. And so he went to the bar.

He smiled when he saw Nyx. "Hello, my friend."

Soon, Eliot was going to have to stop ignoring Dean Fogg's phone calls. In a voicemail, he'd offered Eliot a job at Brakebills, an offer that Eliot very much did not want to take until he had no other choice. But that time may be coming, as he quickly drained his bank account. Because really, what was else was there to do but drink, when his hands were still too broken to do magic and his friends were all either dead or in another world that he had no access to? And that was the optimistic version. It might just be that they're all dead.

One thing that he abhorred was becoming a regular, but fortunately London had no shortage of bars. He'd been to many. Tonight he was sipping a very subpar martini, sitting at a table by himself. He didn't actually realize that it was a table near a stage, until a man came in and seemed to be setting up to play. Eliot watched him curiously as he sipped.

Though it had certainly made things interesting for a bit, Eliot was glad that things on the ship were back to normal. He'd also noticed some newcomers around - the white haired elf, his equally hot friend. And... was that another one? He moved a little closer, hoping to get a better look at him.

Eliot was feeling pretty... uneven, about literally everything on this ship. He'd made a friend in Winter, which was lovely, and assumed that John was on his side as well, considering he'd been the one to bring him here. And Guy... well, whatever that was. Eliot really had thought that his smartest move was to get on the captain's very good side, but despite feeling like the man had been undressing him with his eyes, it had ended with... report to the quartermaster. He'd thought it best not to ask what that entailed. To just do what he was told.

So he dutifully showed up in the workroom. Looked around. "Ah, I'm looking for the quartermaster."