Jul. 14th, 2024

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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.

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Eliot Waugh

June 2025

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