[With just the barest wave in Peter's general direction, before he rakes a hand through his hair and heads for the desk. He ignores the chair completely in favor of, very carefully, moving the papers in to small piles and stacking them at the edge of the desk to give him more room on the tabletop. The rest of the room could have been plastered in neon-bright poster, or it could have been a barren, white room with just a sheet on the floor for all the attention Quentin is giving it.
It's a cursory look to see where Peter is, and where the table is, because that's what he needs right now. A plan. Half of one, at least and it's not even all that dangerous to the general population of Beacon. His first reaction had been too much, the network post and yelling at nothing in the woods behind the cabin. The vague and unformed plan to just storm at the light house and find the woman who knew about this and didn't stop it. By any mean necessary.
They'd done worse things for less, back in New York and in Fillory. They'd done way worse to themselves, too. Alice, drinking the nectar of the twin god, to gain enough power to slay the Beast and it still hadn't been enough. Julia, turning over every stone, every book, ever Hedge witch and using desperate measures to get rid of her God-touch. Eliot, choosing to stay behind in Fillory forever and marry Fen, to give them a chance to win. Quentin himself, who'd chosen to stay behind in castle Blackspire as the eternal playmate to a monster so evil and so dangerous, even the gods wanted nothing to do with it and made the protector of the wellspring of all magic.
This would end better.
Because it had to.
Quentin pulls his tablet out and finds the map of Beacon, all the places they've found are on there and so's the vast expanses of wild forest all around them.]
There's a way out. [He starts, not even looking up but biting at the soft flesh of his thumbnail between words, talking clipped and hurried, like he's going to forget the important part if he doesn't get to it soon enough.] There has to be. All doors open both ways. And--and I know that if someone is lost in the woods--[from tv shows and that one time someone from class got lost on vacation] they search it in grid-patterns. South to north, and back. Over and over until the grid is-- they called it 'cleared', but. That doesn't matter. I'm going to search the woods. Starting here-- [he points to the forest just south of the cabins] and working my way through. One grid at a time. I could use a tracker?
[And he looks up then, eyes wide and jaw clenched against either rejection or questions, a stubborn set to his shoulders before he continues.] For my lantern. In case-- in case I find something bigger than me out there. Also, to check. Where I've been.
no subject
[With just the barest wave in Peter's general direction, before he rakes a hand through his hair and heads for the desk. He ignores the chair completely in favor of, very carefully, moving the papers in to small piles and stacking them at the edge of the desk to give him more room on the tabletop. The rest of the room could have been plastered in neon-bright poster, or it could have been a barren, white room with just a sheet on the floor for all the attention Quentin is giving it.
It's a cursory look to see where Peter is, and where the table is, because that's what he needs right now. A plan. Half of one, at least and it's not even all that dangerous to the general population of Beacon. His first reaction had been too much, the network post and yelling at nothing in the woods behind the cabin. The vague and unformed plan to just storm at the light house and find the woman who knew about this and didn't stop it. By any mean necessary.
They'd done worse things for less, back in New York and in Fillory. They'd done way worse to themselves, too. Alice, drinking the nectar of the twin god, to gain enough power to slay the Beast and it still hadn't been enough. Julia, turning over every stone, every book, ever Hedge witch and using desperate measures to get rid of her God-touch. Eliot, choosing to stay behind in Fillory forever and marry Fen, to give them a chance to win. Quentin himself, who'd chosen to stay behind in castle Blackspire as the eternal playmate to a monster so evil and so dangerous, even the gods wanted nothing to do with it and made the protector of the wellspring of all magic.
This would end better.
Because it had to.
Quentin pulls his tablet out and finds the map of Beacon, all the places they've found are on there and so's the vast expanses of wild forest all around them.]
There's a way out. [He starts, not even looking up but biting at the soft flesh of his thumbnail between words, talking clipped and hurried, like he's going to forget the important part if he doesn't get to it soon enough.] There has to be. All doors open both ways. And--and I know that if someone is lost in the woods--[from tv shows and that one time someone from class got lost on vacation] they search it in grid-patterns. South to north, and back. Over and over until the grid is-- they called it 'cleared', but. That doesn't matter. I'm going to search the woods. Starting here-- [he points to the forest just south of the cabins] and working my way through. One grid at a time. I could use a tracker?
[And he looks up then, eyes wide and jaw clenched against either rejection or questions, a stubborn set to his shoulders before he continues.] For my lantern. In case-- in case I find something bigger than me out there. Also, to check. Where I've been.