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[The first few seconds of the recording is just Quentin breathing, fast and shaky at first and just before he speaks, the breathing evens out. The whole speech will be said fast and jerky, like the words are just spilling out without thought.]

What the hell? I can't be the only one who's thinking this, but just what the fucking hell? What the hell just happened? This place, oh shit, this place just-- did any of you see things? Hear things? Fucking feel things? And why? Just, why? I thought we were here to help, to find a way to solve this-- this whole puzzle and suddenly there's something here that made me think I was losing--? That's just-- it was just to fuck with all of us?

What the hell? That's what I want to know - just, what the hell? Is this hell? Is that why?

So, if you're listening to this, lady in the lighthouse? Fuck you! Seriously. Fuck. You.

Also, someone took my hoodie and I need that, so please bring it back. Thanks.

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Yeah? Do you have a magnet? Needles or pins? Do you have anything that might make a compass, that isn't going to just be a waste of time because I can't hold a cup of water while also wandering around in the woods in the dark?

[He snaps, head going up to glare at Peter and he runs a shaking hand through his hair.] I'm sorry. I didn't mean-- I'm sorry. I'm just a little tired right now, and I did think about making one, but. It's impractical.

I'd, uh, I'd need a small body of water and how am I going to carry that, and everything else and still be focused enough to-- do you have a better idea?

[Still visibly frustrated, hands moving too much and his eyes keep darting from Peter and down to the map on the table, tucking at his own hair or just twisting together.

Eliot was still at the cabin, and still being stubbornly very much against all of this and that isn't helping Quentin plan out anything at all. It is making it worse and Peter calling that asshole his someone makes Quentin snort a bark of laughter.]

He's just some dude on the network, I have no idea who he is, but he is-- uh, he's not wrong? Maybe not right either, but we, everyone, we have been wandering around the woods and several people died as a result. So maybe-- being careful isn't the worst idea? [Great, and now Quentin is defending that asshole. He frowns.]

I need to find a way out of here, and soon. That's what I need to do. There's no way to know what's going to happen to us next, and-- and maybe it's going to be worse? Maybe it's going to be literal hell next time? Maybe we're all going to be on fire, or we're going to kill each other or-- or, maybe-- or maybe next time-- [He lets that sentence hand there, unfinished.]

[ quentin reels off a list of do yous and peter looks up at the ceiling, the corners of his lips twisting downwards while his eyebrows pull together into a frown. it's tiring, after the network post, after everything, to have to deal with a barrage of negativity. this isn't fun and games for any of them, and for as much as peter isn't always great at seeing the positive in a situation, he always tends to try. that was his thing, right? (ha, right. what was the alternative? get bogged down in a myriad of worst case what ifs? been there, done that, worn the t-shirt out. hoping for the best and punching whatever got in the way was, ultimately, the superior solution—

god, he hates the word superior. thanks, otto.)

he exhales, an audible, frustrated sigh, punctuated by a roll of his eyes. quentin apologises, quickly, but— ] There are other ways, [ peter retorts, a tired mumble accompanied by a rub of his brow. it's followed by a breath of a pause, and he waves a hand dismissively as if to say whatever, let's move on.

and quentin does. he remarks that the someone is just a dude on the network, and peter glances in the direction of his own tablet, curiosity piqued. he browses, occasionally, public conversations on posts made on the network — in this case, he hadn't really bothered, quentin's outburst hadn't exactly been private, but it hadn't been something he'd wanted to snoop on, something he was interested in seeing how anyone else reacted to. that seemed unfair.

maybe being careful isn't the worst idea. peter looks back up at quentin when he says that, startled. that soon gives way to something bordering on bemusement, and he opens his mouth as if to say something, pauses, and closes it again. the corners of his lips twitch upwards, just once, then— ] Maybe? [ he asks, incredulousness giving way to amusement. he holds his hands up. ] I don't know if you've managed to get the wrong impression of me, but I am all for being careful, Quentin. If you think I'm about to let you run off into that forest and get yourself — or anyone else — killed, you need to have another think. [ beat; a quirk of his lips and uttered as more of an aside than anything else, albeit one that isn't immediately clear as to how serious he's being— ] I've got enough of a guilt complex.

[ he lapses into silence, before making a noise that's somewhere between ugh and nngh. he knows he's tired, he knows his patience is short. ] —What I mean is that, the tracers [ beat. ] trackers are kind of my babies? [ a little bit softer. ] I came up with the idea for them when I was a kid. [ but that's not entirely relevant; peter brushes a strand of hair away from his eyes. ] I wasn't kidding when I said I'm terrified, by the way. I have no idea what's going on back home, whether anyone I love is okay or not. If I'm honest? I don't really care what happens to me here, as long as I get home. I'm going to go out on a limb and say that most people feel the same way, so maybe it's selfish, but I've got a vested interest in making sure you succeed.

[For most of that, Quentin is just going to nod his head like his listening, while actually trying to figure out if starting at the other end of the town would be better. But it's closer to the water and too close to the Light house, and there's no way he's going to do anything that the light house lady might think is an attack.

He spears two hands in his his hair, cupping the back of his neck and pressing the heels of his hands to his temples as if that is in any way helpful to try and hold in all of the fear and the anger and gut-wrenching terror inside of him.

Not get yourself killed like it was just that easy. Like it was something that didn't happen or had almost happened so many times before that Quentin can't help snorting a bitter sort of laugh at that.]

Uh huh, like it would be on you anyway.

[And it's snide and childish and utterly pointless and it slips out anyway, like the filter he used to have between his mouth and his brain is failing. Or maybe it's just exhaustion talking, the way it's so hard to keep his feelings under wraps and not just kick things.]

Most people are covering it up pretty well, and also, I know who I left behind. They're going to be fine, but-- I still need to find a way out. And--and I appreciate this? The help? I need it and. I won't hurt your tracker. Not if I can help it. [There's really no reason to mention that if the spirits attack, there's nothing he could really do except hope his shield would hold out long enough for him to get away or get the lantern away.]

Oh, man, you just don't stop, do you?

[ is all he says at first, flopping backwards on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. most people are covering it up well, oy—. ] Maybe some people are covering it up well, but maybe the rest of us are just—.

[ just what? does he want to admit that he locked himself away in his room once he realised he'd thought wanda was mj? when he realised he was beyond relieved at the fact that mj wasn't dead and that there was a part of him that was glad it was still wanda after all? that it had made him feel sick, and he's still not sure if it was the residual worry that he doesn't know if mj's okay, or if it's the realisation that he's not as good as he tries to be.

he lifts a hand and waves it dismissively, before continuing with: ]

You know what? It doesn't matter. So yeah, sure, it'd be on you and your choice to go running into the forest with [ air quotes ] Puny Parker as your choice of backup. It doesn't absolve you of personal responsibility, but also— [ he lifts his head a touch, eyeing quentin for a moment. ] If you don't follow, means if I fail at saving your ass, it's on me. That's how this works, or did you miss the memo on team-ups? [ a beat and a quirk of his lips. ] I mean, I know I'm not one of the superheroes or magical whatevers you were so keen on making a list of, but...

[ a breath of a pause, and he sighs, pushing one hand down on the mattress to lift himself back up. ] Or do you really think that no-one else here cares about anyone else? Do you really think I wouldn't care if you died?

—I don't care about the tracker, Quentin. When I said they're my babies, I meant I know them inside out. Quirks, warts and all, you know? I don't think you're unappreciative, I just think you're struggling.

Just what?

[But Peter is still talking, flat on the bed like being upright it just too much of a chore and Quentin gets it, that bone-deep desire to just crawl in to bed and stay there for a few days, weeks, months. Stay there, until the world stops feeling quiet so unreal and disappointing.

He can't do that, though. Because if he stops, even for a moment, he's going to lose it. He's going to lose whatever motivation he has and he's going to just break. Fly apart at the seams and be less than just ordinary useless. Extraordinary useless.

Quentin sighs and leans his hip against the table, rubbing his face with both hands again, digging his heels in to his eye-sockets.]

I know. Alright? I'm not stupid, I get that if you come along, you're going to feel responsible, even if you aren't? But-- listen, that list? I just wanted to help, and flying above the trees would be really helpful, except that can't happen and-- and maybe. I thought maybe someone here would be more powerful at magic, than me? Or, have magic that wasn't affected like mine is? I never said that people without powers were bad? Or that they couldn't be helpful. That's not--

[He huffs in frustration] I think you'd care because you'd feel responsible? [Jesus, Peter, let up on the whole duty thing? Because Quentin gets it, gets feeling responsible even if you might not be.

The feeling like the whole world is on your shoulders, and yours alone.] But-- you wouldn't be? [a shrug] And no-one would think you are. I wouldn't.

So what? Huh? So what if I'm struggling. I'm always struggling. It's not-- it's not like this is something special? I just-- I can't not do something and this is what I came up with. I can't think of any other way to search the woods and find the way out.

You said you'd help, but if you'd rather not? That's fine. I can do this on my own.

[ he ignores the just what?; barely blinks in acnowledgement. instead— ] Je— ez, I said I'd help, so I'll help. I like to keep my word.or at least try.

[ he exhales, audibly, and runs a hand down his face. ironically — is it irony? — beacon's the first time in a long time that he's spent the majority of his time as peter parker. there's no real reason for him to don the suit, to patrol and to find someone to take his frustrations out on. it's — weirdly sobering, and it's made him realise a few things about himself that he'd admittedly already known, but hadn't felt particularly inclined to acknowledge.

spending more time as peter means more time to do the things he says he'll do, more time to be there for the people he says he'll be there for, and it's — it's weird, to not be battling disappointment on account of something he can't admit to. ]

Magic's not the be-all and end-all, Quentin. [ a breath of a pause and a noise that's something between guh and nngh. ] I don't claim to get it, because that's never been my area, but what I have managed to get? Is that there aren't any easy answers here. Magic, science, logic— none of it exists here. Like, why isn't there light? The simplest of things and it doesn't—. [ he huffs. ] It doesn't make any sense. [ but whatever, that's hardly relevant. ] I don't have powers, I don't have special abilities— [ it's amazing, really, how easily the lie rolls off his tongue ] — but trust me, I'm not offended by you reaching out to that first. I would, if I had that kind of thing within easy reach. I'm not offended, and I don't think you were deliberately trying to exclude anyone.

I don't say you're struggling as a, I don't know, condemnation of you, or whatever you think I'm saying. It's not a weakness. Do you know how many times I've messed up in my life? That's rhetorical because the answer's obviously 'no', but it's a lot. It's great that you think I wouldn't be responsible, but unfortunately, I don't live with solely the weight of other people's opinions on my back — and you clearly don't either, otherwise you wouldn't be here. [ the corners of his lips quirk upwards into a wry smile. ] But that aside, you're — I don't want to see anyone here die again. It's not about responsibility, it's about being a normal person. The first time we met, you spoke to me about trust. You know what goes with trust? Community. How can we be that if we don't care about what happens to each other?

[ but whatever. ]

—You've heard the saying, right? About no man being an island? Don't make me break out the trite quotes at you.

Alright, okay? It's-- it's fine, you just sounded like maybe you wanted a way out and? And that's fine. Whatever. You can-- [Quentin throws his hands up in the air, like - fine. Before shoving them in to his hair again, to tuck at it and try to make it stick behind his ears. It never does. It just falls in to his face half a second after his hands fall to his sides, clenching.]

No, that's-- no. At least where I come from? It's explained pretty much by the gods being dicks? I mean, they made up a lot of crazy shit, just because they were bored or because it was a Tuesday. The air in Fillory is 0,2% Opium. Yup, just being there gets you high and addicted. Which is a dick move all around.

[This isn't Fillory, it's probably not even earth, since the stars are different and the circumstances for the spells keep getting shifted around. Like, the position of the moon or the water, is fluctuating. Or not earth.

Magical theory had always been more Julia's thing than his, but Quentin was good - no, he was fucking brilliant- at the theoretic math involved in getting the spell right, and all of his calculations still fell short.

It was annoying, it was frustrating and it was getting on his last nerve. Just like this whole place was - just an endless puzzle with no solution, all riddles and no answers.

He wipes a hand over his face.]

So, I guess I'm saying, there isn't light because some god didn't want there to be. Because they're an asshole.

Trust? That's-- shit. [Not as an answer, but an exclamation, because these last few days has really showed him that he can't trust anything. Not himself, not his own eyes.] I don't even trust myself all that much right now? And-- and I'm not sure-- but yeah, fine. It's fine. You care and it's-- yeah, it's fine.

So-- so maybe I tie something around my lantern? You can pull it back if. Or, around me? Can you pull me? [Quentin frowns critically at Peter, looking him over. He's tall. Ish. But wiry. More like someone who runs two miles on Saturdays because his girlfriend wants him to, than someone who works out. That might just be the shirts, though, but. He doubts it.

He frowns at Peter a little more.]

That's never going to work. But-- even if I die? If you get my lantern out, I'll be alright? Right? That's what it says. I'll come back. So, it's not really that big of a deal.

[ or because it was tuesday earns a snort of laughter in spite of himself because honestly? peter can relate, sort of. tuesday for him was being late for work, because of spider-man, missing a date with mj, because of spider-man, and dealing with someone like quentin beck deciding they need to do something grand and grandiose to make themselves feel a little better. someone like the tinkerer deciding to host an alien invasion because humanity is terrible (or something). tuesday is dealing with that and getting home and finding a past due statement for his rent, and having to ask for another advance on his salary if he hasn't been fired for a high number of unexplainable absences and—

none of it's gods. but boy, if only the answer was that simple and that easy here. he doesn't know how many times he's wanted a skulking, behind-the-scenes bad guy to emerge from the very literal shadows and go 'hey, it's me', only with maybe a little more razzmatazz. then there could be a little bit of punching, some jokes, they could all laugh, maybe cry a little bit, and then go home.

but there hasn't been. there hasn't been any of that here: all they've had are questions and mysteries and a whole load of non-answers. it's beyond frustrating, but peter can't believe that's all there is because — what then?

he holds his hands up, attention shifting away from quentin just for a moment. he looks almost sheepish, although there's a quick smile before: ] —Look, I think I'm, like, honour-bound to oppose that thought, because I'm [ he drops a hand and waves it at himself. ] a scientist. [ there's an edge of humour there, like he's not entirely serious, or like he's not entirely sure how serious he should be. ] But between you and me, I'd really love if this was just someone being a dick.

[ but then he catches that frown, the pause, the changed mind, and he manages to sound a little offended, nevermind that it's part of the reason he opts for clothes that are slightly larger in the first place. (puny parker, right?) ] Hey, I'm — stronger than I look. [ he half-heartedly attempts to argue, half-mumbles before appearing to give up on the idea and shrugging a shoulder. (it's not a big deal, huh? peter doubts eliot would agree with that assertion.) ]

—I'm not going to assume that rule always holds true, but it's the closest thing to a constant we've got, so sure. Focus on keeping the lantern safe, and I'll focus on finding either you or it.

Edited (WHOOPS errant punctuation) 2019-11-07 20:54 (UTC)

It's always someone being a dick.

[Quentin snorts, waving his hand in the air a little.] It might not be a god every time, because this one time? It was just a guy who-- well, uh. So he had a tough life and bad things happened to him and I guess that fucked him up enough to stop caring. He-- Martin. He choose to do bad things to people, because he was hurt as a kid. But he was still being a huge dick about it. This?

[Gesturing at the world outside the window and the room and Peter and everything.]

This is probably just someone being a dick. To fuck us up or to-- I don't know, maybe punish us? Which is why I need to find a way out. I don't really feel like being fucked by some dick again.

[Okay, so maybe Quentin likes dick metaphors a little too much, but it's just so handy and it works with just about everything. He frowns at Peter, because - dude, you look weak. Not that this is a bad thing, but it's not going to move all of Quentin across a muddy and cold forest floor. Sorry not sorry about pointing that out.]

Okay, so. Wait. You're not sure it works? That I'd come back? Because a pretty big part of plan really hinges on that. I talked to--[He stops, not really ready to rat out Daylight] I talked to someone who said he came back. He just didn't come back right? Or, all the way?

[ peter's expression undergoes a series of changes when quentin just — takes that dick metaphor and runs with it. ]

—Has anyone ever told you you're incredibly illustrative?

[ peter catches the way that quentin catches himself when he says he'd talked to someone. frankly, peter doesn't really care who he talked to — name or not, the outcome's still the same, and it's not as if any of it's some massive secret that needs to be hidden. ]

I know it works sometimes, [ he answers. ] When there was the — incident with the lighthouse and the party, some people got hurt, some people died, some people disappeared. No-one really knows what happened to everyone — the reasonable assumption is that yeah, their lanterns were damaged beyond repair. [ a beat. ] But the bodies weren't found, and does this place strike you as reasonable? [ he half asks: it's not a question, not really, because he's banking on the answer being 'no'. ] But you're not wrong when you say that people don't always come back right.

[ peter pauses, takes a breath and runs a hand through his hair. it's not that it's a hard topic of conversation — truth be told, he barely knew the captain, it's just a lot. ] You were after that, right? The expedition? So you didn't meet the Captain? [ another pause and he glances away from quentin. despite everything, it's hard not to take it personally, hard not to think that he could have done more and maybe the captain and five would still be here.

(although question is, would they have wanted to be?) ] He seemed like a good guy — been through a couple of resets, if I remember correctly. I think he was human, or pretty close to it, but dying and coming back a couple of times meant he started to grow scales along one of his arms. Maybe there was more to it — physical and mental, but the scales were the only visible sign I ever saw.

It's up to you if that's something you want to put your faith in.

[It seems that staying quiet and keeping all the words that crowd around in his head, to himself. At least for now. Because Peter is talking, and it might be important and even if it isn't strictly important to this plan, it might be worth noting for later. For when he comes back, for when he finds the way out and finds a way to get as many people as he can, through it without the lighthouse lady pressing the button to keep them here. Or, to reset them. She hadn't been that clear on it, just that 'some people here seemed familiar'. Which could mean, well, anything and--

and Quentin slips off inside his own head, nodding along because that's what he does, trying to look like he's all there, when most of him is off in the clouds or drowning in the mess that is his broken brain.

But he snaps back with a jerk when Peter starts talking about the failed expedition.]

I came after, yeah. I-- uh, I heard about that? A little? That something went wrong and a lot of people died. And that time, they didn't come back? But--

[Stalling, thinking hard and Quentin frowns down at the map again.]

Yeah, I'm not really good at that? Putting my faith in things? [Lies, because he did it, had done it, so many times, and every time it let him down.] But I'm not going to die.

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FIVE YEARS LATER SORRY......

Stumbles in way, way later! Sorry!