worthallthis | IC Inbox: In the Night

[It takes maybe two hours before he gets a reply, but when he does, it's:]

Not to the point of blowing shit up yet. Maybe later. Bring cards to the church?

Sure. I'll be there in half an hour.

[It takes a little more than half an hour, but not much and Quentin slips in to the church, his cards in his pocket and a thermos of tea under his arm.]

Hey.

[It's fine. Soldat isn't going anywhere for another hour or three, anyway. They don't have their notebook open, since they're expecting company, but they do have their feet up on the pew in front of them and chin on the arms folded across their knees, looking vaguely across the room.

The sound of footsteps has them looking up, then over, then smiling a little.]

Hey. Did you seriously bring a drink, too?

[Why's everyone so nice to them, seriously. It's so very undeserved.]

Hi. Yeah, I did.

[He waggles the thermos that Aziraphale gave him. Or lent him, the details are unclear and maybe Soldat will want it back. No matter, because it's good for keeping the tea warm through the cold walk here and Quentin sets it down at the end of the pew.]

It's tea, since you said wine didn't do it for you and I thought maybe this would? I got it from... him. I think it was a Christmas present? It tastes nice, though.

Tea is good. Coffee's my favorite though.

[The revelation about the thermos is just met with a nod.]

Then you got a much nicer Christmas present than I did. He has terrible taste, Quentin. A sweater vest. In paisley. It's horrible.

[This is said with a kind of wincing earnestness. Aziraphale was many things, most of them good, but great about fashion he was not.]

I wish I'd known that, because honestly? I like coffee better, too. Well... at least this is warm? And I just figured-- nevermind.

[And Quentin just sputters, giggling and he slams a hand over his mouth, eyes big behind his cupped hand because shit--]

A sweater vest? Oh my god, I don't even wear sweater vest and I'm-- [A huge nerd? Bookish? Not someone who dresses like he's ready for combat?]

Did you wear it?

Because Aziraphale likes tea.

[That's a pretty easy guess. Tea is for grandmas and nightmare nights, though, as far as Soldat figures. Or Aziraphale.]

I wore it once on Christmas so Aziraphale could be happy. Once or twice under lots of other layers so no one can see it. It feels nice. Very soft and warm. Just hideous.

Yeah, because he likes tea.

[Present tense and Quentin notices. Of course he does, how many times had he had to correct himself before the terrible truth set in?]

Okay, so I got the better gift. Which... is a surprise. Probably because he felt bad for me, I don't know. [he pulls out a deck of cards] Want to play? Don't worry, I'll go easy on you.

It's okay. He tried. My gift for him was pretty selfish, too, so it's fine.

[Trying to quietly suggest he wear something other than that goddamn bowtie. At least Aziraphale had seemed to like the collection of alternative neckwear.]

The person who got the best gift. Would have been Crowley, anyway. And even he also got a terrible sweater.

[Soldat knows what he got, even though they didn't ever see him wear either thing. Clearly the not-sweater portion was not a gift to be shared with the likes of them, just Aziraphale.

They scoot back on the pew and turn to give them some space between them for a "table".]

Let's see how much I really remember, then. Five cards, right?

Five-card draw and we can keep it simple.

[Quentin sits down on the edge, hands shuffling the cards fast and easy. they flow like water between his hands, back and forth, almost too fast for the eye to see the individual cards.

He keeps talking, not looking at what his hands are doing - he's good at this. Cards and coins and close-up magic tricks. The smaller one that just reply on dexterity and fast hands.]

I don't really have any thing to bet, but you mentioned candy? Or, just. Small things? Because I still have some candy left over from the Market and I have some, uh, some acorns I collected on my way here.

[Once he's done with shuffling them, Quentin quickly deals them five cards each, face down on the pew.]

[Soldat pulls their coat-- sitting on the pew behind them, since the church is warm enough to go without-- over to reach into the right-hand pocket. They produce a pile of little rubies, probably eight of them, to set down. If Quentin picks one up, it's warm to the touch, even though the coat hadn't been touching Soldat to warm them up.]

Candy, these, and I have some snacks around here someplace.

[They keep trying pockets, and they have a lot of pockets, finally pulling out a bag of peanuts.]

Peanuts would be perfect.

[Quentin smiles a little, before settling in with one leg curled up underneath him and the other shoved under the pew in front of them. Really, he's not good at sitting.]

You need to look at your cards before placing a bet.

[Peanuts it is. They dump the bag out. There's plenty of them to go around.

Then they collect their hand of cards and give Quentin a look that might be amused.]

I remember the rules. Pretty sure I do, anyway. Played this in the army. Any wilds?

[Quirking and eyebrow, Quentin just nods.]

I guess you do know about Poker. Sure, we can play it with wilds. Just one?

[The one thing Quentin knows he's good at- cards. And he smiles, tugging his hair behind his ear.]

Just one. Too many and it gets too easy. Are there jokers in this deck?

[That's pretty standard. Jokers or 2s, because nobody likes to have a 2. They put their own collection of cards in as pleasing an order as there can be. It's a shitty hand, to be honest.]

Just the ones that came with the deck.

[Quentin picks up four of the cards, sorting through them like it matters before leaning back. This isn't Push and there's no real magic at work. But Quentin is still pretty good at shifting the odds in card games to his own favor.

But not now, because this isn't to win. It's to distract and to cheer up and to just... be a normal person for once. Offering what he can to someone who's lost someone. Someones.]

Good to go?

Good to go.

[They bet the lowest possible bet. One peanut. And they discard three, taking three new ones off the top of the deck. Still not great, but a little better.]

Haven't actually done this since I remembered. Javert prefers chess. Mostly just play solitaire when I play cards.

I always cheat in solitaire.

[Quentin says with a small smile, shrugging as he pushes three peanuts in to the pile to join Soldat's one and he discards two of the cards in his hand.]

I know, I know. I'm only cheating myself, but... I really hate to lose, you know? And really, who's going to tell me not to.

Not going to hold that against you, pal. It's Solitaire. Should do what makes it fun. Raising, I guess.

[They add a second peanut to the pile in the hopes that maybe their pitiful pair of Jacks is better than what Quentin has.]

[Eyeing the small pile of peanuts, Quentin pushes another one in and looks back down at his cards. Nothing. And it would be so easy to just--]

It still makes me feel guilty, isn't that weird? Even here and I mean, if I can't cheat in Solitaire after I'm dead, then...

Well, if you feel guilty, then it's not having fun, is it.

[Soldat takes a moment to frown and try to remember what you say to show cards. They've got no desire to waste any more peanuts on this dumb, terrible hand.]

Call?

Clearly, you haven't really met me yet. [Because really, feeling guilty about something, anything, was practically the baseline of Quentin's whole existence.]

Sure thing.

[And he places his shitty cards face-up on the pew between them and flips the wild. A pair of three's, but that's it.]

Huh. Pair beats pair.

[Maybe a pair of Jacks isn't so pitiful after all. Soldat puts their cards down, and pulls in the winnings. Then tosses their cards into the discard pile to get a new hand dealt.]

Do you like feeling guilty, Quentin?

[A pause. A drop of knowledge without context into their head, and a frown.]

Are you Catholic?

[He makes some kind of startled laugh and Quentin looks up, quirking his eyebrows.]

No, no I am not-- [and he deals them both another set of cards with a small smile.] I mean, I get why you might think that? But I am not really anything. I think my dad was protestant? We never really went to church. Did you?

My ma was Jewish. Don't know what my pa was, but I remember. A thing with lots of kneeling and getting back up again? A lot of being bored? Not sure what kind of church that was.

[It was Catholic, all right. They just don't have the label properly assigned to it in their memory. Soldat accepts their cards, shuffles them around in their hand.]

Steve was Catholic, though, I know that. My friend from Before.

text @ Soldier

text to action

action!

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