Graduating in 10 easy steps (how to save an entire goddamn world)
supervisory meetings
"Eliot," says Dean Fogg, "Where do you think you're going?"
"Back to the Cottage?" Where he has easy access to booze and drugs to along with his shiny new body. That's a fascinating though. Can he lose his virginity again?
"No, I don't think so. You forget, I've had 40 lifetimes to get to know you. Sit."
Fogg points to the chair in front of the desk. Eliot glares at it balefully, and then collapses into it. His main methods of dealing with problems aren't, contrary to popular belief, ignoring them until they go away or fucking them. Well. Maybe they are. But he's spent the last few months waiting for some divine How To Rule Fillory for Dummies to drop into his life without any luck. And really, the only person he can reliably fuck in this situation is his dear wife, and he really can't gather the mental fortitude for confronting that problem yet.
"It'll take time to gather experts," Fogg says, "Especially since magic is so unreliable at the moment. However Mr Waugh, I am sure it has not escaped your attention that Brakebills has a rather excellent library on campus. I suggest that you avail yourself of it."
He places a sheet of paper on the desk.
Eliot picks it up.
"What is this?" he asks blankly.
"Your schedule. I expect face to face advisory meetings at least once a month, with seminars and tutorials on an ad hoc basis depending on availability."
Eliot squints at the page.
"This says that I have an essay due in a week."
Fogg raises an eyebrow.
"Then I suggest that you get to work."
2. Study
Eliot glares at the books in front of him. He opens one. A plume of dust rises dramatically.
"Noooooooo," he groans.
3.. Get Margo to help study
"What the fuck El?"
Eliot groans into the stack of library books.
"Don't remind me," he says, not lifting his head.
He can practically sense Margo laughing at him as she examines the heavy political science textbooks strewn around him.
"The Prince. The Wealth of Nations. Montaigne's Essays. El, don't you think you might need some books from this century?"
Eliot peers blearily up at Margo.
"What, for our barely out of the Dark Ages kingdom? I can't believe you're suggesting violating the Prime Directive like that Bambi."
"Hay," Margo says, sprawling down on the sofa next to Eliot and shoving him until lets her rest her legs on his lap, "I'm not planning on ending up Queen of the barbarians. Bring on the Industrial Revolution, bitches."
Eliot gives a short laugh.
"You make a fair point. Still, the point of this essay is to examine preindustrial governments, and knowing dear Henry as I do, he'll just force me to rewrite it if I don't turn in something at least tangentially related."
Margo sighs dramatically.
"Fine. Pass me the Vindication of the Rights of Women then. I'll be here studying something useful while you do your little assignment."
"Bambi…" Eliot says.
"Hey, I'm not saying I like it. But the hell am I living in a chauvinistic, penis-loving country for one more minute if I can help it. Anyway," she says, running her hands through Eliot's hair, "You're not the only one with a kingdom to run bitch. I'm in it for the long run El."
4. Procrastinate
"What kind of sadist wants a four-thousand word essay in two weeks?"
Margo pats his head.
"There there EL. At least you don't have to worry about Conan trying to dick you whenever you turn 'round. And you never seemed to have a problem when studying for finals."
"We agreed," Eliot hisses, "To keep that a secret Bambi. Stop talking about my study methods where anyone, or god forbid Todd could hear. Anyway, magic is easy. Politics is boring as hell. Furthermore, as I recall you were pretty enthusiastic about Conan's dick."
He raises his hands placatingly as Margo glares at him.
"No judgement," he says, "I would bang him. Mmmm that bone structure alone…" he trails off contemplatively.
"But yes," he says after a few (very satisfyingly imaginative) moments, "I'm afraid that you'll have to play nice with the new Ambassador."
Margo groans.
"I can't believe you got that asshole appointed Lorian Ambassador to Fillory."
"Sacrifices must be made Bambi," Eliot says, "And anyway, it was that or offer your hand in marriage."
A beat.
They both burst out laughing.
"I would have sooner declared war on Loria," Margo says.
"Well that definitely wouldn't have helped with our financial crisis," Eliot replies. He looks forlornly at the stack of economics textbooks, hoping that by sheer force of will they will burst into flames.
Like a answer from Heaven, Quentin, hair in more disarray than usual, marches down the stairs and asks them to rob a bank.
"There is a god," Eliot murmurs.
5. Recover from being killed (again)
Well, what's a few sacrificial deaths between friends. Pity this one doesn't stick: he might have been able to get an extension on his essay.
6. Actually attend supervisory meetings
"Eliot," Fogg says, "You will not believe the strings that I had to pull in order to not only get your corpse out of a city morgue, but also to obtain enough living clay you make you a second golem."
He pours himself a glass of whiskey and downs it in one. He conspicuously doesn't offer Eliot any.
Well, Eliot isn't too happy about the whole sort-of-dying-again thing either.
"Look Henry," he starts, "It's not my faul-"
"I think you'll find that it was indeed your fault," Fogg barks.
"Do you think that I'm attempting to educate you for my own enjoyment? Because there are much more productive things that I could be doing! Such as attempting to breed a new species of flying pig. Of course, I'm only the Dean of the most prestigious school of magic in Northern America. I have nothing better to do than try and drum common sense into your tragically block-like head."
"Fine!" Eliot says, "I can admit that mistakes were made. But I'd like to see you try and say no to Quentin Coldwater's puppy dog eyes."
Fogg looks disgusted.
"You will start taking this seriously Mr Waugh," he says, "Or I'll just have to learn to live with the fact that humans are colonising assholes."
7. Have a breakdown
Eliot soon gets into a rhythm: he spends his days in Fillory trying to make sense of the whimsical nightmare that's become his life, and his nights incepting his golem and attending seminars with some of the world's most influential people.
(He maybe fangirls over Joe Biden. It's not his fault that he got sucked into a dark hole of memes back in 2016. And the less said of the Dalai Llama incident the better.)
Unfortunately, this leaves little time for anything like rest. Not that we could exactly revel in his own brand of debauchery, things being as they were.
"Eliot," Quentin says, "Are you ok?"
Eliot stares back. Quentin fucking Coldwater, poster boy for mental issues, was asking if he was ok.
"Peachy," he replies. He takes another couple of Adderall. Chases it down with a shot of mediocre vodka from his flask.
"Just," Quentin says hesitantly, "I'm not sure that I've seen you this… well this dishevelled before. Have you even showered lately?"
Eliot doesn't know. And honestly that would have appalled him a few months ago, but there really isn't any time. And it's not like it's his actual body that he's currently occupying: having servants fight over who gets to bathe him in Fillory may have made him a little lazy about personal hygiene back on Earth. It's not like he ever ventured outside of the library anyway.
"Go away Q," he says, sidestepping the question, "Don't you own problems to deal with? Since you've stopped caring about Fillory's?"
"Hey," says Quentin, his voice hurt, "It's not like I've been avoiding going back on purpose. Things have just been hard since Alice…"
Fuck.
This is why people shouldn't be near him.
"Look Q," he says, "I'm sorry."
"No," Quentin says, "No you're right. I promised that I'd be there for you, and I haven't been. Despite the fact I promised that I wouldn't leave you alone. I have to," he swallows, "I have to accept that Alice doesn't want to stop being a Niffin. I can't, I mean Alice is. Alice is Alice, but you and Margo are my friends too. And I've had my head up my ass for too long. Hell, I haven't even asked you about your-I mean Fen's pregnancy yet."
Well shit.
Eliot feels the emotions welling up from inside him. He's done his best at suppressing them, but his mental shields are a little out of whack at the moment. He knows he'll only screw the kid up, but Fen is so happy… And it's not like she hasn't had to make sacrifices as well.
He blindly reaches for his flask, knocking it over in his haste. And it spills all over his notes. Figures.
"El, are you alright?" The genuine concern in Quentin's voice…
So he spends a few hours sobbing into Quentin's shirt. Hell, even the best celebrities have breakdowns. Look at Britney.
8. Apply theories in real world setting
Pros- no more all night study sessions.
Cons-They fucking shut off magic forever because apparently killing that dick Ember had a few consequences.
Well.
Eliot turns to his Council.
"Gentlebeings," he says gravely, "Shit has gotten real."
9. Create a Constitutional monarchy
"Ladies and gentlemen," Eliot says gravely, "The issue on the table. The twin gods fucked Fillory over when they demanded that only Children of Earth can be Kings and Queens. However," he raises a finger dramatically, ignoring Margo's judging stare, "That doesn't mean that we can't have a perfectly functional constitutional monarchy. If you would all turn to page 3 of the Constitution."
"Wait," says Ess, "Is this cribbed from Hamilton lyrics?"
"As I was saying," Eliot continues, "History has its eyes on us. As my last degree, I declare elections for Prime Minister will take place in two months. Anyone, regardless or sex or," he glances over at Abigail, "Species may run, excluding those already royalty. The village representatives will be organised into a proper Congress, to be elected once every four years."
The rooms erupts. Tick is particularly red in the face.
"Great," Eliot sighs. He turns to Margo. "I miss the days when we reigned as despotic dictators."
"Well," she says, "It's too late to change your mind now El. I just had my nails done."
10. Delegate and go on a fucking epic quest to bring back magic
"Fen!" Eliot calls out, "I'm afraid I've got to run darling. Fate of all magic and all that."
Fen scowls back at him.
"You just don't want to deal with those opening ceremonies next week," she says.
"As much as I would love to attend the inauguration of," he gives a quick shudder, "The Academy of Agriculture and Botany, I'm afraid that duty calls. I've spoken to the Great Cock, and he has instructed me to find the Seven magical Keys."
Fen rolls her eyes.
"Whatever," she says, and Eliot absently things that introducing her to social media might have been a mistake, "But you had better be back in time for the Ambassadorial dinner."
"Fine," he says ungracefully, "I'll watch Margo and the Pirate King-"
"Head of the Guild of Aggressive Merchants," Fen corrects absently.
"-make googly eyes at Margo for three hours." Eliot says. "But in return I want you to deal with Prime Minister Humbledrum. Call me old-fashioned, but there's something unnerving about dealing with a predator in a bowler hat."
Fen makes a shoo-ing motion with her hands.
"Tell Quentin I said hello," she says.
"I will."
And then he leaves to save an entire goddamn universe. He'd better get a fucking magical PhD for this.