fear me, love me, do as I say
"Why don't they like me," it says. Its speech is somewhat slurred, and it reaches for the bottle of tequila to take another swig. It giggles. Why has no one told it how wonderful tequila is before? It longingly thinks of the sleeping pills, scattered over the floor. The body craves them. It hadn't been bad at the beginning, but slowly as sank into the monotony of god-hunting, and the knowledge that its best friend would rather spend time with the body… Well.
There had been a moment when it had opened itself up fully to the sensations of the body, hoping to find what exactly made it so attractive to its friends-not-friends. That had been a mistake. All these feelings and wants and urges. Sometimes staring at Quentin, it wants to lean forward and brush the hair off his cheek or press a kiss to his forehead. It doesn't though. Every time it goes near him these days, Quentin flinches. Looking at the ring of bruises around his neck, the Monster even feels faint stirrings of what might be regret.
Silly Quentin. Thinking that he could hide his plotting and planning from it. It lets it go though: even knowing that Quentin's planning against it, doesn't alter the fact that he's its best friend. And the Monster doesn't want to be alone.
Maybe though…maybe if it were more like Eliot they would like it more. They miss their friend, and it should have worked out because they lost a friend but also gained a friend, so they still have the same number of friends. It's maths. Simple. But Quentin doesn't seem to see it like that. If it were like Eliot…
The Monster frowns. It doesn't want to do this. It likes Eliot's body, likes the way it's so tall it looms over people, likes watching the fear in their eyes. Like the fact that its friends will never harm it and will keep it around body so long as it's in this body. But it doesn't like Eliot, the human that killed came to its castle and tried to kill it. No, it doesn't like Eliot at all.
Needs must though.
It closes its eyes and reaches deep into its mind. It can feel Eliot in the 'Happy Place', angry and frustrated and alive and burning to escape needing to get out so that he can tell Q find Q… The Monster smiles gleefully. Maybe this will be easier than anticipated. It grabs hold of Eliot's consciousness and pulls.
What the fuck?
"Hello Eliot!"
Shit. You're still possessing me.
A weak attempt by the magician to gain control. Pitiful. As if one human could ever subdue it.
I had to try. You understand. Not that I'm complaining, but why have you brought me here?
"I need help," the Monster says, pouting. It takes another swig of tequila, and it feels Eliot recoil in its mind.
God. Can you at least drink something palatable? I swear that shit is killing my tastebuds.
Memories of drinks, hours of careful research in front of his computer watching cocktail making tutorials, the first foray into a gay bar looking over at the cute bartender and quickly looking down before reminding himself that yes he can look, lazy days in bed downing drinks, laughing at the expression on the other's face at the sour taste, sinking down onto his knees…
Get out of there!
The Monster withdraws smugly. The memories… it has never allowed the body consciousness before but it looks like it should have because this game is fun. It gets the experiences, the knowledge, feelings while simultaneously revelling in the body's despair that he can't keep the Monster out of his mind. Beautiful.
"Now, now," it says, "Don't be angry. I like this game. I think you will too once you know the rules."
It ignores the curses Eliot is throwing at him. Although he had never realised there were so many variations on the word fuck.
The Monster disappears, reappearing in front of the place-that-Quentin-stays-at-but-isn't-home.
"Quentin," it says, "I have a new game for us to play!"
Fuck. What's the matter with him? Has he been sleeping?
Quentin looks up wearily, and his shirt shifts, revealing the ring of darkening bruises around his neck.
A bolt of pain through Eliot's mind.
What did you do to him? Are you hurting him? You can't. Please don't.
"What do you want?" Quentin asks, "I'm researching as fast as I can."
He narrows his eyes.
"Wait, are you drunk again? I told you, you can't do that! You need to take care of Eliot's body: I can't let you get hit by a truck because you're so busy downing a liquor store you didn't notice it!"
Don't antagonise it Q.
The Monster moves forward and places a hand on Quentin's cheek, slowly bringing it down to rest lightly about his throat.
What are you doing? Stop, he doesn't mean it. Quentin's just overprotective. Don't. Please.
"Your little friend's upset," the Monster says, staring into Quentin's eyes, "He doesn't want me to harm you."
Quentin goes rigid.
"Eliot," he says urgently, "Are you there?"
Q, I'm here.
Eliot is shouting in the Monster's mind: it's distracting.
"I just want to learn how to be a good friend Quentin," the Monster says, "And who better to teach me than this body? After all, you care about him so very much. He's screaming for you. He doesn't want you to be hurt."
"Don't hurt him," says Quentin.
"I won't damage him," the Monster says, "Not much anyway. Just like I won't hurt you Quentin. You know I think I really misjudged him. Maybe we can all be friends."
If I help you with this, if I teach you how to be 'a good friend' you'll stop hurting Quentin?
"Please, I promise, I'll be a better friend. We'll be together. You'd like that won't you? If we spent more time together?"
The Monster smiles.
"Yes," it says, revelling in the feelings of friends, "I think we're going to have a very good time together. Isn't it good to have friends?"