[There's probably some parallel he could draw about the Cuckoos being the scorpions and Quentin eternally the doomed frog, if he were feeling particularly uncharitable.
Quentin doesn't go to the couch, but he does move to lean against the wall near the door rather than standing awkwardly in front of the door itself. And hey, why not, he'll take the champagne. He holds out a hand as a glow that's several shades brighter than the one Sophie produced surrounds the glass she poured and dutifully carries it to him.]
/What do you want, Sophie?/
[The words are a bit blunt, but his tone is more obliging than anything. Sincere. Resigned. This isn't a social call for them to enjoy each other's company, because Sophie has been nothing if not abundantly clear that she does not enjoy Quentin's company. She wants something from him. He'd rather just know what it is.]
no subject
Quentin doesn't go to the couch, but he does move to lean against the wall near the door rather than standing awkwardly in front of the door itself. And hey, why not, he'll take the champagne. He holds out a hand as a glow that's several shades brighter than the one Sophie produced surrounds the glass she poured and dutifully carries it to him.]
/What do you want, Sophie?/
[The words are a bit blunt, but his tone is more obliging than anything. Sincere. Resigned. This isn't a social call for them to enjoy each other's company, because Sophie has been nothing if not abundantly clear that she does not enjoy Quentin's company. She wants something from him. He'd rather just know what it is.]