Eliot's attire, at least today, looked more like hers than someone from Earth's. He wore a long tunic held with a sash at the waist, over a pair of slim-tailored trousers that flared out just so over his shoes. He'd gained a respectable affinity for Fillorian-style clothes during his time there, and the wardrobe he'd requested from the fairies was an even split between Fillory and Earth.

He stretched himself out on the blanket, waited for her to start, and instead found himself studying the expression on her face.

"You look like I should've brought something to drink." Or like she wanted to open up one of those wine bottles, but he wasn't going to impose.