Last Chance Either Way - #BattleTheBeast Submission

Last Chance Either Way

"Poor Martin." Alice exclaimed, stepping past Quentin and into the wellspring shack, magically altered to look identical to Plover's writing room.

The shelves were packed full of books, lying in every which direction. A square shaped, yellowish lamp rested upon the cluttered desk, lighting the antique looking room. It really was quite fantastic, despite the lingering doubt building in their stomachs.

"Okay. So--" Quentin stepped into the center of the room, looking for anything that might aid him in the coming battle. This was supposedly the location of the wellspring that was responsible for transfiguring Martin Chatwin into the Beast. But thus far it appeared to be little more than the lingering torment of a traumatized teen boy. Hearing the door open, Quentin froze, listening to echoing footsteps around the corner. Fluttering moths could be heard in the distance. At least he expected it to be moths. Anything different would have been quite unexpected. Why moths? He wondered. Why not a fig branch or something even more out of the ordinary. Why did he choose moths? Anxiety building, a strange yet somewhat familiar feeling washed over him. It was as if he'd been in an elevator. That brief weightless moment just before the stop. He searched all around, unsure what just happened.

He was standing outside the rundown shack, exactly where he'd been minutes before. Alice; Eliot; Margo; they were all standing exactly where they had been. Even Julia and Penny lingered nearby. Every detail was the same. Only they weren't moving. They were stuck, recalling him to the day when he first met the Beast. He was playing through that fateful day when his life changed for the second time.

Frantic, he stepped in front of Alice. If this was anything like that day, perhaps she was still awake, just paralyzed. Staring deep into her eyes, he studied for any sign of cognitive action. If she was present she didn't show it.

"She's frozen, Quentin. They all are."

He could never mistake that voice. Turning around, he found the Watcher Woman behind him. Or as he'd learned not long before, Jane Chatwin.

"Why are you here--"

Jane cut him off. "We don't have much time. He's on his way and I can't keep him frozen for long." She extended her hand, uncomfortably dropping a cold, metallic item into Quentin's.

He recognized it immediately. Again, the day the Beast had entered Brakebills. "I remember this!" Turning it over in his hand, he fingered the fine engravings in the silver casing.

"As well you should. This is the watch that allows me to alter time. A tricky thing to master without training. It was made by the dwarves. Though they couldn't bother to tell me how it worked. I'd made hundreds of clocktrees before I finally figured it out. Hopefully, with my tutelage, you'll get the hang of it much quicker."

"I don't understand." Quentin stared into her, listening to her quirky English accent. She wasn't making any sense.

"What don't you understand? I'm giving it to you."

"Well-- I get that part. Aren't you from the past though? I mean-- If you give this to me, won't everything else you've done from this point forward cease to be. Like paradox type stuff?"

"In a sense you're correct. Though you're perception is slightly skewed. I'm dead in your timeline. So this is the last chance either way. If you fail this time, it's done. We've lost completely. But if you succeed. None of the other times will have mattered anyway. I can't reset the clock again. But if things get out of hand, perhaps you can reset it yourself. And bearing the watch, you'll remember everything. That way you can keep getting stronger until you get it right. It's all very timey wimey stuff."

Quentin smiled at her comment. "Did you just make a Doctor Who pun?"

Her stern gaze burned into his soul. "Who's Doctor Who?"

"Oh, he's this British guy who travels the universe in this blue police box called a Tardis."

She shook her head, uncertain what he was talking about. "I've never met a man that travels in a blue box."

"No, you don't understand. It's this TV show-- Doctor Who."

"Quentin, we have pressing matters at the moment. Is this really the time to be talking about television?"

"You're right. So-- how's it work?" He refocused his gaze on the watch, taking a deep breath.

"You see the dials on the top?"

"Yes."

"Those denote measures of time. But they're only calibrated for Fillory. If used anywhere else, the results are unpredictable at best."

"Okay. So, how do I set--" He broke off, returning his attention to her. "Wait a minute. If I do this, what happens to you?"

"I've already set it to return me to my own time. Of coarse I'll no longer be the Watcher Woman. I suppose someone new will have to take up that position. Tell me, how do you feel about cross dressing?"

"I-- Um--" Quentin shifted uncomfortably at the question. Changing the topic, he continued. "So, which setting do I change?"

She watched him a moment, smiling at his discomfort. Taking a step closer, she twisted the watch in his hand to align the dials toward him. "This one sets the year. This one, days. And this one, hours. When it's set, you simply push the button on top. It'll take care of the rest. If you need to alter something that's already been done, just thumb that dial and rotate the crescent from this side to that side. The time settings remain the same." She looked up from the watch, a worried expression on her face. "We must hurry. I can't hold him much longer."

Quentin stole a glance behind him wondering if the Beast was frozen somewhere nearby.

"If this goes south, I recommend giving it about three twist. That should be enough to take you back to your first day at Brakebills."

"Just like in the Prisoner of Azkaban."

"Quentin, haven't we already discussed the importance of TV at this point?"

"At least you got that one." He smiled. She had an attractive quirkiness to her that he always enjoyed.

"Well of coarse I got that one. It's Harry Potter. You can't exist, and be English, and not know about Harry Potter."

"Doctor Who is English."

Jane sighed heavily. Shaking her head she placed her hand over Quentin's. "I truly wish you the best of luck." Giving him a light kiss on his cheek she squeezed his hand, forcing his fingers into the top button.

"It's a truck stop shit house!" Penny announced, unimpressed by the dilapidated structure before them.

Alice hesitated a moment, as if she'd already been here. Shaking the feeling away, she glanced over at Quentin. She was still disappointed, but there was no denying that she still loved him. She wouldn't have even come here if it weren't for him. She had to make sure he was going to be alright.

Tucking the watch into his pocket Quentin glanced around. "He'll be here soon. Lets go."