The look she gives him is drier than the county where they make Jack Daniels. Eliot can be as flowery as he wants, it's not making her loins any less bored for the lack of anything going on down there. The lack of sin is depressing. No wonder they drink at two in the afternoon. At a PTA fundraiser.

"No." Which is horrifying because they made their names at Brakebills on sin and wild Bacchanalian orgies that sometimes were actually orgies and, god, so much alcohol and now she's trapped in some alternate dimension where she's not even Queen so what is the point of giving up the indulgences of the real modern world.

"There is zero sin, Eliot, and it's driving me insane." With a sadly dramatic sigh, her head drops to rest against his shoulder, which she barely reaches even with her heels on. He is literally a foot taller than her. "How simple to you have to be to think that's we're shaking up?"

Well, Margo...