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“On these magic shores children at play are for ever beaching their coracles. We too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more.” - J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

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Morgan LaFey
Proven Adventurer
Proven Adventurer
Posts: 298
Joined: Sat Jan 25, 2020 10:00 pm
Location: At Sea
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Post by Morgan LaFey »

Morgan was in a decent mood, despite the loss of a challenge for the opal IceDancer. He moved up to the door of the Cuckoo’s Nest, and paused at the door. There was music playing, something upbeat and modern. Morgan knew the song - Woman, by Kesha. He raised an eyebrow and slowly pushed the door open to peek in just in time to see Mart, in newly knit clothing including a sweater, pants and even a cape, point at a chair and sing along to the chorus of the song at the top of his lungs.

“I’m a motherfuckin’ woman, baby, alright!”

It wasn’t the first time he heard the song being sung by the Moon Elf… It seemed to be a favorite as he cooked, or worked on the little golems in his “workshop”. Morgan’s lips spread into a smirk, and he opened the door a little further to catch sight of an empty bottle of Jasmarim Shadow Wine tipped over next to the chair Mart often sat in when he crafted various things out of yarn. He covered his mouth to cover a laugh before he got caught watching. The elf was… drunk. And though he was in the cups pretty deep, as it were, he was still keen enough to spot the captain slipping through the cracked door.

“MORGAN! YOU ARE HOME!” Mart’s voice was not the inside sort, and caught Morgan a little off guard. He leaned back against the door for a moment before striding across to catch pale hands and move to the beat of the song in an energetic round about the chair.

“I’m home!” he answered with almost as much gusto, leaning in to press a kiss to Mart’s cheek. He was surprised to find the target dipping out of the way, however, and the elven man slipping from his grasp. Unprecedented! He was stunned enough to stand dumbly while Mart turned the radio off. Had he done something wrong? He lifted his hand and opened his mouth to ask just that when Mart spoke again, with just as much volume.

“YOU HAVE BEEN VERY RETICENT TO DISCUSS THE STATUS OF OUR RELATIONSHIP, MORGAN. PLEASE TELL ME YOUR FEARS, FOR I BELIEVE THEY ARE MANY AS YOU ARE YOUNG AND EXTREMELY HANDSOME.”

Where the captain had had his lips parted before, now his jaw dropped. Where once he was stunned, he was shocked into taking a step back. “Wh--” he started. On one hand, he certainly appreciated a compliment, but there was the other part that knocked him on his metaphorical ass and left him prone. Panic set in, and his wordless fish-like gasping turned to words, cheeks burning red and hands pulling defensively to his chest to worry at the cravat of his leopard-print shirt.

"Ah! I'm terrified! I'm scared I won't live up to... myself! I'm scared to freak you out because I'm clingy and needy and inexperienced as fuck!" He took a breath and started to continue, but was interrupted.

“SILENCE, BEAUTIFUL CREATURE!” He approached Morgan and set the tip of his index finger in the middle of his chest, very deliberately. “I am THE EXPERIENCE, and I believe that you will be very good at this relationship. I know this."

“B-”

“NO, YOU WILL BE.”

“Ma-”

Mart put his finger square on Morgan’s lips, mushing them shut. “Shhh.”

“You done?” Morgan said around the digit pressed to his mouth.

A moment, and Mart pulled his hand away. “Okay, you can talk now. I wanted to touch your face.”

“You keep calling me handsome, and beautiful, and it’s not fair because you’re drunk and I wa-” he started before once more being interrupted.

“I can be drunk. I am simply uninhibited. But I am no fool. I shall not be frivolous with my affections.” He leaned against Morgan slightly, his tone indignant.

The captain took up a hand, and the space between eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head. “You are allowed to be as drunk as you wanna be.” He said with a small squeeze to fingers. He could almost hear Jaycy, here. Something about Mart being quite capable of thinking for himself… And Morgan didn’t dare think otherwise, for a moment. He sighed, and shook his head with a smile. “Your cheeks are so cute. I wanna kiss them. And tell you how much you mean to me and not be a weirdo about it for once.” He put his hand on Mart’s cheek. Because he wanted to touch his face, too!

“Then you should listen to me when I say you will do a very good job. Besides, if you feel I am easier to speak to while I am in the berries, so to speak, speak now!”

Morgan paused, and narrowed his eyes slightly. “Will... you remember this?”

“Who is to say?!”

Morgan’s cheeks puffed, and he breathed out of his nose, letting his face deflate with a sort of raspberry noise that petered out like a balloon at the end before he answered, softly and with a serious, truthful tone. “You're my favorite person, and I am a goner. You're going to have to kill me to get rid of me, Mart. And then I'm gonna haunt you.”

Emerald eyes narrowed thoughtfully as Mart looked to Morgan. “I feel like you did that before. I kept working. But I never felt alone.”

Morgan paused, and tilted his head side to side, nodding slightly. “Checks out. Sounds like some shit I'd do.” He couldn’t help a small, breathy laugh as he pulled Mart closer, resting an arm around him gently. Well, if Mart was in the berries… “How would you describe what we are, in your language?” A beat, and then the true question. “Would you like to come with me to see Earth? It's a shit place, but I wanna show you where I come from.”

Mart’s lips pulled into a lazy smile. “Cin 'nin bar, Morgan. You are my home. I would go anywhere you would take me.”

Morgan’s reciprocal smile was something between smug and idiotic, and he felt the burn at his throat once more. “Cin 'nin bar, Mart.” He wrinkled his nose, and dipped to press his forehead to Mart’s for a moment, then pulled back slightly. “What if... I took you to the couch, with some hot tea and whiskey and a movie you can never tell anyone about?”

“Is it about forever?”

“Maybe!”

Mart went a little limp in Morgan’s arms, and smiled. “I do not want whiskey. I want juice and for you to brush my hair.” He gave a small giggle, a sound that reminded Morgan of windchimes on a neighbor’s porch in the distant past. “And I will map out the city from which I came, upon the skin of your leg. I will do so with my fingertip. I am an excellent cartographer.”

Morgan froze, and his eyes widened just as the hair stood up on the back of his neck like a tidal wave. Amber glazed over for a moment, and he held his breath to prevent the inevitable wheeze of an exhale. He let go of the Moon Elf, if only to put just a bit of space between them, and nodded dumbly as he backed away toward the kitchen. “Juice it is! Grab the brush… and meet me at the couch!” In that moment, his mind was buzzing too much to be anywhere near lavender cheeks and anything remotely resembling pale moonlight and-

“I was promised being taken.” the moon elf exclaimed softly as he fell over to the ground with all the intensity of wet spaghetti. Morgan froze, and was immediately scooping his arms under Mart’s knees and shoulders, lifting him up and marching straight toward the couch already covered in blankets, artfully thrown over the back.

“Forgive me! I'll just sit you right here, and wrap you up like” he grabbed some blankets, tugging them over Mart, “... this…” he tucked and wrapped and tucked some more. “...and I'll get everything, okay?” He pressed a kiss to a cool forehead, and started away toward the bedroom in search of a brush, some bands… And a pair of shorts. Tight though his pants were, they would hardly do for mapmaking for a cartographer of the highest caliber.

“WEAR THE SWEATER, LEST THINE BOTTOM GO UNPRAISED!” The one cuddled into the couch called… And in the midst of undressing, Morgan went on a quick search to find the very one. Eventually he swept back to the kitchen, and when he returned, it was with a tray in his hands that held upon it a pitcher of orange juice, a glass, and various cheeses arranged as prettily as Morgan could do so. He wore shorts and a sweater made specially for him by Mart himself, a pattern he’d found on the internet (beamed straight from robot outer space, of course!). It was a soft off-white yarn with an arrow pointing up and lettering that read “The best guy, ya butts”. As much as Morgan had giggled at it, the back nearly killed him, for it, too, had an interesting design. An arrow pointing down, with lettering declaring “The best butt, ya guys”. He set the tray down and sat next to Mart, picking up a slice of cheese to give to the elf burrito he’d made.

“I enjoy being spoiled. Do not let you know. Your efforts are more than I deserve.”

Morgan pursed his lips, but did not take his eyes off of the moon elf as he nibbled at the snack. “Mmm, nope. That's a lie. I'd wait on you hand and foot if you asked.”

“That is ridiculous. The King of the Sun waits upon no others. He is a shining idol wading through the day's warmth to bring light unto those he holds dear.” He popped the rest of the slice in his mouth, chewing happily.

“And the moon is the light that brightens the path of the darkest night.” He picked up another slice of cheese. “The sun's job is to give his light to the moon, isn't it?”

“Yes.” Mart said with a slightly smug tone.

Morgan shifted to sit behind the Moon Elf, and leaned to grab the brush with a smile of his face. “See? Now lemme play with them moonbeams.” He froze, and cringed. Nope. Nope, that didn’t sound quite right. “Hair. I'm going to brush your hair now.”

“Yes, hair. I will touch your leg now. Make the movie go.” Morgan settled in, sticking his leg out just so and grabbing the remote to press play on the screen. After pouring Mart a glass of the juice, he got plenty comfortable and brushed silvery white hair. The movie on the screen was one he’d seen countless times. Cheesy romance of the Hallmark variety that the captain would never, ever, under a thousand years of torture probably, ever admit to watching with anything other than irony. When Mart fell asleep with the empty glass in hand and draped over his thigh, fingertip still mid-drawing, Morgan looked away from the screen and watched him, instead. All the braids he’d done were carefully gathered up and the glass gently taken and put on the tray, and he put the brush down. Eventually, he would take the other to bed, tuck him in, and cuddle up with him. For now…

He curled in to hold the sleeping elf, and finished the movie. Call it a guilty pleasure.
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