First New Story | Video

[hellofist]

[She knows that it's a cruel trick to do this now, in the middle of the night in the middle of a flood where people may or may not have their original memories. Everyone is too busy dealing with their own things, and so that's why she does this now.

It's underhanded, but it's happening. She's broadcasting from inside her room, a cramped, run down little thing with cracked plaster and a beaten up dresser and a bed and nothing else. She sits on the bed, cup of tea balanced in her lap, and tries not to think about what she's saying as she says it.]

Figured, should... do this, officially. My name is Cassandra Cain. I was here, before. As a warden.

[Still hurts to admit that, but she charges on through as best she can.]

I'm not anymore. Don't remember everything, just that... I was here. Some things came back, memories of... some people. Some places. Mostly, it's new.

That's all. [Except maybe she'll inject something in there to make it seem like she's trying.] Good luck, with new bodies. Shouldn't last long, don't worry.

Comments

spam

[nightmaring]

[He scoffs, mostly jokingly.] I don't need one.

[It's all swagger, but it's confidence, too. He's one of the most powerful warlocks in the world, after all. Morgan bows slightly, just inclining his shoulders rather than sweeping fully.]

May I come in?

spam

[hellofist]

[She nods and reaches out, putting a hand on his arm to draw him in so she can close the door behind him. She's always been tactile, this is nothing new, but is in a way. She's never been this aware of where Morgana is in relation to her own body, but every inch of her is keeping track of where Morgan is.

It's weird.]

You can leave it. It's really fine. Doesn't bother me.

spam

[nightmaring]

[Most of this flood is weird. All the same, Morgan is plenty aware of her hand on his arm. He's aware of her. Shaking his head, he steps around, turning to face her but not removing himself beyond arm's reach. Unlike Morgana, he never was very tactile - but he doesn't mind it, not with people he cares about.]

I lived in a hut. And abandoned castles.

[He looks around her room, and shakes his head again.]

It bothered me.

[It's not just arrogance, not only selfishness: he wants to make something better for her.]

spam

[hellofist]

I've lived in worse.

[Burned out falling down buildings, for one. She's slept on the dirt in the wilderness. There's a bed here, and a place to put her tea. It's not the best place she's lived, thanks to Bruce and his millions of dollars and no hesitation to spend it on his proteges, but it's hard not to feel a little defensive of her room. It's nice, by some standards.

But she doesn't see that it bothered Morgan to live where he did, she sees that it bothers him that she lives here now. It's because he wants to do this that she finally sighs and nods.]

Okay. Do what you want.

[She certainly isn't picky about the end product or worried about what his decorating choices will be.]

spam

[nightmaring]

[He can't create from nothing. He can't give her furs and drapes, candlesticks and decorations. But he thinks he can at least make certain it won't fall down around her.]

You'll like it better. Trust me.

[She already does, he thinks, he hopes. Looking around, his eyes glow gold, bright in his pale face, framed by dark hair. A wind whips briefly around them, kicking up his hair, pulling at his clothes. By and large, it leaves Cassandra alone. But the plaster that fell earlier is caught by it, sealed back into place. Slowly, the cracks fill, the broken things mend, the run down-ness of the room fades. Chips fade from furniture and floorboards, squeaks vanish as everything fits together properly.

When he turns his attention on the dresser, her tea cup rises in the air, floats to him on a gentler wind while the wooden pieces reshape themselves.

When it's done - it's not a new room. He can't do anything. But he can do nearly that, and it is certainly less likely to fall apart on her while she sleeps.

He turns and hands her the cup, pride running through the lines of his body.]

spam

[hellofist]

[She trusts Morgana with her life, so she trusts Morgan with it too, but she isn't think of that as the wind sweeps through her room and goes to work putting things right. She's caught in how familiar this feels, a soul-deep sense of gladness that this magic is being worked with pride and without fear.

She remembers clearly the golden eyes and that it had once meant so much to her, but it's only Morgana here now. There's so much tied up in how it feels for her to see magic and it must have all come from how deeply she cares about Morgana, and Morgan. It's comforting, in its own way. When it's done and the wind settles and Morgan is facing her, cup in hand, her reaction feels as normal, as routine as breathing.

She takes the cup, but reaches one hand up to touch Morgan's cheek and leans up towards him. It feels natural as anything to kiss his cheek to thank him, and she does exactly that.]

It looks good. Thank you.

spam

[nightmaring]

[He freezes when she kisses his cheek. He can feel his skin warming, and struggles as if he can fight the flow of blood back. He's torn. He's pleased, certainly - that she likes it, that she still thinks of magic as something beautiful - but is he a substitute, a stand in for someone she wants more? The question burns through him like anger. He doesn't want to be angry at her.

Instead, he gives her the same half bow again, and makes himself smile.]

Of course it does. Anything would have looked better.

[It's not true, and he doesn't mean it to be believed. He does pause, uncertainty thrumming briefly through him.]

I'm glad you like it.

spam

[hellofist]

[Her thumb rubs at his cheek as she watches him, all of the things going through him. What is he jealous of? Why? Can he not see that she wouldn't have let anyone else fix her room this way? No one else has been invited in, no one else has even seen the state of her room until this broadcast.]

I like it... because you made it.

[She isn't sure what she's arguing for here, she just knows that she wants to to impress on him that what he's done does matter.]

spam

[nightmaring]

[He almost reaches up to pull her hand away - how often as he sabotaged himself, how many times has he refused himself something on a scant suspicion - but she speaks again and the anger slips out of him. He reaches up, but instead of yanking her hand away, he settles his on top of hers.]

Do you really?

[The question is soft, unsure, something he so rarely allows himself to be. She is important. And he doesn't want this if it isn't real.]

spam

[hellofist]

[She turns her hand to link their fingers together and gives his hand a light squeeze before guiding it away, down back to his side. She lets go and turns away then, but it's only so she can put her cup back on the dresser. Before he can worry too much over it she returns, leans up on her tiptoes, and puts both arms around his neck and hugs him tightly.

All these people on the Barge that she was close to before, they're going to be the death of her, but this person, no matter what body they happen to be in, will always be the one she wants to protect, to love, the most.]

Don't ask stupid questions.

spam

[nightmaring]

[His muscles start tightening when she lets go, preparing a defense for himself in the face of rejection. But it doesn't come; her arms do, providing their own defense. She is a protection like few others, and he finds his arms around her without thought.

There was a time when he thought he had to be the strong one between them. He is a man, he was a knight, he should be the defender. The notions are still there, but he doesn't feel it so strongly now. He lowers his head, rests his cheek against hers without shame.]

They're the only kind I know.

spam

[hellofist]

[They protect each other, and that's honestly the way she prefers it. She isn't a lady at court, she's a warrior in her own right and more than capable of fighting for herself.

But there's something to sharing the burden and she realizes that she has either forgotten or chosen not to think about it. Funny, that it's Morgana - Morgan, in this case - that reminds her of it. Lifting her hand up to the back of his head, she runs her fingers through his hair.]

There's probably been... one good one.

spam

[nightmaring]

Probably.

[He hesitates. He doesn't want to ruin this moment, and he doesn't want to second guess himself into regret.

And there is Merlin to consider, Merlin to be hideously, blindly jealous of. He cannot help but wonder, as he often has in the past, if he's a replacement.

But he doesn't want to be one, and he doesn't want to consider that he might be. So he he shoves it aside, leans down, and kisses her.

spam

[hellofist]

[She kisses him back. It's gentle, sweet, accepting. It's everything she would want from a kiss because she remembers that she and Morgana are the same in so many ways and it only makes sense that Morgan feels the same way too.

And maybe she led him into this a little, she isn't really sure herself. A desire for something that felt real, someone who was familiar and in need of comfort just as much as she is, just as unwilling to ask or to show that side of themselves.

The why doesn't really matter, though. What matters is she loves Morgana in any form and she isn't afraid to make it known in whatever capacity is necessary.]

spam

[nightmaring]

[He can't read her - though he wishes he could - but he knows better than to push for more. He wants more, denying that would be like denying the air in his lungs, but there is too much to consider. She kisses him back, and that is enough.

Or so he tells himself, stroking a hand through her hair. She is still the same kind, strong young woman he first met ages ago, and he is still angry that Merlin grew closer first, faster. He hates that he is forever the last one to achieve anything, to reach a goal, forever playing catch up - he doesn't know how to set it all aside, even now. The jealousy is rooted in him.

Morgan pulls back, eventually, still running his fingers through her hair. He doesn't say anything, just studies her face with his brow creased, as if he can find all the answers he needs in her eyes.]

spam

[hellofist]

[She leans her forehead against his after he breaks the kiss and keeps that eye contact up, refuses to break it and let it be taken as her turning him away. It wouldn't be right, she thinks, to let Morgana end up doing anything she hadn't been in her own mind to make a decision about, so the kiss will be as far as she lets this go.

For now? She isn't sure. After this she expects Morgana will pretend that it never happened, if she has any memories of it at all. For now she puts her arms back around her male form and hugs him tightly.]

Wish that I... had more tea, to offer you.

spam

[nightmaring]

[Morgana chokes on a laugh, sliding his arms around her and bowing his head to rest against hers. He's not much taller than Morgana is, but it's a noticeable difference. There is a part of him that wants to lift her, swing her, hold her tight and never let go. He wants to be a romantic, carefree, he wants to love her.

But there is a coil around his heart that constricts at all these possibilities.

Leaning back, he kisses her forehead, and shifts to rest his chin on her head.]

That's all right. Yours is probably getting cold, though.

[He doesn't want to leave, but he wants to retreat, to think with a cool head.]

spam

[hellofist]

I don't care.

[Alfred would disapprove of letting tea get cold, but she doesn't want Morgan to go. The things she does want are better kept far in the back of her mind, things she shouldn't be thinking about at all, the same things he wants. This isn't the right time, though. It's not the right set of memories.

A very small part of her realizes she'll miss this form when it's gone. Best not to think too hard about that, either.]

Want to stay with you. Could go get more tea, but... only if you'll come too.

spam

[nightmaring]

[He's reminded of the first time they met - when old nightmares sent him to brood in the common room, when she showed up with tea as if she'd known exactly what he'd needed then. He'd tried to wave her off, laugh her away, snub her. It hadn't worked, and then he hadn't wanted to.

Running his hand through her hair, he thinks that he should flee.]

I'll accompany you.