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

[exnihilo]

I don't remember a lot of things either.

From home, not here, but. It's lousy.

[There's a looseness to her, an honesty that comes not of being a forthright person, but from having so little sense of self that she mostly says whatever comes to her in the moment; what comes in this moment is a lurching attempt at sympathy, something like commiseration.]

I'm Mira.

[hellofist]

[That's... actually very comforting, in a way. She'd rather have sympathy that comes without strings attached than pity for things she's lost that she doesn't particularly want back in the first place.

Mira is not a familiar name and doesn't have a familiar face and that is also an admittedly nice change.]

Something to it, though. Means fresh starts.

[indispensible]

Vin. [All there is by way of an introduction until, as an afterthought but an important one:] Venture

What happened to your room? [And in this there's blunt, clumsy, honest concern, wielded like a tool she doesn't have much experience using.]

[nightmaring]

You took your time.

[He has a trillion conflicting feelings, but most of them boil down to missing her. That's not fair: he shouldn't miss someone that Merlin had. He should never have cared. It wasn't fair that she cared so much.

He's angry, annoyed, but he's glad, too, and despite himself, that keeps winning out.]

[bodilesswarrior]

Doesn't feel new, for me. [His voice is soft, and his gaze is tender, and if his body shouts father rather than mother, it's not such a big difference.]

...Is your room okay? We can change it, if you want. [Or you could stay with me, he doesn't say.]

[hellofist]

[That actually catches her a little off guard. She turns to look around, sees nothing out of the ordinary, and then frowns at Vin.]

Nothing. This is... what it is.

[hellofist]

Didn't wait that long.

[Depending on your definition. Weeks is probably too long, but it's fine in Cass' opinion. Most of the people she remembers as being important know, she was fine with being under the radar for as long as possible.

Morgana as a boy is the more interesting thing here, so she'll focus on that. The first order of business is finding out if there are any memories of being a woman.]

How do you feel?

[hellofist]

No, it's-

[She stops there, because this is a thing she's never thought of before. As far as she knows, Barbara doesn't know the specifics of what happened to her after she had left Gotham. She was never in contact, still angry, but it wouldn't surprise her if Barbara knew basics. Areas of town she lived in, maybe, but never what the inside of her places looked like.

She needs to think of this and only this because this kind of body language from a man does scream father and it makes her a little uncomfortable. At least when Barbara is mother, there was nothing to compare it to. With Byron as her father, it's too easy to think of Cain and how his body should have looked exactly like this and never did.]

I stayed here, when waiting... for my own cave. It's fine.

[nightmaring]

[He waves a hand dismissively: as far as he's concerned, he's unaffected except for the room switch up. Well - maybe he is affected. But he's now about to let the Admiral mess with his own internal logic. Again.

He's a man. He's always been a man. No one will convince him otherwise, no matter how many gowns fill his wardrobe.]

Waiting for the histrionics to end. At least it quiets down at night.

[Pointed look. She waited for the middle of the night for a reason, didn't she.]

[hellofist]

[She won't meet his eyes when he says that, looking down at her tea and lifting it up for a sip instead. She knows this is rotten, that this isn't how you treat people who care for you, but she won't take it back. They'll get over it, move on.]

Makes sense. People sleep then.

[nightmaring]

Most people.

[He waits, and when she doesn't offer anything, he pushes. He's good at pushing.]

It might make more sense to say hello when most people are awake.

[hellofist]

[She just shrugs.]

You're awake.

[nightmaring]

And I'm the only one that matters?

[His tone is full on sarcasm; his body screams say yes say yes say yes.]

[hellofist]

[This is unexpected. There was something there with Morgana, but it wasn't anything like this. A shade of it, but never anything this blatant. It's odd, but... it's not entirely unwelcome.]

You matter more... than you think. You just don't see it, sometimes.

[nightmaring]

[It's not what he expected: he never quite understands how easily she can read the things he does not say, and he's forgotten it to some extent. Morgan pauses, thrown off balance. He wants to ask, really, or can you see it,, but instead he reaches for his pride, surrounds himself with it like armor.]

I see how much I matter.

[It's an empty boast, and it's what he thinks is the truth. He mattered enough to cast out, and no more.]

[hellofist]

[Memories of Uther are vague in the way a lot of things here are. They're like a thing told through a game of telephone, the real meaning watered down and watered down until something not entirely true but still accurate is left. She knows she doesn't like Uther, and that's what she latches onto.]

To some, more than others. Remember that.

[nightmaring]

[He wants to latch onto her word as law. He chooses to take it as she means it, and to run with it: he means something to her. That is what he holds onto.]

Why is your room so shabby?

[He's a little lighter, but still straightforward as ever.] It doesn't suit you.

[This is.....almost a compliment.]

[hellofist]

[Of course he does, and that's something she wouldn't be afraid to say out loud where anyone could hear it. It's not new, it's something that's just so known to her that it seems like a fact everyone should be aware of, even him.]

It's not that bad.

[It's small and falling apart in places, the bed is just big enough for her, and there isn't much at all that's homey about it. She says it's not bad, but as soon as it's out of her mouth another piece of plaster cracks free from the wall.

She ignores it, even though it was perfectly framed and she knows he'll have seen that. Her room is a traitor.]

[nightmaring]

[He doesn't even bother trying to hide his smile.]

Say it again. Maybe your bed will collapse next.

[He doesn't offer her a place to stay in his room; it wouldn't be appropriate. Besides, he only has the one bed.]

[hellofist]

It's fine.

[No collapsing bed, thankfully. No more plaster falling, no lights disconnecting from the ceiling, the dresser doesn't explode. The room is fine, because her surroundings don't matter much to her.]

Would just leave, if it wasn't. Go for walks, sleep other places.

[nightmaring]

Where? [There's an aggressive note in his voice, almost protective. Who would she go to, why, for how long. He hears it and swallows.]

You could just ask someone to fix it. [Hint. Ask him.]

[hellofist]

[Giving actual names, as harmless as they may be, seems like a very bad idea. Cassel and Chris, Barbara, Anya, she knows if she were to ever ask they wouldn't turn her away. Stephanie would of course be the first choice, but Stephanie is Stephen now. Cass gets the feeling that would not go over well at all if she told this version of Morgana she wanted to sleep in Stephen's room.]

The common room. Library. Laundry room, maybe.

[And she doesn't want her room fixed, but he wants to be asked. Can he? With magic, maybe. Without the proper tools he likely can't with his own hands, and she isn't sure if he would ask the Admiral when she has to assume that any male version would hate asking for things from the barge just as much Morgana would have. She hated the barge, so asking for things doesn't seem likely.

And now Cassandra is curious and, for better or worse, wants to see this body language up close.]

Come fix it, then.

spam

[nightmaring]

[His smile is surprised, but pleased. He doesn't bother answering, just kills the feed and heads for her room.

He's not actually certain that he can do this. He's never tried to clean up a room as much as hers needs cleaning, but he's certainly not going to admit that. Instead, he pauses outside her room, reminding himself that this flood did nothing to his magic. Then he knocks.]

spam

[hellofist]

[She leaves her tea on the dresser when she goes to answer the door and for a moment, she stands there and watches the cup to see if it will put the dresser off balance and cause it to topple over and break into a million pieces, but no. Entirely safe surface to put things on.

It really isn't as bad as Morgan seems to think. When she opens the door, she isn't surprised it's him and she takes a moment to look him over, all the parts that are Morgana but hidden under a layer of masculinity and reshaped into what might have been had one tiny thing gone differently. All in all, it's a nice package no matter what the wrapping looks like.]

No tool kit?

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?