2017-06-12: Sometimes a Body Likes To Feel Appreciated
- Log: Sometimes A Body Likes To Feel Appreciated
- Cast: Cassidy Cain, Morgan Newkirk
- Where: Adventurer's Guildhall, Adlehyde
- Date: June 12, 2017
- Summary: After spinning a yarn for "charity," or so they would say, and after years of knowing one another, Morgan Newkirk and Cassidy Cain have what is possibly their first real conversation, despite their lengthy history.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
The rebuilding efforts in Adlehyde continue.
These are punctuated day and night by how sawmills seem to never sleep, to generate enough lumber to facilitate them, or the constant ringing of anvils being struck by hammers, with forge fires burning well into the day's darkest hours. If nothing else, the aftermath of a crisis is testament to the resilience of the human race, something that would make hope burn within even the most cynical of hearts. She suspects, privately, that is just one reason why the Guildhall remains fortified and standing, branching out its aid to the refugee camps and all around what's left of the capital. If nothing else, the sight of the building alone would be inspiring.
Wherever Morgan Newkirk is, that's where she'll go - as he had stated to others many times in the past, if Cassidy needed to find him, she would find him, as this was always the tone of their relationship dating back from when they first started doing jobs with or against one another. Not to say that these short-lived rivalries were uncommon - she has found herself on the opposite side of Morgan more times than she could count, or admit to anyone, but that has never really done much to dent their largely friendly camaraderie. These last few weeks have really only solidified the distressing internal admittance that Morgan was more than just a helpful contact or a fun acquaintance to share a pint with.
Distressing, if not just because she has never been able to articulate these sentiments in any healthy or eloquent way, no matter how easily words come to her by the dint of her profession. As always, she tends to fail when something really and truly matters.
"You've been busy since Hell decided tae come up and visit," she says, approaching him within the shored-up walls of the Guildhall - Morgan's pride and joy in Adlehyde; from what she had gathered, he was instrumental in its conception and construction. "What are you up tae now?"
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
Morgan Newkirk had been up to many things. Some of them legal and most of them not. However he and the Guild that he was a proud member of had been more on the legal side of late. Building. Helping. Guarding. Running off bandits. The usual.
Now though. Now it seems there was time for the Fox himself to relax. So when Cassidy Cain blows in like the emotionally stunted whirlwind that she is she would find him and a gaggle of other Drifters...gathered around a table.
Not a breath escapes the assembled group as Mogran's finger snaps up in a call for silence.
On the table itself is an intricate...tower of...cards?
Yes. Playing cards.
A massive statue balanced perfectly edge on edge in some cases, looking like the castle itself. The Drifters are gathered around. Some of them looking hopeful, some of them looking worried as Morgan slowly raises the last card.
The top of one of the towers.
Carefully. Gently. Easily he starts to set it down.
The perfect balance is called for as the gunslingers fingers ease the card into place.
Across from him a pudgey merchant looks on in dismay as the fox slowly lowers it into place.
No one moves as he takes his hands away. No one breathes until Morgan lets out a sloooow breath.
"There," The gunslinger crosses his arms over his chest. "Done. Quarter your prices for Guildies for the next two months."
The poor merchant (Cassidy can only assume earlier he was looking smug) just stands there, mouth agape. "HOW DID YOU EVEN MANAGE THAT?!" He finally explodes. "YOU WERE DRUNK."
"I do my best work when drunk." The fox replies as he hooks a thumb at Cassidy. "Just ask her."
Then the bright grin turns towards the woman with the question for him. "And as for what I'm doing? Negotiating!" A beatpause. "Sorta. But now? Now I'm done!"
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
I do my best work when drunk, just ask her.
"Ay, a savant, our lovable Newkirk is," Cassidy replies, without skipping a beat and nary a bat of an eyelash - nor anything, really, to signal the mountainous amount of bullshite she's about to air to the wind. "There was once a time when he nearly got intae a fight somewhere in November City with a massive lad with nae a neck. He was pretty when he was wee, Morgan, and dinnae want tae ruin his magnificent hair especially when he was about tae close the deal with a pair of redheaded lads - he had a phase where he was just all about freckles, y'ken."
The blonde gestures to the side as she walks closer to the table, hooking an arm around the Beastman's shoulders. "So he goes 'well, since you're the one challenging me, I get ta pick the challenge!' " Her approximation of Morgan's own accent here is absurdly convincing. "And this lad." She reachees up in an effort to pinch his cheek lightly. "Decides what better way tae give a man thirty-stone heavy a what-for than a naked ride on a mechanical bull. Brilliant, I said, because I was there and there was nae way I would miss it. Because a third party controls the bull, y'ken, and there's always this thing where the bull always moves slower when there's a lass on top, because more often than not, the third party is some lonely sod who has nae touched a woman in months, and fast and wild as all bloody fook when a lad is on it - proof positive, lads, that double standards exist where your gender is concerned also, just tae throw that out there, because naturally he wants them off as fast as possible so another lass can take a turn. So if said third party lonely sod does that for a lad who's clothed, I bet you cannae imagine how motivated he is tae get a naked one off the bull as fast as possible."
She lifts a finger. "Now, one would think this would be around the time the lads would stop drinking. Alcohol messes with the grip and all. Nae our big damn hero, Morgan Newkirk, who just turns tae the bartender at that specific moment before he strips down and goes 'Gimme a beer bomb, two whiskeys and an appletini, Sal!' 'What the hell, Morg, why an appletini?' goes Sal. 'Oh that one's not for me,' says Morg, 'But for this big fella here 'cause I don't think he can handle anything else before getting on top of that thing!' "
Cassidy pauses dramatically.
"...and the rest is history, but I bet if you want Morgan tae tell you the rest of the story, he can but that'll probably cost the lot of you a higher discount."
"Naked on a mechanical bull, eh?" asks one Drifter to Morgan.
"Wow, yeah, I mean...tell me you at least wore a cup. Didn't that chafe?"
"So how long did you last?"
"Dinnae think you can answer that last question in front of the bairns," the conwoman asides to the Fox man, though judging by the look of her, she is doing her very level best to keep a straight face.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
There is that moment. That moment where Cassidy throws her arm around Morgan. That moment in the lizard part of his brain. That moment of 'Oh my god what have I done'. Then its too late. She's off to the races. The fox spends that moment staring. That split second of panic before she launches into her story.
Then its too late. The floodgates are open. All he can do is ride that wave and hope not to drown.
"First off Jake, ask yer sister about that." Morgan replies with a wicked grin towards the man asking the last question before he moves right along before poor drunk Jake can realise what he said.
"So there I was lads!" Leaning forwards lightly, ears pricked forwards. "Just me and this mechanical monster. Not a stitch of clothing on besides my much lemented hat and my pride on the line." He just takes up where she left off.
"That thirty-stone man, by the name of Tanned Travis, because Black Bart was already taken, said if I lost he would wrap my nose around the side of my face with his fist. On account of me finding my way into his wife's bedroom, compleatly by accident of course."
The fox is off now, a smirk on his face as he sideyes at Cassidy.
"Anyway! A promised beating if I lost, and an experiance that I didn't even want to contemplate if I went through with it. I was between a rock and a hard place. With no way out. And a bunch of much-less-honorable-than-all-us Drifters just itchin to see me beaten bloody."
He raises his hand to swipe a drink off the table. It isn't his. But no one seems to notice as he takes a swig then passes it to Cassidy.
"But thats ok. Because I had a plan."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
First off, Jake, ask yer sister about that.
"Okay." Jake pauses, and squints at Morgan as he wanders off to tell the rest of his story to this group of rubberneckers. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean?!"
And Morgan, as usual, makes a run for it once Cassidy passes on the proverbial baton, suddenly reminded of their first job together; a mess that involved Kislevi gangsters, two sisters and an ill-advised wedding which she had to officiated and started the trend of Morgan's many, many marriages. The corners of her mouth threaten to twitch, but she manages to school them in absolute, deadpanned seriousness when the Fox man leans forward and starts by saying his pride is on the line.
He, of course, leaves off at a cliffhanger.
"...well?!" a drifter exclaims. "What the hell was the plan?"
"Wait, so he goes pick a fight with you, you challenge him on the mechanical bull and if you lost, he'd still beat the piss out of you?" wonders another. "How hot was the wife?"
"Nae the point of the story, lads," Cassidy interjects, pointing one finger. "And dinnae think you get tae escape this one." Her eyes fall on the merchant, who is doing his level best to pretend not to be listening in. "Nae story for you if you dinnae make a quarter discount tae a half."
"WHAT?!" the merchant cries. "Twenty-five percent off is respectable enough for a drunken card trick!"
"Ay, but you might miss out on something good if you dinnae," the blonde replies soberly, her free hand moving to rest over her heart. "I mean, I dinnae think I have tae bring up the fact that times are rough, especially after everything else, and we can all use a good laugh. Our lovable hero Morgan here's been trying his best tae help rebuild the city and he could seriously use the help while spreading his own unique brand of joy and revels in a place that desperately needs it, especially tae these wee lads who have been helping him and if you keep being stingy, they will nae get tae hear something that'll make them piss themselves laughing and forget all their troubles and losses for just a few minutes. Really, luv, would you take this away from them now?"
"Well, I..." the merchant sputters.
"If you like, you could consider the additional twenty-five percent discount as a donation," Cassidy continues. "As a gesture of good will tae the community."
Though, really, the blonde has absolutely no idea what Morgan was negotiating for now - it may not have been for the rebuilding efforts and more for selfish gain, maybe Morgan has been attempting to recoup his losses somehow, but as usual, she invests herself plenty in the current narrative.
And keen, gold-flecked eyes watch as it all unfolds, as the merchant stares at her while everyone else stares at him, before the man turns to look at Morgan.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
The merchant turns red, then purple, then blue, then back to red, then possibily remembers he needs to breathe to you know. Stay alive. His breath explodes out with a burst that scatters the cards from the table as he takes in great lungfulls of air before looking between the two of them.
"Confound you Newkirk and...and....AND YOUR GREAT BLONDE TROLLOP! Fourty percent off! FINAL OFFER! And the story better be good!"
Morgan's grin has reached shark like levels at this point, though he's pretending not to look at the merchant. Instead oh so innocent eyes blink towards the appoleptic man.
"Done." Then a grin again. "And she's her own trollop, for the record. Anyone tries to claim her might lose a hand." A smirk angled towards Cassidy before he's back to the story.
"Oh you know me lads!" A beatpause. "Of course she was hot." The fox smirks easily at that. "Eyes like limpid pools in a desert oasis. Hair as black as midnight, down the back of a body that dancers could die for. How she got married to Tanned Timmy was a tragedy in the making."
"I thought his name was Tanned Travis?" One of the Drifters shouts.
"I've heard it both ways." Morgan's glib reply comes with a chorous of sushes. "Anyway! This plan, it hinged on one thing." A beatpause. "Oil."
He waits that second for the confusion to set in. "See. I knew. I knew that ol' Travis." A pointed look at the naysayer before on he goes. "Would be after my hide whatever happened, and on top of that I didn't want to see him all hanging out either. No need to see just how Tanned he was, right mates?"
A chorous of racuous laughter echos round before Morgan continues.
"So the plan didn't hinge on winning, it hinged on getting out of there with my face and my bits unbroken. And that meant, oil." A smirk. "Lots of oil, all over that mechanical bull."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
She's her own trollop.
"Ach, Morgan, coming tae my defense like that, you really are the finest gentleman there is," Cassidy remarks with a light and lazy drawl; this time, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging up the corners of her mouth. It almost becomes a full blown laugh, when the Fox man waves away an inconsistency in the story in that of Tanned Travis or Timmy's name. Laughter burns in the depths of those virid irises.
"The first time he told this story, he was Tanned Tony," the blonde adds, in a very overtly helpful tone that does nothing but muddle up the issue with the man's name further. "Cut the lad a wee bit of slack, ay? Dinnae I tell you? He was drinking heavily that night and before the beer bomb and two whiskeys tae boot."
But when Morgan slips into telling just how he managed to get out of there unscathed, both physically and mentally, his captive audience falls silent. A few heads turn to look at one another, before Jake slowly raises a hand from the back.
He is immediately swatted by Ike from Kislev. "Really?" he exclaims. "This isn't a class!"
"So how the hell did you manage to lube up the god damn thing without him realizing?" he wonders.
"Ay, Morgan," Cassidy says, lifting her brows and giving the Beastman a sidelong glance. "How did you oil up the Thunder from Down Under?"
The merchant, too, is about to say something but then pauses. "....that can't be the name of the bull," he remarks.
"It sure was, luv."
"What? REALLY?" Jake says from the back, before laughter breaks out over the small gathering yet again.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Now now Cass, no insults between friends." The fox shoots back with a grin, buch to the amusement and laughter of the rest of the gathers Drifters. "And yes," Back to the story. "I was very drunk. But thats what makes for a good story. And the whiskeys were good whiskeys."
The merchant looks very annoyed about that for a second.
"Anyway! Oiling up the Thunder, see..." And his lowers his voice, leaning towards his audiance just enough so that they have to lean forward with him. Just a touch of the storyteller in the fox.
"The trick isn't to hide that you're doing it. The trick is to make someone else do it. In this case, it was Travis." The conspritorial tone of his voice turns sly. As if he's sharing the secrets to success in this life with the little knot of drifters.
"I didn't want to touch the Thunder," She picked it. He's just going with it. "Who would right? But for the plan to work it had to be done. So what did I do? I went and told him, in the most relieved tone I could, that I was so glad it wasn't oiled up. I mean..." And his tone shifts, changes, to reflect what he told the horrible figure of Tanned Timmy/Travis/Tommy. "...its just a good thing that it didn't have any oil on it. I mean really. If it did I'd go sailing and bouncing around. Brusing things that should never be bruised...you know what I mean gents?"
The chorous of nods and crossed legs as men shift in their seats greets the question. "I knew you would know. Anyway, I told him it was a good thing I wouldn't go sliding and bouncing around like that..."
A smirk curls up his lips.
"He had his arms deep in an oil barrel and was half throwing himself on that Thunder from Down Under just to make sure I had the worse of it. Thats just the kind of black hearted guy that he was."
A finger is touched to the side of his nose.
"I had counted on that."
The poor Merchant looks between Morgan and Cassidy at this point before he stares at the woman. "This has to be a lie. No one would actually do something this...this..." One hand flails a bit. "...WHATEVER THIS IS!"
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
"So you put that idea in his head, then?" Jake wonders just as the merchant protests the veracity of the tale.
"Ach, come on, luv, were you nae listening?" Cassidy says to both of them. "Dinnae he just say that he does his best work when he's rip roaring drunk? And I got tae tell you, lads, I know delirious fits of inspiration hit me repeatedly when I'm half out of my mind. Why do you all think we get along so well, me and Morg?"
To the Beastman, she winks.
"Now, tae recap the tale - Tiny Travis-- "
"Tanned Travis!"
"Whatever! Tried tae wrangle our lovable Morgan here tae a duel and he challenged him tae a ride-off on top of a mechanical bull called the Thunder Down Under. This contraption is manipulated by a third party who usually tries tae buck lads off as fast as possible. Now Morgan here decides tae do some reverse talking here about how he was glad there was nae any oil on the saddle, which of course prompts Toady Tommy-- "
"Tanned Travis!"
"Right. Tae try and sabotage the bull first." Cassidy glances at Morgan. "Would nae blame him, luv, you dinnae exactly look like the reputable sort. The very face of you screams saboteur, dinnae ken if nae anyone's told you that before."
"Alright," the merchant huffs. "So he gets oil all over it while he's on the bull. Must've been confident that he could hang onto it despite all of that around his arms, then?"
"I'd like tae say that the moral of this story is dinnae drink too much," the blonde retorts with a straight face. "But I would nae ever endorse that kind of bullshite"
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Now that I'll take as a compliment, luv." Morgan replies with that wicked grin quirking up one side of lips. "Espicially coming from you." The fox is enjoying himself, the bright light in the depths of his eyes, the quickness of his smile. This is what he enjoys the most about things like this.
"But no! No. It wasn't sabotage! I was just being helpful!" He protests as others around the bar snicker. "But he oiled it all up, got all up in the Thunder from Down Under..." A glance a Cassidy. "...that guy who worked that thing must have been really lonely..." Then back to the story. "Anyway. He got it all worked up. All slicked up. And then turns to me with a smug look and tells me to get on.."
He sighs.
"Well with this hangdog expression I throw one leg over and climb on up. With the most dejected look I nod to the lonely, angry, man operating it..."
A wince.
"He starts up, and its as bad as you can imagine. I'm getting flung all over the place as he tries to get me out of there. Then...." A smirk. "...then I see my chance. One perticularly strong swing coils all the bounce of the thing for one shot, one sure to launch me into the waiting arms of Tandy's--"
"TRAVIS!!"
"-- sure, that guys loving punches. So what do I do?" A pause as he takes a breath. "...I let go of the hand holds."
His grin splits wide.
"That shot sent me sailing right out the window. I mean I had my hat to cover the important parts. Everything else was replaceable."
A smirk.
"And I could hear Timmy Travin..."
"Tanned Travis!"
"Yeah that, roaring in anger inside. But he was so covered in oil he couldn't get the door open!"
A pause.
"Of course I was on the second story, but just at that moment. As I decided a fall was better than the Thunder and a face full of punches and let our old foe gravity take over, a carriage drove under me and I crashed though the roof."
A wicked grin once again.
"Saved in the nick of time. Just so I, and my partner in totaly legal activities here can bring you all this story."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
And what do the rest say to that?
There is a loud explosion of laughter before an applause, and one in which Cassidy actually joins in, lips turned up in a smile and her hands clapping together as the rest of the tale tumbles forth. Really, what did anyone else expect from the two of them? Even the merchant is laughing, his face ruddy with mirth, all smiles underneath his bearded face.
Because if anyone didn't find the picture of Morgan Newkirk shot off a lubed up mechanical bull with nothing but a hat strapped to his nethers hilarious, that person probably doesn't have a soul, or at least, a man or woman not worth knowing.
~*~
By midnight, the Guildhall's common room is empty, with Morgan and Cassidy left to nurse whatever bottles remain. The blonde comes down from a fit of laughing, unable to remember how many glasses of bourbon she has imbibed. But for the first time since she has arrived, the room is quieter than its earlier wont, most of the lamps snuffed out save for the flicker of its large fireplace, casting golden light and dancing shadows across wood reinforced by steel. Long legs are draped on top of another chair, her head tilted against the back rest.
"We're going tae need tae diversify a little bit next time," she tells Morgan. "Did you notice that our stories tend tae have common elements throughout? Namely crafty but questionable decisions lubricated by copious amounts of alcohol and some dangerous contraption or another? Then again, any contraption can be dangerous with the right hands and enough creativity."
She knows this by personal experience.
Gold-green eyes slip over towards the Beastman, fingers dancing lightly over the lip of her glass tumbler. "Figured you're going tae see all of these rebuilding efforts through, then?" she wonders. "Not going tae join one of the gazillion caravans heading out the city?"
Picking up the tumbler, she takes another pull of the rich amber liquid, feeling it burn down her throat. "Think that's probably going tae be the next step," she tells him. "Once Jude's well enough tae travel, but I figured if you were staying, it..." Didn't feel right to just get up and leave. "...was only right tae share one last drink, considering I dinnae know when we're going tae see you again. You know me, nae exactly a philanthropist." She grins broadly at Morgan. "Made a career out of being the exact opposite."
She exhales a breath, her eyes moving over to the ceiling. "It's a pity, though," she tells him. "You were always based out here, figured you got attached tae the city." A pause. "You alright then, luv?"
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
Well into his cups is when Morgan gets creative, creative and thoughtful. The fox listens though to the con-woman ramble on as he looks though the layer of amber in his glass at a flickering light in the hearth.
A smirk towards Cassidy. "Diversify? Why? The best stories have an element of truth to them, and I'm pretty sure that is entirley something the two of us would come up with." Which is...maddenly..true.
He knocks back whats left in his glass before letting it dangle loosely in one hand. His feet propped up on the table and his chair tilted just on the edge of a dangerous amount.
The Fox though chuckles. "Honestly darlin? This place is in good hands. Ain't much more I can do here that Kev and the boys can't." He finally says, his drawl pleasently thick as he smiles in her direction. "And you're anything but a philanthropist, but neither am I. And I'm pretty sure yer loyal to yer friends," His eyes crinkle in amusement. "In your own way."
He shrugs slightly. "I'm fine, we got ahead of this mess and managed it. So now, I guess I'm gonna go look for the next mess ta get ahead of." A smirk at that. "Got a few of em in the wind I'm thinkin. So no, I ain't stayin put. No sense in it, when I can do more good movin' right along."
A smirk again.
"Besides, there are other little Guildhouses that need a bit of a push. Wouldn't be right to play favorites would it?"
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
"Ay, well, you know me. I like tae be unpredictable." Cassidy's head rolls sideways so she could look at him with lifted eyebrows. "But I s'pose there's nae denying that the best stories often come about when you're armed with only half your wits and with all the moxie that comes along with."
He calls her out on her loyalty, which does nothing but cause an uncomfortable twinge in her stomach, watching the man across the table from her. A more inscrutable expression falls over her pale features, wreathed with the shadows and light cast by the nearby hearthfire; whatever those eyes hold wouldn't be an easy read at those words. Instead, she reaches out to pluck the bottle from the center of the table, refilling his glass before her own.
"Told you years ago you need tae stop doing that, luv," she tells him, her smile returning. "Projecting your good, fuzzy heart intae me. And dinnae even tell me it's nae." She points a finger at him from where she sits. "We both know it is."
His shrug tells her plenty - she doesn't have the same education or acumen as the Mauriers do when it comes to picking apart the behaviors of those around them. But she has spent enough time in their company, and has read enough of their works, to be able to take in the wordless pieces that he offers and divine their meaning. "Knew you were ambitious, dinnae know you were that ambitious," she confesses. "Always thought you were after the Guildmaster's seat in Adlehyde...nae just then, ay? You mean as part of the Table, as it were."
The blonde knocks back another shot. "So where are you headed then, luv? What's the next step for Morgan Newkirk?"
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Part of the Table, behind the Table, under the Table, change the Table. I havn't quite decided yet. But don't worry darlin', you'll be on the short list when I do." A twitch of a smile at that as the fox sets his own drink on the table. "You know me, I'm more of a figure it out as I go kind."
Which is for the most part true.
For the most part.
His eyes turn back to the fire for a moment as he contemplates the crackling flames. They dance on his eyes, on his skin. A deep breath is taken as he contemplates the question and like usual...he doesn't answer it directly. Not at first.
"The last time I argued with you I wound up with whip cream in every pair of boots I owned which took me days to get out, so I know better than to argue with you." A smirk. "Even when I'm right."
Again that teasing grin directed at her, his clever glance out of the corner of his eyes angled towards her. "But as for my next step? Well start small I suppose. I think I'm headed towards where them Gebler folks are. Seems to me they might know a might bit more than most folk about the metal demons and the golems. Got a sandship for me and some of the boys gettin prepped." A questioning glance is thrown towards her.
"And you and Jude? Where you off ta with your boy-toy?" Again that tease.
He can't help it.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
Even when I'm right.
Cassidy says nothing about his assertions there, watching the fire with him as the logs within crackle, adding its own symphony in their quiet conversation. Out of the four of them, she and Morgan had known each other the longest, and had more dealings with one another within the last ten years of her operating wild and free in the wastes of Filgaia. She couldn't blame him for believing that he knows her better than she knows herself and these days, she wonders whether some part of that isn't true. He was lively, and fits in the mold nicely of those she tends to attract to her orbit - those who tackle life and eager to mine as much profit and fun as it promises.
But she knows him, too. That he says these things not because he believes she is, but holds out hope that she can be. He wouldn't be the first soul to think that, chances are he wouldn't be the last. Unfortunately, all those that came before Morgan have one distinct and irreversible quality.
And she doesn't want the same thing to happen to him.
The fact that Morgan intends to go after the Gebler folks and mine them for information about Metal Demons has her lifting her head; the growing unease in her stomach intensifies - as with anything to do with Solaris. Beneath her, underneath her, around her, the shadows writhe, prickling the back of her neck with shards of ice and floes of it slipping down her spine. The thought of being near it, all of it again, makes her skin crawl; her heart drums wildly against her sternum.
"Sounds dangerous," she tells him, even as she manages to keep her voice level. "You dinnae intend tae share with them the pictures you took inside of the Golems, do you? Hope you're keeping that under your hat, Morgan, as leverage if nothing else."
And you and Jude?
She takes another swallow of her drink. "Does it count if I try tae leave him time and time again and he does nae anything but hang on harder the more I try?" she wonders.
"He nearly died," she continues, her voice frank and devoid of emotion, lips outlined with the faintest smirk. "So I dinnae blame him if he dinnae want tae cross over tae Aveh in the condition he's in, so we're taking a detour. Lacour - dinnae know if you heard of the tournament. Good of a time as any tae leave Adlehyde, methinks, now that the Chancellor's decided bringing the agents of the Goddess of Nae Fun intae the borders tae try and keep order. Thought tae myself that's nae a place I'd want tae be, might as well go tae a place where they're gearing up for a huge party."
Lacour. Once upon a time, Hilton had been her home - in many ways, the only place she's ever considered home. It has its share of persistent, personal ghosts, its spate of troubles and she anticipates it would attract even more, of the blue and black and savage kind.
But Cassidy wouldn't be Cassidy if she doesn't decide to risk it anyway.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Lacour eh?" The Fox fixes her with one eye, weighing the look she gives him. That almost too bland look, the thoughts dancing behind her eyes. His own expression is one of a smile, half wondering just what is happening behind her eyes. Half wondering just what he's doing.
Chasing Gebler is dangerous.
"Well danger never really bothered me much. But I'll keep my head down. Its not like I'll just go knock on what passes for a base over there." A smirk at that. "Give me some credit, Cass. I know when to keep quiet when I want to. Just most times I don't want to. No fun that way." A chuckle at that before he lets his eyes slide half shut.
"They might have something of mine though, and I'd like it back. So...I'm gonna be nosey." His eyes snap open again to look at her. "But, that ain't gonna matter much in the long run."
That sudden lack of emotion in her voice gets his attention though as he focuses back towards her. Thats not the best reaction. That sudden repression. The lack of any fire in a woman that is made of nothing but fire is a touch of a warning.
"Mmmm, our job ain't the safest in the world. So its better ta have at least someone ta trust ta watch yer back." Is all he'll say for a moment. Though when that moment passes he finds himself adding. "Its a good thing you were there to watch his eh? Does that mean he owes you a favor now?" A smirk comes back, creeping into his eyes along with hidden laughter. "That poor man."
It fades though when he nods. "But Lacour, I ain't that fond of tournaments after the first one I was in. But...well I might just find ya there. You know me, I tend to get around. I have a feelin' this ain't gonna be goodbye."
There is a dramatic sigh from the fox.
"Hellfire, I can't seem ta get rid of ya."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
"I ken that," Cassidy tells him. "That's precisely the problem, methinks. We nae really bat an eyelash anymore when it comes tae being bloody reckless but that business you're poking intae is dangerous, Morgan. Nae going tae tell you what tae do, just..." Be careful. Watch yourself.
Don't die.
Words that she has every freedom to think but is incapable of expressing in any way that matters. She takes another drink instead. "Keep what's valuable up your sleeves and dinnae show them unless you really have tae. Think that you've been around me long enough tae ken how and when."
Her heart continues drumming against her ribs, playing on her bones like a xylophone. The rhythm it produces sounds disturbingly like a dirge, and one that she attempts to ignore as blood rushes through her ears and nearly drowns Morgan out. Gebler. Bloody fucking hell.
He continues to tease her about Jude, and she almost doesn't hear that also, curling her fingers more securely against her glass. Her smile remains, but it does not touch her eyes. The walls suddenly feel closer, reminded all at once of darknesses she has tried to purge in a pyre of her own making.
I screwed it up pretty bad. Never... quite came out right. Couldn't... couldn't have that.
Ten years. A decade after her brazen attempts to put as much distance between herself and him as possible and yet...
...why does he feel closer now than he has ever been?
"Methinks that might nae matter in the end," she tells him. "This is nae my first rodeo, y'ken. There's always a point where you stop trying tae keep score. Oh, we'll always pretend, if not just tae give one another shite, but there's nae any real heat, save for whatever's associated with the sport of trying tae one up the other. So ay, poor man."
But apparently Jude could be poorer, still, for reasons she can't fathom; that somehow it would be more costly for him to let her go than to hold onto her. An outlook that she hasn't been able to understand, for all that she has attempted to think about it. But these are thoughts that she tosses aside and quickly; Morgan gives her enough impetus to do so with his following words.
"Ay?" she wonders, draining her glass. "A few questions - one, what do they have of yours, and two, do you need help getting it back?"
After a pause, she continues. "You mentioned the tournament you were in a few times, but you dinnae ever actually tell me about it. Nae one tae pry, luv, but after years of mentioning it in passing without giving me any context, I'm starting tae wonder." A brow lifts over one eye. "Were you waiting for me tae ask?"
Hellfire, I can't seem ta get rid of you.
There's another smile, and more cryptic in its bent. How could she ever tell him that she had been this close to running off to Aquvy once Jude presented the offer on the table? To leave him and Noah behind to sort out the mess? That the temptation was so overwhelming that it was downright miraculous that she stayed? The implications of it are as stark and fresh as recent cuts to her skin from broken glass, as the track left behind by hypodermic needles that she has tried to hide by piercing them in points between her fingers, but as always, she does her damndest not to acknowledge them if she doesn't have to.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
Now he reaches for the bottle, watching the cloud pass before her eyes. Those shutters come down, the smiling face remains by the thoughts behind it concealed by a shadow of something long past. The fox is a curious kind, but he's seen war. He knows wounds, and not all of them leave marks on the body.
The ones on the soul are much slower to heal.
He has a few himself, so he understands. He doesn't press. If it becomes a danger, a problem. Well. Then he'll press, but something has kept her hanging around this long. He won't damage whatever fragile reason that is with idle curiousity.
"Answers," He says instead as he pours himself the last of the drink. "One, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. But lets go with its sentimental, family heirloom." Its the truth, in most ways. A twist of a smile. "Could say its the last I have left of them. And second, if they do have it. And I find out where it happens to be, then most likely yet. And most likley I'll give ya a call. Because I'm not even stupid enough to try to go that alone."
He brings the drink to his lips as she asks about that tournament. A snort of laughter escapes as he downs the firey liquid. "Of course I was. Sometimes a body likes to feel appriciated." Then a longer pause. "It wasn't a proper tournament though. Not like what I assume goes on in Lacour. It was an arena. Where the vile beasts..." An ear twitches as he leans towards her to whisper. "...thats me by the way. Fight for entertainment. I was supposed to die there, I mean that would have been the proper thing to do. Thank goodness I've never been very proper."
A wicked smile at that.
"I fought, I won, and eventually got popular enough that they let me out of my cage. Took...longer than I'd like to do it. But I did. Mostly because I'm stubborn...and a better pilot than anyone else in Kislev."
And humble. He's humble too.
But its not the best of memories. Scars on the soul, writ there easy to see. At least for someone like her that knows how to look. How long he stayed there, locked away like a caged animal to be let out only for battle is hard to tell, but its obvious that its longer than he cares to admit.
A shake of his head dispells the shadows in his eyes as he looks back towards her. "I think both of us are getting too far in our cups. We'll start cryin' soon enough if we keep this up. You go on now, check on Jude and lets say I'll catch up ta ya in Lacour. You two won't be hard to find."
A smirk.
"I'll just look for the explosions."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
She watches him for a long moment of silence from where she is at the table. Perhaps, in the end, she hadn't actually expected at answer - it is always easy, to come from a place where one just assumes that everyone would be as jealous of their personal torments as herself, being the selfish creature that she is. So when circumstances such as these happen, when people offer up bits of themselves to her, she can't help but be surprised - especially those who she expects to be secretive, like Morgan and Jude, hell even Noah, when she deigns to ask.
The reasons for it are never so clearly delineated, either, than through Morgan's own words:
Of course I was. Sometimes a body likes to feel appreciated.
After that lengthy window of her doing nothing but simply looking at him, it appears; there's a wry turn to her smile at that, Cassidy's eyes falling on her glass.
She provides very little commentary to the tale he tells her in the end, though questions do remain. How long he had been in the cage, had he been born in it, raised in it, only to be released in the end? But she doesn't ask, no matter how many burning queries there are, gratified that he chooses to tell her these things and even waited for her to ask him, to provide some reassurance that their connection is forged out of something more substantial than the pomp and circumstance of the chaos they create whenever they manage to stay in one place together. It is enough to hear it, to know the reasons behind it, no matter how uncomfortable it makes her because the mirrors of the self that he holds up for her perusal reflect parts of her that she has never shared with anyone.
Her cage hadn't been a physical one, but it most definitely existed, and like the Beastman, she has had to work hard to break free of it, and the effort had cost her greatly.
But his methods had been different. Morgan worked with the parameters he had been given, found a way within the system he had been thrust in, while she...
"You do that, then," she says, closing the lid on that dark, yawning well, rising to stand up from her chair. "Once you figure out what tae do with this missing family heirloom. Dinnae think I have tae tell you, luv, that when it comes tae the lot of you, I can believe almost anything, no matter how ludicrous it all is. But ay, let me ken and we'll see what we can shake out."
Walking around the table on her way out, a hand drops briefly on his shoulder.
"We'll see you in Lacour."
It sounds suspiciously like a promise, as her long, lithe shadow moves out of the common room, to do what Morgan suggests.
Somewhere upstairs, shoved in Morgan's belongings, despite the fact that his room and office have been locked, is a new bottle of McLellan forty-year, catching the fitful moonlight from the outside, and gleaming like pure molten gold. There is no note, nothing to indicate who it is from.
Because, really, it's probably too much to ask that she would give it to him, herself.