darksmokerising (
darksmokerising) wrote in
farsickness2021-02-05 08:04 pm
Entry tags:
February: For Love & Monsters
[A CATCHALL]
Who: Merlan and YOU
What: Feb. Catchall
Where: Gazin, Merlan's Clearing
When: All of Feb.
Warnings: Language, maybe.
❅ CHOP WOOD, BUILD STUFF
The trees are thick in her clearing, some need to be removed, yielding wood for cooking or for warmth and that means lots of chopping for her to do with an axe and a thick stump Merlin had felled himself for just such a purpose. It had been a large tree once that had become part of her main house and a tool shed. She could have used magic but the labour felt good.
Swing, crack, toss.
Swing, crack, toss.
Swing, crack, toss.
Eventually, she had enough to leave piles at the front doors of her residents to make sure they were warm and cared for. If they were home, she also had a basket with a knitted blanket, a scarf, mittens, a nice mug, and a hot beverage. No sense in people being cold.
"Good morning, wood and warmth calling," Merlan sang out.
❅ ON THE HUNT
Just because it was winter didn't mean the monsters stopped calling. Trapping them wasn't always an option, which she always thought was unfortunate. This time, though, something was eating a three-eyed crow who'd done nothing to deserve it and she'd been after the stupid bog wight for ages. Chasing it down had become an irritant to sat the least. She was sodden with snow, her horse was covered in mud, and she was miserable.
She nocked an arrow.
"Put down the crow," she grumbled, "or I'll put you down."
It roared at her and she sighed, releasing the arrow aimed for an eye.
❅ WILDCARD - Find her in Gazin, at home wherever, whenever.

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At the offer of coffee, he nods. "Why do you think I came all the way out here, huh? It wasn't just to lecture you about wood."
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Merlan moves easily toward the French press and then works on getting some hot water boiled.
"Last time I was here, I couldn't do any of that."
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Gazin had taken his guns, again, and there's odd jobs, yes, but there's not so much crime that he has to defend anyone. He's retired, more or less, and it feels...weird.
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Merlan looks super satisfied at the last.
"Showers, magic, work," she waves her hands a little as she gets down two mugs. "Not a bad gig. Especially if you want to earn a little coin and slap bad monsters with me on the side. Some of them can get a little frisky."
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"So if he wants to move out here, you might have two guys around to help you haul things. He's as strong as I am." Thanks serum.
"I don't want to leave him, though. We've spent too much time apart and I'm...I've missed him."
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Magic could help that if she concentrated but the weather was its own entity when it came to things like building. She got bored, she built, or hit the weapons at the anvil, or found something to fight, people to save.
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"It's appealing. I'd better present it to him before he decides to take someone else's offer," Bucky teases. "We're very sought after."
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Merlan sets the cup in front of him and then turns back to empty the grounds before pressing the next cup out.
"I miss coffee makers," she says with a sigh, settling in at the table.
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It's easier that way, to make memories to replace old ones, and eventually the stories become true to him. You say it enough to yourself, it becomes your truth, even if it's just a fabrication to start.
"You mean you can't invent a coffee machine? What kind of witch are you?"
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Excellent and hot and everything coffee should be.
"If making memories like that helps, then it's a good thing and keep at it, I say."
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He remembers the smoke in the dance halls too and when he listens to Glen Miller or any of the other standards, he remembers all the moves. It's just he doesn't remember the people.
"I think I was pretty good."
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Merlan smiled into her coffee as she took a sip.
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Dancing, driving - all of it seems to be there with no real memories attached, just gossamer nothing he has to chase.
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She waggles her mug at him and grins.
"Betcha I could learn your dancing if you taught me," Merlan murmurs from somewhere in her cup. "Let's make some new memories with some old moves."
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He drinks his coffee and thinks about it. "If we could get the music, I could try to see if there's literally one thing I'm better at than you are. Otherwise, maybe we're a draw and evenly matched."
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She thinks on it, her mind rolling around the possibilities.
"I'd love the be evenly matched. It sounds wonderful. Mind, I follow well but don't mistake that for me knowing the steps."
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He's heard of Dancing with the Stars but they're not nearly as good as he used to be - the celebrity half of the pairs anyway. He's no professional dancer by far. Sad as he is to admit it, fighting has probably kept the choreography part fresh in his head.
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"I've got three sisters, someone had to be their partner. I learned real quick what the newest moves were."
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She was looking forward to it as well, truth be told, even as she teased him. Dancing was a bit like flying, just on the ground, and with someone else. Merlan gives him a long, curious look.
"Have you ever been flying before? I mean," she looks up absently, "really flying with someone who has wings? Dancing feels like that sometimes. At least to me. I've been practising with the flying lately and using my wings."
She pauses.
"Oh...have I even shown you them?"
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He'd done it because it's his duty and now he's indestructible but it doesn't make it any more terrifying to come crashing toward the ground at impossible speeds. He doesn't know how Steve does that without a chute on a regular basis; the man is insane.
"I haven't seen any wings. You wanna show 'em?"
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She pauses and smiles.
Merlan eases out of her chair, her coffee finished and very carefully opens her wings. It would have been easier outside but too late. They bend, curving so as not to touch the ceiling, and are gold fading into a purple-blue, bright, vibrant, with a subtle glow and shimmer to them. She's careful not to hit anything as she turns so he can see the way they look from the back -- how the downy gold turns into something pink-like in shade.
"They're warm, too."
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Bucky extends his right hand, feeling the feathers beneath his fingers. They don't feel like feathers. They feel warm, yes, but it feels different than what he expects them to feel like. Huh. Maybe it's some of her magic or maybe it's something else entirely but it's enough for him to stroke them again just to be sure.
"They are warm. Do you ever just wrap them around to keep the snow out? I would but I guess that's a dumb use for wings."
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"I do, actually. And it's definitely not dumb when the snow is coming down."
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He doesn't remember all of it but he does remember training and fighting in snow that was pure white instead of dirty and slushy the way it is in the back alleys he's been frequenting over the years. Of course, Wakanda doesn't have snow.
"Still damn cold, though. Gotta make sure you have a coat and a scarf."
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