It was official- Morrigan was going to die. Bubbles was going to be the reason they died. But not because the little kobold had gone and blabbed to thugs about their hiding place, as they had in the past in their usual, adorable, painfully honest nature, but because they were equally as likely to blab about things that Morrigan didn’t want them to repeat as they were the things Morrigan did want them to. Maybe that was a sign that Morrigan should have taken the initiative to stop telling them things, but as has been proven time and again, Morrigan was a creature of vanity so obsessed with the sound of their voice that they were incapable of shutting their damn mouth.

One of these days it would kill them, if they were not already so embarrassed by the fact that Bubbles had somehow ruined part of the cool, suave enchanter persona that Morrigan had worked so hard to carefully cultivate. He was obviously enamored with Bubbles, and if Morrigan hadn’t shooed them away, the charlatan was certain that the little naive wizard hopeful would have blabbed all their secrets, including the waxing poetic of Morrigan comparing Kvasir to the sun-

This, of course, was what one might consider righteous karma for the fact that Morrigan had the gall to constantly lie and pull the wool over the eyes of a sweet, little kid like Bubbles, but they would not realize as such.

They tried to put that little slip-up out of their mind as Kvasir stifled a giggle behind his hand, but their face had begun to turn a deep shade of purple from the embarrassment as they grabbed his arm and began to lead him down the streets.

“I much appreciate the sentiment, my friend.” Morrigan said hastily, agreeing on the basis that they mostly wanted to get away from the wagon of wonders before Bubbles blabbed about anything else. “There are plenty of clothing stores around here- allow me to show you where I normally procure my fineries.” Kvasir soon found himself being dragged through the streets all the way down to one of Morrigan’s usual haunts, a store that was partially built into a market stall. It was one of the few stores of consistent quality that Morrigan appreciated enough to hold off on any of their usual schemes- plots and scams that had gotten them kicked out of several other stores before. As they approached, Morrigan could already see the colorful cloth that hung on display, showing off cloaks and skirts and any manner of shapes, sizes, and styles one could imagine. The sign on the front read Maka and Hrisilda’s Delights, exactly the kind of name of a shop that might hold the attention of someone as frivolous as Morrigan Moonweaver.

Morrigan made haste, practically dragging Kvasir inside, where they were both free to peruse the wares to their heart’s content. Kvasir seemed interested in the clothes, made by Maka, while Morrigan’s attentions today drifted towards the jewelry, crafted by Hrisilda. While Kvasir perused fine blouses, apparently still determined to complete his mission of replacing the one Morrigan lost, Morrigan scanned the necklaces and rings contained in a glass box, carefully guarded by the one remaining watchful eye of the old crone Hrisilda, who guarded her hoard like a dragon.

They were just about to turn away when a small, glittering golden chain caught their attention.

Morrigan paused, leaning in to get a closer look. It was a necklace, metal wires carefully twisted in a way that resembled leaves and vines, with a sparkling pendant on the end topped with red, golden, and green jewels in a way that carefully resembled a flower. Not just any flower- a rose.

Morrigan needed it immediately.

“How much for this?” They muttered quietly, tapping their finger against the glass, Hrisilda grunted, considering a moment before spitting out a number that probably would have been much higher was Morrigan not a loyal, returning customer of this fine establishment. The cost was a pretty penny, but not something that Morrigan couldn’t afford. A few minutes later, they bounded over to Kvasir, beckoning for him to bend down enough that he and Morrigan were on eye level. Kvasir did so, confusion glinting in the gold of his eye, until Morrigan reached up and secured the chain around his neck.

“For you.” They said with a wink. “To match the lovely one on your eye.”

---

Pendant containing Essence of the North gifted to Kvasir

Morrigan Moonweaver is positively endearing when they're embarrassed.

Kvasir had borne witness to shades of it beneath the pale pink glow of the Lantern Light Wood, in those sparse moments where they'd gotten so caught up in each other's company that they'd lost track of their true objective, but it had hardly been quite like this. Now the enchanter's face burns a bright purple, indigo staining lilac, their pale blue eyes unable to linger on him for too long, and it's positively amusing-- some deep, instinctual part of Kvasir almost wants to keep it going, a trickster's lineage singing in his veins. He may not usually act the part, but he is descended from fox spirits, after all.

And it is in the nature of fox spirits to tease and trick and push limits, to cause a few problems here and there all for the sake of their own amusement, so if Kvasir's tail wags just a little bit over watching Morrigan's face burn with embarrassment for a change, who can blame him for what basically only amounts to a natural instinct?

"Of course, friend," he purrs, an impish light burning brighter in his eye as he listens to the haste of their tone, the little bit of fraying around the edges of their voice as they try to banish the nerves and embarrassment away, clinging to the vestiges of the proud and powerful wizard they are more often than not. Oh, really, though-- these little crevices between the grandiosity are so much more interesting, where they're not quite so high up on some pedestal, where they're closer to the ground where Kvasir can merely speak to them as one man to another, regardless of what power sleeps in their soul. "Take me wherever you would like, and I will gladly follow."

Another quiet giggle slips from his lips as he's led forward through the bustling streets of Zeinav City, through the busy entanglements of the High Market, past stalls and vendors and the call of myriad familiar trinkets and other such lovely things. As soon as they slow, pausing before the doorway of a store seemingly called Maka and Hrisilda's Delights, Kvasir is scarcely given a moment to drink in the sight of the exterior before Morrigan drags him inside.

They're quick to rush off toward the jewelry and other trinkets, leaving Kvasir to go searching for what he'd come here for-- something for Morrigan. Really, it had been ludicrous to listen to them immediately launch into concern over their ensemble while getting torn into by a displacer beast-- perhaps endearingly ludicrous, but still--, but... they had wound up saving Kvasir's life that night. In the midst of his foggy mind, he'd barely noticed when the beast had gone for him instead of lingering with Morrigan, and they'd been the one to demand its attention at every possible opportunity, refusing to let it even think of going for Kvasir instead, even if it meant they'd bear the brunt of all its wrath.

...he pauses halfway through brushing his fingers over silk, some deep ache settling in his chest the longer he thinks about that rose-lit night in the jade forests of the Lantern Light Wood.

It's been a long time since anyone believed Kvasir Sigurros to be worth saving.

He swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

Yes. A shirt is... certainly the least he can do, in response. It's all just a matter of finding the right one.

He sifts through the varied blouses, skipping over anything in the wrong shades. The... the shirt Morrigan had been wearing that night had been... it had been white, he thinks. Something pale, something stark against their lilac skin, something that made the pink powder and glitter from their shattered flask so much easier to see. Yes-- it had to have been white, so this will have to be as well. He hums to himself as he keeps looking, finally pausing as soon as his eye lands on one particular shirt-- a poet blouse, that same alabaster, silken fabric, with loose strings to tie it at the front and flowing sleeves, with spirals of embroidered flowers winding up the arms. Blue hyacinths wound through purple hydrangeas, with irises dotted beside them...

Kvasir spares a glance over to Morrigan, who is currently chatting with an elderly woman. Their jacket probably would cover the flowers more often than not, but... Oh, what the hell, it's too pretty to not buy, and it would bring out their eyes just fine. He hardly gives the price tag a second look before he goes to buy it, the purchase made quickly, already on his way back to hand it to Morrigan when they speed over to him first, something hidden carefully in their hand as they indicate for him to lean down.

Well, he may as well humor them.

As soon as he does, there's the gentle ghost of silver-ringed fingers against his neck, brushing gently against his skin for a few seconds before metal settles there instead-- Kvasir blinks curiously before glancing down to find a pendant sitting at the heart of a long chain, a golden, gem-encrusted rose settling at his chest. And then there's those sweet words and that wink and he knows that Morrigan has the winning hand again, all the cards on the table as Kvasir's face burns a steady scarlet.

"...O-Oh," he squeaks. "You-- You didn't have to... It's lovely, Morrigan Moonweaver, I... thank you. It really is lovely-- a-are you... sure...?" He falters for a moment before a smile settles on his face where doubt once rooted, warmth brightening his features. "...heh... I.. got you something as well."

He can't hold eye contact as he presses the carefully packaged blouse into their arms, face burning like a candle all the while.

It seemed that the tables in this little game of seeing who could tease who had turned in Morrigan’s favor. They savored the awestruck expression on Kvasir’s face as it turned bright scarlet, as red as the rose now adorned on his neck. At least now Morrigan felt they had some semblance of dignity in this encounter- Kvasir could purr and tease all he wanted, but Morrigan would show him which one of them was meant to be the suave, effortless, charismatic enchanter of the stars.

And if that came at the price of showering Kvasir in gifts, Morrigan supposed they didn’t mind. They adored collecting money from others not to horde it, but to spend it on things that mattered. Why spending so much of that on Kvasir Sigurros, medic supreme and beloved healer of Solaria, mattered to Morrigan, they decided not to think about. They were just taking the opportunity to ensure that Kvasir would remain by their side, that he would continue to look at Morrigan with that same awestruck expression on his face.

Yes, that was it.

“Of course I’m certain.” Morrigan waved a dismissive hand. “Think of it as thanks for your company today…” They trailed off as Kvasir handed them a small package that looked like it housed cloth- given where they were, Morrigan assumed it could only be one thing.

Had… Kvasir gotten them something?

“Oh, you didn’t have to, friend.” Morrigan insisted, unsure of what to make of the offering. Curious, they opened up the package and unfurled the lily-white blouse, eyes widening as they saw what lay inside.

It was like the shirt Morrigan lost back in the Lantern Light Woods. No, better- this one was decorated in embroidered flowers with careful stitching, all the way up and down the sleeves. It was obviously high quality, and Morrigan was utterly enchanted by it.

“Oh, my.” They murmured, oddly touched that Kvasir had actually wanted to buy Morrigan something to replace the shirt they’d lost over something that hadn’t even been Kvasir’s own fault. “This is lovely. I adore these flowers.” Hyacinths, hydrangeas, and irises. Morrigan was not versed in the language of the flowers besides what they yielded in plants, but they wondered if these three together meant anything. Perhaps after this meeting, they would dig through the books in their wagon until they found out what these meant.

They clutched the shirt to their chest, tail waving with a bit more excitement than usual behind them. “You truly did not have to either, friend. And yet, I will cherish it all the same.” They said before immediately rushing back into the shop. “I simply must try this on- give me a moment.” The ladies in the store gave Morrigan strange looks as they dashed for the curtain-covered changing rooms in the back, but Morrigan didn't care- they had the idea in their mind to wear it now, and so they would. A few moments later, they returned wearing the new shirt, with their jacket slung over their shoulders and held in place with a silver clasp to show off the flowers along the sleeves.

They beamed at Kvasir as they returned to him before grabbing him once more. “There, that’s much better. The shirt suits me well- you have a keen eye for fashion.” They already knew as much, of course. Kvasir Sigurros wore fine things well, adorned in flowers like he’d just stepped out of a garden, and an immaculately painted face with steady, elegant lines.

Speaking of…

“You mentioned pigments, yes? I believe that shall be our next stop.” There was a store around here that had everything Kvasir might need and more. If Morrigan didn't synthesize their own facepaint with alchemical glitter, they would buy from there as well. Yes, Kvasir would find much enjoyment in the next store on their shopping spree.

It is true that Morrigan Moonweaver may be the enchanter between them, the one who's capable of pretty words and adulation and effortless gestures that flow as smooth as water and quips that meld with them as easy as any current, but even as Kvasir stands there, ghosts of crimson staining his cheeks as his fingertips smooth over the detailing of the rose pendant he's been given, a surge of pride blossoms through his embarrassment at the way a little bit of joy seems to settle into those clear blue eyes of Morrigan's as they open the package. Oh, yes, Morrigan may hold the winning hand, but just for a minute, this isn't a game of banter-- it's a blissful opportunity to just see them smile.

Kvasir's tail swishes lazily behind him, a testament to his own satisfaction over how pleased Morrigan seems to be with the gift, ears perked up with joy. He can't help it; however he runs across the nations, keeping his encounters with others scarce, as fleeting and elusive as the fox spirits he descends from, there's that part of him that still loves the joy that floods over him at the chance to make another person smile. It isn't often he gets to do such a thing outside of work these days, so seeing even just a flicker of joy bleed through that easy charm in Morrigan's eyes...

Well, it's lovely to know he's capable of bringing them even just that little bit of happiness, really. Whatever is between them, these seeds of what may very well be a friendship, is still new and strange to navigate, however quickly they'd started to get along in the Lantern Light Wood. Kvasir really wasn't certain if this gift would appeal to them at all, if flowers dyed in the latter half of the rainbow would appeal to them the same way they appeal to him.

A surge of joy flutters through him at the knowledge that such worries were ill-founded.

"I'm simply delighted you like it so much, Morrigan Moonweaver," he says softly, happily, tail still swishing back and forth in that easy, slow movement. "I... Wait, you want to try it on now?"

He watches in surprise as Morrigan chases that whim, immediately slipping off to the back to dive behind the curtains of one of the changing rooms, caring little for the tired glances of the ladies within the store. Kvasir merely stands there awkwardly, unsure of what to say or to do, but the feelings of uncertainty vanish as soon as Morrigan steps back out into the open with a flourish, their jacket draped over their shoulders like a cape, the blouse and its embroidered garden on full display.

They look every bit the part of a capable wizard, standing confidently, as though they're taller than they actually are, adorned in mystic shades of blue and purple and donning that sparkling jacket like a cape. Something about the sight of them this way sends that same surge of delight through Kvasir's ribs, a smile immediately quirking up the corners of his lips.

"...you look lovely," he says, voice soft with meaning, genuineness warm in his tone. "Those colors really do bring out your eyes... ah, well, I'm... I have a taste for fine things. You could say it's why I enjoy your company so much."

He muffles a giggle behind his hand, but he's really laughing at himself, at his effort to cover up his own awkwardness with an attempt at one of those flirtatious comments he'd managed with much more ease when they were still just strangers. Still, he does not protest as he's dragged forward, excited to see whatever store Morrigan has to show him next-- Gods, he really does need to find a few more containers of eyeliner, maybe a new small supply of kohl. It's difficult to find anything of Zeinavian quality anywhere else in Charon, after all.

"Onwards and forwards then, friend."

It was, perhaps, more of an ego boost than Kvasir had intended for Morrigan to hear his compliment. They preened, flipping their hair over their shoulder with a lazy smile on their face. “Well, you do have a taste for fine things, which is why I rather like keeping you around. I do not enjoy the company of just any old fox I meet in the forest.”

That elegance and refinement, the way Kvasir portrayed himself, was partially what had interested Morrigan to him in the first place. He didn’t just look good- he made himself look good, with flowerbuds and braids and pigments the same way Morrigan used ink and bright colors. And Morrigan knew better than anyone what it meant to cover one’s appearance with bright and shiny things to hide ugliness underneath.

But what flavor were Kvasir Sigurros’s secrets?

They were likely nothing like Morrigan’s own, the charlatan knew that much. Liars recognized liars, and Kvasir Sigurros was clearly not of the criminal variety. He believed Morrigan’s sparkles and flashes of whimsy wholeheartedly, had fully embraced the titles that Morrigan piled onto themselves in an attempt to appear larger than life. But he was definitely hiding something, concealed thorns behind the flowers he wore in his face and hair. The rose Morrigan picked hadn’t just been to symbolize his beauty, after all. Morrigan was intrigued by those secrets, wanted to learn more. There was a story contained between those pages of medical textbooks and whatever other thoughts Kvasir kept tucked away in that pretty head of his. And Morrigan wanted nothing more than to unleash that story, and covet it for themselves.

Dangerous thoughts for the charlatan to have- Morrigan was not aware of what it meant trying to fly closer to that gentle, warm sun. You either plummeted to the ground, or you were caught up in its orbit.

They tucked those thoughts away. Morrigan Moonweaver was, at their core, a rather selfish creature. It had not occurred to them that getting close to another person meant knowing them implicitly, meant holding those soft, fragile parts of them that they’d entrusted to them in their own hands. Or that they might one day unleash something Kvasir desperately tried to keep hidden, up on snowy mountaintops where they would hold a knife in their hands, directed at the very man in front of them, and be forced to make a choice. And that for the first time in their life, Morrigan would choose someone other than themselves.

In chemist’s terms, this meeting- and all the ones that would come after it- was only the catalyst to start the reaction brewing inside Morrigan, one that progressed further and further each time they met Kvasir Sigurros. And even now, watching him giggle at his own joke, embarrassed by his own such attempts at smooth talking, Morrigan could vaguely feel that reaction stirring.

“We shall set off together, then!” Morrigan exclaimed, grabbing Kvasir’s hand once more, leading him off towards their next destination with renewed vigor, jacket fluttering behind them in the warm Zeinavian breeze and mirth in their laughter as they slowly inched closer to that sun, and slipped a little further downwards.