The bustling sounds of the Zeinav High Market were a familiar comfort to Morrigan Moonweaver, who’d spent many years amongst its streets. They’d made plenty of memories amongst these shifting stalls, from making sales to enjoying every pleasure the night life had to offer. They’d even gotten themselves entangled in their fair share of crimes, anything from illicit back-alley deals to smuggling, and practically any scam you could think of. This was their bread and butter, their home turf. Morrigan was never more at ease than when they were doing business in Zeinav’s streets.

… This present moment, however, was a different story entirely.

It had been some time since Morrigan and Kvasir Sigurros parted ways in Frostgale and hesitantly went about their own business with the promise of reuniting once Kvasir was done making his rounds around the country. Morrigan had been through their own troubles in the Ash Lands before returning to Zeinav and settling down for the season. The charlatan, who was still uncertain how to handle everything that had happened in the past few months, needed the familiarity of a scheme, the sweet victory of charming innocent fools out of their coin and reveling in the success of the con. And so, upon their return, they’d taken to their old ways with gusto, digging themselves deeper and deeper into their current project like nothing had happened.

They’d even managed to get a bit of a sales-chain going, one that involved peddling out snake oil to the good people of Zeinav, all of whom believed they were currently involved in the entrepreneurial experience of a lifetime. They would buy the sham potions at exorbitant prices and sell them to others under the belief that they would be making profits out of the deal. Those suckers would then be roped in to shilling Morrigan’s product, who would in turn rope in other potential customers… it was a delicate plot to manage, one that required a fine balance of subtlety and tact, but there was no master better suited for the task than the Wizard of the Wastes- enchanter, diviner, storyteller, hack, and most importantly, newest member of the Golden Consortium.

Morrigan’s potions were practically selling themselves, and they barely had to do so much as lift a finger, aside from delivering a couple of crates and a cut of the profits to their current contact.

In fact, they had been on their way to one of these meetings right now… if it weren’t for the fact that Kvasir Sigurros had dropped in for a surprise visit.

Not that Morrigan minded his company- really, there were few precious people in this realm that Morrigan could unconditionally stand to be around, and the medic was at the top of that list. Considering that this was also their first meeting since what happened in Bleakfort, Morrigan was determined not to scare Kvasir away, to cause him to run like he had in the north. They were going to have a lovely outing, and there would be none of that unpleasant Kasra business, or any sadness. Mark Morrigan’s words, they would make sure Kvasir enjoyed himself today.

… But they also really needed to drop this shipment off.

So that was how Morrigan found themselves in this current predicament. Their meeting with the contact was supposed to happen only a couple of minutes from now in an alleyway not too far from where Morrigan and Kvasir were currently situated at a table in an outdoor restaurant. The crate for delivery was by their feet, and they were currently looking for any way to make a quick, small getaway to this alley and deliver the goods to the fence. All they needed was an opportunity to get up without sounding weird.

But the clock was slowly ticking down, and their contact did not like to be kept waiting.

Morrigan tapped their feet against the stone, a pleasant smile plastered on their face as they sipped at their drink. They could pull this off, easy. The shipment would be delivered, the contact would be happy, and Kvasir didn’t have to know anything about it. They hadn’t gotten so successful at their craft for nothing- this kind of ploy was child’s play for someone who had made their fortune out of lies and dirty money. Perhaps any sane person would have called off the meeting and made the drop another time, but Morrigan was, as always, full of the unwarranted confidence of someone who wanted to have their cake and eat it too.

An opening. All they needed was an opening and they could make it to where Fish was waiting for them.

“So,” They began casually, still wearing an utterly pleasant- an observer might even call it stupidly lovestruck- expression on their face, “Tell me about your travels. How have things been since we last saw one another?”

For their part, Fish was actually one of the more patient fences one could find in Zeinav. They didn’t have many hobbies or obligations outside working through their criminal network, so rarely were there time sensitive engagements for them to keep up with. The kenku did like keeping to the rooftops though. Traveling the markets was much faster when they weren’t having to dive in between people and carts.

It did mean there were fewer chances for pickpocketing strangers, but they didn’t rely so heavily on that to support themselves these days though it has been years since Fish actually paid for a meal. Can you believe some people just leave pies and other foods on their windowsill? It’s liable to get stolen and often does. This particular day Fish was picking at some fresh new bakery item called a pretzel. Strange shape, but nice and salty.

Fish pitter patters along the roof top until a familiar voice catches their attention. There’s the tiefling! Fish the sneak was not necessarily looking for them, but this was one of those days where Fish did need to be prompt. Fencing goods from Morrigan was always about speed over price. They both new the product was cut rate even for cheap snake oil so it was essentially all profit, but it wasn’t something you haggled over. This was a product meant to be moved not discussed.

They tilt their head curiously at the other person as well. New mark? They looked well dressed enough that it would make sense if Morrigan wanted to fleece them. Or at the very least Fish might get a nifty bauble from their pocket. Fish quietly descends the rooftop and ducks into an alleyway.

At some point, Morrigan isnt quite sure when it happens, but the tiefling will feel a little crow feather in their pocket. The tell tale sign that Fish has found them. While this may put pressure on the tiefling to speed things up, the kenku sits idly on a box kicking their feet and waiting.

Sharing memories with a deity surprisingly tends to tell you very little about them.

There's something sickly comedic about it, really; the whole ordeal is a nightmare, having your very mind and existence steadily unraveled by the intrusive presence of another entity, one that wishes to cut away the thread and fabric that holds you together and replace it with older patches, reduce you to merely a template and thread holding the restored pieces of a forgotten quilt together. Even so, for all the places they pluck at the strings of your memory, their own seeping in to fill the empty spaces, there's rarely ever much to glean-- rarely much they'll let you be privy to, even if there's shining fragments left visible between the crevices of those carefully-kept walls. It's unsurprising for deities, those who think themselves above mere fragile mortals, those who are content to peruse and destroy but allow none to seek in turn.

Still, there are some things you don't need to sift through shattered memories to figure out, and if there is one thing Kvasir Sigurros has deduced quite easily about the Archivist King who so eagerly calls him his vessel, it's that he is awfully fond of burning bridges-- as many as possible, as quickly as possible, with all the tinder and embers it takes.

It's been a fair bit of time since that... fateful encounter in the howling wind and relentless storm of the World Crown, where unlovable hands spilled beloved blood, where monsters prowled in human skin and not, where both Kvasir and Morrigan Moonweaver somehow got out of an impossible situation alive. Surviving didn't feel real. Everything that came after didn't feel real-- not opening the window, not the peaceful night that somehow followed, not the calm that settled over Bleakfort before the two would have to part ways once again. Even the months afterward hardly feel real, in hindsight; the fragmented days once again have been... lesser, only a few smaller memories slipping through the cracks, routine falling right back into place as it should.

Considering what happened last time, this brings Kvasir more concern than comfort, but... he had best hold onto hope while it dangles within his reach, a tiny star pressed into his palms.

On the topic of hope and stardust, in the midst of settling into the apothecary he's been setting up in the Oasis, Kvasir had... been unable to stifle that quiet yearning that had bubbled up while traveling out to Zeinav City in search of a few trinkets for the house, something that might make it feel a little less empty, something that might make Nyr feel a little more at home, even. Some books, some nicer furnishings... anything, really. But in the midst of searching through market stalls, nostalgia for his last trip through the High Market flooded over him like the tide over sand, and...

Well, here he is, nestled in a chair at a table at a restaurant in Zeinav City, across from his dearly missed enchanter, diviner, and heart attack supreme, unable to resist paying them a visit despite the heartache it stirs up. And so far, absolutely nothing has gone wrong. There's been no intrusive thoughts, no collapsing, none of the telltale signs of a divine murderer's intentions bleeding into his daily life, and as long as that holds true, he will let himself enjoy this.

As soon as Morrigan opens up the conversation, Kvasir hums quietly, contemplatively, as he tends to do, taking a sip of the chilled orange-spiced tea he's elected to take for now-- it's good, and brings to mind fonder memories of more humorous banter in the Ash Lands.

"Well, it's been... quite a bit of journeying," he begins, idly sweeping a fingertip over the peel of the orange slice caught on the rim of his glass. "I was back in the Moonglade for a bit-- took a journey down to the Crescent Isles, even--, and... I... well... did I tell you about the purchase I made, about a month or so back...? I don't believe I got to mention it in my last letter."

“A purchase?” Morrigan truly did try their best to pay attention to Kvasir’s words- really, they did. Kvasir described where his travels had taken, most of which Morrigan was already privy to given their frequent correspondence, the letters that had flowed frequently between them as if Kvasir believed tucking their friendship behind the shield of pen and paper would protect Morrigan from further harm. It was as endlessly frustrating as it was endearing. And yet, as Kvasir spoke, Morrigan found their eyes wandering, drifting off into the crowd for the telltale sign of black feathers from an impatient bird. “I don’t remember you mentioning anything of the sort in your last letter. What did you buy?”

It was as they listened to Kvasir’s reply that Morrigan felt something strange in their pocket, a weight that hadn’t been there moments ago. They reached their hand in, wrapping around something soft and light. A feather.

Damnit.

The feather meant Fish had found them, and that they were waiting for Morrigan to arrive at the meeting spot. Normally, the fence wasn’t too difficult to deal with, being one of the more prompt contacts Morrigan handled. They only cared about getting business done and didn’t deal much with bullshit, which meant that Morrigan could trust them to get the job done. On the other hand, they knew firsthand what it meant to leave the little shit waiting for too long, and it involved a lot of knives.

And take it from Morrigan- getting stabbed by a Kenku child barely a third of Morrigan’s own age was not fun.

They needed to find some way out of here, if only for a second. They just needed to make the drop and come back a crate of supplies emptier and a coin pouch richer. In and out- easy. All they needed was a distraction…

An idea occurred to them.

While Kvasir spoke, Morrigan reached into their satchel, where the bag of wonders was tucked. This was equally as possible to end in failure as it was success, with a chance it would do nothing at all. But Morrigan was nothing if not a risk-taker. Under the table, where Kvasir could not see, Morrigan pulled something out at random. The bag had granted them a miracle and saved their life in Frostgale- now Morrigan could only hope that it would help them again, even if their wish was considerably more duplicitous in nature this time around.^[1]

---

1. Jolly Bag of Tricks (1/2)
4hVr|eAz

Fish kept an eye to the sky, watching the passage of clouds and keeping mental track of the time Morrigan was one of the few contacts Fish was willing to be lenient with as they had done enough deals to earn the birds trust for now, but Fish would still like to keep things moving. They weren’t particularly enthused about having to stab the tiefling again unless necessary.

They spend their time waiting throwing their knives into a box across the alley, hoping down, collecting the knives, and resetting. They do have other business to handle so the tiefling may be running their luck out if they aren’t careful.

It is... rare to see Morrigan Moonweaver quite this distracted.

Sure, it isn't difficult for pretty things to seize their attention out in the High Market when it's just the two of them looking through random trinkets and patterned fabrics, or for particularly fascinating flowers to catch their eyes when they're out foraging, but, in Kvasir's experience, it is uncommon for their attention to flit about in the midst of conversation. But in this moment, there's an anxious quality to the way that pale blue gaze keeps drifting, lingering on random figures in the crowd beyond the restaurant, and Kvasir... cannot help but worry.

He pauses, taking another sip of his tea as he surveys Morrigan's expression, searching for any sign of sorrow, any source of any potential distraction-- the citrus hangs sour on his tongue as he glances over the tension in their jaw, the very subtle signs of impatience etched into their features. There is no indicator of what could be wrong, even so; part of Morrigan's mystique comes from how well they can package away those little details, tuck clues away like they're a ball beneath a cup in a street magician's act. Even so, indicator or no indicator, something keeps seizing their attention away, and Kvasir has absolutely no idea what it could be.

...Maybe he shouldn't have dropped by. Maybe he really is just... intruding.

His ears droop a bit at the thought, but he quietly sighs, his voice just ever-so-slightly strained as he speaks. "Ah, um... I bought the deed to a place down in the Oasis. I... live in Zeinav again." Kvasir manages a fragile smile, one he can only hope buries the unease festering behind it like relics in the sand. "It's an apothecary. I'm taking an apprentice and everything-- y-you could visit, if you ever wanted to, but there's never any pressure, my dear enchanter. I wouldn't wish to get in the way."

Kvasir pauses again, for a longer moment this time, watching Morrigan in silence, concern still darkening that green eye, that little ring of gold burning with worry.

"...Morrigan Moonweaver, are you quite alright? Are you sure this wasn't a bad time?"

“An apothecary? An apprentice?” Despite the fact that Morrigan had been somewhat distracted during the conversation, Kvasir fully held their attention now. Their grip tightened momentarily around the feather in their pocket, not out of anger, but out of pride. Kvasir had gone for so long without planting roots, moving from place to place, which Morrigan now knew came from the fear of losing those foundations to the unwelcome god in his mind. It was easier not to allow yourself anything than to have it and lose it, without being able to remember what you’d lost in the first place. Morrigan could recall stories told by Kvasir, of memories that had faded, not due to time but from Kasra’s memories, and it was all too easy to recall the troubled furrow in his brow and the frustration that laced his voice once those memories could not come as easily as they once had.

But now he was not only opening a practice, but taking on an apprentice and settling down in one place! That was progress.

A small, ugly voice in the back of Morrigan’s head whispered, interesting how he will so easily let others in but keep you at arm’s distance. Does he really think you alone can’t handle Kasra? Does he believe you to be that weak?

They pushed those thoughts aside with another long swig of their tea. Kvasir was here, and Morrigan had already informed him that they weren’t going anywhere. That much still held true, regardless of whether Kvasir tried to push them away. The unspoken promise had already been written in the piles of parchment back in Morrigan’s wagon detailing all the memories Kvasir had already shared with them, and the stories that had been inscribed in delicate handwriting. It was… different, learning to put another’s needs and feelings before your own, a sensation Morrigan hadn’t experienced before.

They clapped their hands together excitedly, throwing a handful of pocket glitter into the air. “Well, of course I’m coming over! Did you think I wouldn’t want to see what you’ve built? This is an accomplishment, my dear medic, and this must be celebrated. You’ll have a hard time removing me from the property, friend. Oh, I’ll even throw a housewarming celebration in your honor! And you must tell me more about this little apprentice of yours.” That part was spoken with a little less enthusiasm than they’d managed for the house, though Kvasir wouldn’t notice. It wasn’t that they weren’t happy for Kvasir’s new little protege, but they weren’t exactly used to sharing attention with someone else. Kvasir having a student to worry about meant he’d spend more time training them and less time entertaining Morrigan’s antics…

They were suddenly all too aware that their relationship was shifting, and Morrigan wasn’t sure how to handle it.

“Bad time?” Morrigan grimaced- apparently they hadn’t been as smooth at hiding their impatience as they thought. He must have seen their wandering eyes and come to the assumption that he was an imposition, which wasn’t the case in the slightest. It was at this moment, while they tried to search for the right words that would reassure Kvasir, that Morrigan pulled out something from their bag of wonders. Something small, and square, and surprisingly hefty…

A fruitcake.

Oh, what the hell.

It wasn’t at all the distraction that Morrigan had hoped for, but they would have to make do with what they were given. Thinking quickly on their feet, they cobbled together a half-baked plan on how to use this brick. It was, as almost all of Morrigan’s plans were, incredibly stupid and bound to end in complete failure. But they figured it was worth a go.

“Oh, Kvasir Sigurros, you could never visit me at a bad time. Your company has provided a ray of light on my otherwise dull and uneventful day. It’s just that I thought I saw a suspicious character lurking behind you not but a second ago…”

The distraction was an incredibly obvious one, but Kvasir, thankfully, was too enamored with Morrigan to deny them their idiocy, though not without his fair share of eye-rolling. “Oh, really? I wonder what it could be.” He made an incredibly exasperated motion as he slowly and pointedly turned around, taking his eyes completely off of Morrigan, only for a brief second.

A second was all Morrigan needed to lob the fruitcake at the back of the head of an unsuspecting passerby.

Screams suddenly erupted from the crowd as the poor victim collapsed to the ground, the piece of fruitcake laying innocuously next to his head. It was the perfect crime.

“Oh, gods, what the hell happened?”

“That cake just came out of nowhere!”

“Quick, we need a healer! Are there any healers in the crowd?”

“Kvasir Sigurros is a medic!” Morrigan cried, pointing to Kvasir, who had already turned back around in the confusion, an alarmed expression on his face. “He can help!”

Yes, Kvasir was too noble for his own good sometimes. He’d no doubt leap up to offer his own services, and in that confusion, Morrigan would be able to dash to the alley around the corner where Fish was waiting, drop off the goods, and immediately return to Kvasir’s side like they’d never even left. They waited for the moment his attention was on the injured man before grabbing the crate at their feet and dashing away with all the haste their legs could muster- a surprising amount given their short stature.

In a few seconds they reached the meeting point. Perhaps it was their haste, or their impatience to have this over with, but Morrigan didn’t think too hard about what they were saying as they snapped at the fence, “You’d better have a good reason for hurrying me up while I’m on a date. I’d like to return to it as soon as possible, so let’s speed this deal up, shall we?”

“Fish had set a time and place for the deal. Fish will not take umbrage from a client for their own distractions.” The hand signs came at a rapid pace, Morrigan might not catch all of it, but they can catch the gist that the bird does not appreciate their tone. Fish plucks a throwing knife from the box and tucks it back into their bandolier.

“If Morrigan wishes to expedite the deal, then Fish will need to see the goods. Fish can only move as quickly as Morrigan.” They turn to look up at the tiefling, their oddly cold black eyes waiting for the tieflings response.

There it is again-- that little flutter in Kvasir's ribs, that feeling of hummingbird wings against bone, his pulse going wild with the joy of hearing what may very well be pride in Morrigan's voice. Excitement sparkles in their eyes like sunlight against pale waters, luminous and beautiful, and the mere sight of their expression lighting up in that way for him-- because of him-- is enough to erase half of those signs of sorrow from Kvasir's face entirely, his eye alight, his ears perking back up as if nothing was ever wrong to begin with.

"You say it as if I'd want to remove you," he says, a soft laugh following the words as captured stardust rains down over them, some of it landing in his hair. His ears don't even twitch anymore at the all-too-familiar feeling of glitter landing against them like scattered ash or fallen snow-- it is just another natural part of an interaction with Morrigan, another part of their company he's come to anticipate, something his body will remember even if his mind cannot. "I... I would be happy to have you around. Always. It's a surprisingly big space. I'll make you some tea, or we could sit down for drinks, and... we could just have a nice evening together."

It's a nice thought, really; a sunset on the porch with Morrigan, arak or spiced orange liquor or some other kind of spirit in hand, a chance to just... talk and laugh the way they did when they first met beneath the beginning signs of starlight, beneath shades of lavender and pink and gold, as if nothing ever went wrong between them, as if a ghost does not linger in Kvasir's heart, breathe with his very lungs. It's the kind of dream he can let himself have for moments at a time, maybe, on those nights where he's certain he can keep everything together.

On those nights where he's confident that his hands and his mind and his body are his own, and that he can, perhaps, allow himself to savor the fleeting moments of Morrigan's attention he can allow.

He does his best to chase away those stray thoughts once again, casting the memories to the back of his mind as soon as Morrigan lavishes those usual sweet words upon him, all building into an... obvious distraction, of sorts. They are remarkably unsubtle, and Kvasir isn't entirely certain what they're trying to do-- Gods, they better not have bought him anything-- but he'll humor them. They may not realize it, but Morrigan Moonweaver has him wrapped around their silver-ringed finger.

What he expects is some odd surprise, perhaps some foolish thing Morrigan may attempt to lighten the mood.

What he does not expect is a scream.

Even though Morrigan has given no indication that he should, Kvasir is quick to swivel back around, eye wide as he turns to face the chaos unfolding before them; some poor man has collapsed out of nowhere, and the apparent source of his fresh blunt force trauma is... a fruitcake. A... fruitcake. Huh. It is certainly an oddity, but before he has a chance to ruminate over where the hell a fruitcake came from and why someone chose to use it as a weapon, Morrigan is already volunteering him to step in, and his feet move faster than his mind.

Kvasir kneels beside the collapsed man, giving the fruitcake a dubious look before placing a gentle palm against his forehead, weighing his options-- dear Solaria, was a fruitcake really enough to knock a man out? Was this going to warrant a major healing spell? What the fuck?

He sighs, letting his eye slide shut as always, sunlight and warmth spreading from his fingertips over the poor man's head, any of the damage left behind from the weaponized baked good slowly patching itself back up. [1] It takes a moment, but the stranger's eyelids twitch, tension festering between his brows as they slowly flutter open, disorientation swirling in his face as he glances around, so very clearly confused.

"What in Charon happened...?"

"Ah, well," Kvasir begins, weighing his options carefully. Gods, it has to be humiliating to take a fruitcake to the skull, and Solaria's blessings do very little for dignity. "...you took a bit of a nasty fall, friend. Nothing to worry about, I managed to heal you right up."

"...I... see. Thank you... um--"

"Really, don't mention it," he quickly says, managing a weak smile as he helps the man back to his feet, carefully appraising how he walks. Fortunately, he seems quite well put-together; a bit sluggish, perhaps, from the brief dance with unconsciousness, but nothing appears to be a lingering effect of blunt force trauma. "...I recommend taking it easy for the next hour; if you experience any unwarranted disorientation, confusion, or dizziness, merely... come looking for me around this area and I would be more than happy to do what I can for you. Just ask for Kvasir Sigurros."

The man merely nods, confused but grateful as he resumes his walk off to wherever he'd been going, and Kvasir darts back to the table as quickly as he can to avoid the gazes of any other people-- only to find Morrigan's side of it... empty.

...where had they gone?

Kvasir glances about, looking for any trace of them in the nearby clusters of people, near other tables, perhaps talking to some other friends he may not know about, but they're nowhere to be seen. He hums anxiously beneath his breath for a moment longer before slapping a few Solars down on the table-- just enough to cover their drinks, plus enough for a tip-- and darting off, glancing about the busy area around them with worry in his eyes.

"...Morrigan Moonweaver? Are you around here?"

---

[1] Major Healing

It was fortunate that Morrigan had become fluent in sign language in their youth, a skill picked up from the elders in the caravan they’d spent their childhood in. It may have seemed a useless skill for someone like Morrigan to know, considering they loved the sound of their own voice so much that they were incapable of shutting the hell up, but there had once been a child of that caravan, so unfortunate that they didn’t speak until the age of ten, and the elders had deemed such knowledge necessary for communication.

At the very least, though Morrigan hadn’t used that knowledge in decades, it made it easier for Morrigan to communicate easily with their contact, and better understand Fish’s usual insults, speaking with fluid motions as they implied Morrigan’s lateness was their own fault.

It most certainly was Morrigan’s own fault, not that they would ever admit to any wrongdoing on their own part, and if they pushed that particular line of conversation they’d probably end up with a knife to the knee as they had many times before.

Fish was a businessman through and through, and anything they said was spoken with the clinical, cold efficiency of someone who only wanted the money. Anything else was irrelevant, and time wasted meant money was wasted. Ironically, Fish was one of the easier fences to deal with in Zeinav, but even they had their limits. That was one of the things Morrigan appreciated about working with them… and made Morrigan want to throttle them with equal measure.

“This is an extenuating circumstance.” Morrigan hissed, setting their box of goods next to Fish. They would have petulantly dropped it to the ground if it weren’t for the fragile glass vials housing the wares. “Here you go. The highest quality fake potions you’ll ever lay your eyes on- you’ll never find anything as good as this anywhere in Zeinav, guaranteed to make your grandmother spend all the meager solars in her coin purse to get a piece of this miracle. Feel free to take a look.”

There was an undercurrent of impatience in their voice, eyes flitting back to the street as if they expected Kvasir to suddenly round the corner and find Morrigan here shilling this product. They should have had enough time, given that Kvasir was probably busy making sure that poor unfortunate victim of a fruitcake that just so randomly happened to fall from the sky at that exact moment was doing alright. Fish would easily be able to pick up on the fact that, for once, Morrigan was focused on something besides making money. That had never happened before.

“Do you remember where to take everything?” The question was redundant- of course Fish did. But even though the product was Morrigan’s usual scam, this particular venture was a new one. Getting customers to unknowingly scam one another- that was something Morrigan had never attempted before. “The payoff is going to be big, Fish. You and I are going to be part of something that no confidence man has ever attempted before. We’ll be rolling in money once this takes off!”

And Morrigan would hopefully be able to use a substantial amount of the money from this particular scheme to buy a housewarming gift, and plenty of liquor, for Kvasir’s housewarming party. It was only fair after committing incidental manslaughter and giving him the slip, they figured. And then all would be right with the world!

"Do YoU ReMeMbEr WhErE tO tAkE eVeRyThInG?" Fish repeats back in that inheriently mocking bird tone that any mimicry seems to inherently hold. The impatience and distraction is noted and filed away in the bird's brain as 'things entirely irrelevant to Fish's current endeavor.'



"Fish does not buy hyperbole and fancy words, Fish buys results." They peruse through the box quickly to just take a quick count of everything that was there. This was one of the quicker checks because neither of them were really worried about the quality of the product. The product's quality was almost an afterthought, it was all smoke and mirrors anyways.



"Fish will return with payment shortly." Of course, Fish never carried large amounts of gold with them. They are small and easily overpowered, doing so just seems to beg others to take advantage of the bird's size. The kenku clambors up a few boxes and starts to scale the building to retrieve the stash of solars. Every second Fish is gone likely agonizing the tiefling and their delicate balancing act of crime and passion.

The very last thing Kvasir had anticipated was for a simple, short-and-sweet outing to be cut off by chaos, but he supposes it's his fault for not expecting chaos to follow in his every footstep.

Even a serene day in the heart of a busy city isn't immune to strange happenings, it seems; a quiet wish for tea with a beloved friend is still a wish he'll have to fight for, in the end. There's something depressing about it, as foolish and simple as it is-- peace doesn't seem all that keen on finding his friendship, however hard he tries to earn it. He doesn't even really get why he's so upset over it; all that's happened is some passerby got injured, he did his job and fixed things, and now he can't find Morrigan and he's walking in the streets of the High Market alone, pale pink glitter still clinging to his hair and the fur of his ears.

He feels a bit pathetic, really. Maybe he's overreacting and Morrigan just got caught up in the chaos and had to step away or something to that effect, went looking for something from their wagon to help the situation, got caught up in the cloud of their own distraction of the day and happened to see something that caught their eye-- something simple, something explainable. Hell, maybe Kvasir's just gone and made this whole situation more awkward and confusing by running off and looking for them in a panic the second they disappear, and now they'll spend the rest of what was supposed to be a calm and easy day together chasing each other's tracks all across Zeinav City.

A heavy sigh spills from Kvasir's lips as he steps off the streets of the market, leaning back against a building, wrapping his arms around himself as if it'll keep him grounded in the moment, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he squeezes onto his own arm.

This sucks. This sucks.

Why does Morrigan bother humoring him anymore? They-- they know of the ruin that sleeps in Kvasir's brain and blood and bone, they know of the ruin they invite every time the two of them are in the same room together, they know he's scarcely been the same man since before they walked into the frozen depths and howling winds of the World Crown. And still, despite how feebly he reaches for fragments of hope to grab onto, he still can't pretend for a second that fear doesn't wash it all away once he takes a look at those all-too-kind blue eyes.

They keep chasing the sun with all the fervor of someone who doesn't fear incineration, and Kvasir's the fool who still won't hide the light despite knowing the danger. He should've just dropped by Zeinav City, gotten his work done, and left, and yet... he'd been unable to prevent himself from giving in and stopping by to visit anyway, only for Morrigan to light up and invite him out like it was any other day.

It doesn't make sense why they'd drop everything just to spend their day on him out of the blue.

At least the disappearing act is logical.

Kvasir sighs once more, ready to stalk off and continue his search or even just find somewhere he can indulge in sulking for a little while-- but that's when he hears the ghost of a voice, the words indiscernible, but the vibrancy in tone alone impossible to mistake for any other person's. He pauses, taking a few steps around the building, giving a tentative call out in case he's wrong, not wanting to turn the corner just yet.

"Morrigan Moonweaver...? Are you around here?"

Morrigan huffed and crossed their arms, every bit the petulant child as Fish scampered off in search of the money they’d stowed away somewhere. “Do YoU ReMeMbEr WhErE tO tAkE eVeRyThInG?” They said in a tone mocking Fish’s already mocking tone, desperate to be the one to get the last word in. They tapped their foot against the ground impatiently while the fence disappeared from sight, every second they waited stretching into eternity. Honestly, if they were dealing with anyone else Morrigan would have said they were taking their sweet time just to make Morrigan suffer.

That was when they heard the faint call of a familiar voice getting closer, the alarm signaling that Morrigan’s time was up. “Morrigan Moonweaver...? Are you around here?”

Shit! Morrigan searched around, looking for some place to hide, or at the very least, explain what they were doing in this random dingy alley with no explanation. Kvasir was familiar with Morrigan’s flights of fancy, and their tendency to chase after anything pretty that caught their eye. But there were no pretty baubles or pieces of jewelry to justifiably claim had distracted them this time, no shops around to duck into. And Kvasir was rapidly approaching, about to round the corner by the sound of things. Morrigan only had seconds to figure out a game plan and execute it.

And so, with the quick thinking expected of the sharp mind that had once outwitted Kasra, Morrigan did the only thing they could think to do in a situation like this.

They decided to act natural.

Morrigan threw themselves to the dirty, sandy ground with the practiced ease of someone who’d done this drop of death, so to speak, hundreds of times before. They positioned themselves on their side with one leg lying straight, and the other bent, and their head propped in their hand. They grinned when Kvasir Sigurros finally rounded the corner, as if this were a completely normal pose for someone to strike on a back-alley floor in the middle of the day.

Kvasir stopped walking.

Morrigan fluttered their eyelashes at him.

Kvasir opened his mouth, bewildered, but no words came out.

“Kvasir Sigurros, hello.” Morrigan cleared their throat. “I seem to have found my coin purse swiped by the fast hands of a dastardly little thief while you were taking care of that unfortunate injured man. I followed him here, desperate to retrieve my money, but the little bugger seems to have given me the slip, and so that’s why I’m here. On the ground. Looking for the little shit’s hiding place.”

They flashed Kvasir a charming, sleazy smile, as if saying, yes, this all makes complete sense.

Now would probably be a good time for Kvasir to stop and reevaluate his choice in life partners.

If Fish did not have the slightest bit of affinity for the tiefling. Kvasir would have been walking into a murder scene then….whatever that display was. While Morrigan and Fish were very different personality wise, Fish appreciated that Morrigan only ever treated them as an equal and not as a child.

Fish was not taking their time for once, but they did hide things very well so undoing the series of traps and red herrings took time. Time enough for Morrigan to prostrate himself across the floor in such a dramatic fashion. The wrinkle in the current plan was that Fish was not made aware that they are not to be seen and this new comer isn’t supposed to see them.

The kenku rappels down the building, stopping half way just behind the fox man. They can see the panicked look that Morrigan gives Fish, this newcomer must have witnessed the illicit deal and is now a threat to Fish’s business. Silently the kenku draws a knife, other hand untying the rope securing them. Once freed Fish launches off the wall, a beautiful and perfect arc as they are seemingly mid-assassination attempt on Kvasir.

There are a thousand different feelings that color all of Kvasir Sigurros's interactions with Morrigan Moonweaver.

Inevitably, fondness is always at the forefront, tricky as an ancient root, buried beneath every other flower in the garden until it's a part of them as well-- no matter how exasperating or foolish or Gods-know-what-else they can be, it's all colored in little pastel shades of love, as vivid as the glitter Morrigan is so prone to throwing around in moments of joy. There is always gratitude for their company, joy for their presence, silvery as the rings that glint against their fingers-- furthermore, there is always exasperation, red as a summer rose, glaring and obvious and prickly with its thorns, but never something he'd ever consider uprooting the whole garden just to be rid of.

And then, usually, there is disbelief, in all its strange and murky dark shades, like nightshade and hellebore and oleander, stark and obvious against the backdrop of softer, prettier, paler little flowers, and oh, is that one awfully prominent right now.

As Kvasir steps foot into the alleyway and takes one look at the scene before him, the worry flees from his face, immediately shifting into what can only be described as exhaustion. A shadow of disbelief darkens that one green eye, though a flicker of relief burns like a dim little candle somewhere within it, and he just folds his arms, letting out a long heavy sigh as his gaze roves over Morrigan Moonweaver, draped over the ground at the alleyway's heart like this is some fancy inn and not a dust-laden cavity between buildings, like they're adorned with rose petals instead of sand.

They are truly, utterly, absolutely exhausting, but then they flash Kvasir that winning smile, and all he can do is lament the fact that he is a fool who can't help but fall for fools.

Namely, one fool, with eyes like a glacier and a smile like starlight.

Damned poetics.

"...I see," he sighs, lifting a hand to his temple once again, his look of disbelief etched prominently across his features. "So your first instinct is to... drape yourself over the ground like this. I see. Yes, Morrigan Moonweaver, my darling enchanter, you'll catch a thousand thieves this way."

Kvasir shoots Morrigan a dry look, one loaded with a thousand questions he's not sure if he should ask.

"...I am... glad you are alright, at least," he begins, maybe just a little sheepishly. "I was worried. Do you, ah... need help finding where this thief of yours has gone?"