When Astrid entered the Lantern Light Wood, she didn't expect to make a new friend and run into someone she'd briefly met in passing. Kvasir the foxfellow is certainly a nice person. His demeanor really can make a stressful situation less so, especially when being attacked by magic-blocking bugs. Things turned out well enough in the end, but even still...

...She did not expect was to be carrying his battered, exhausted self home.

Sure, she didn't actually carry him the whole way from the Wood to the Oasis, but she may as well have. The beating he received from the bugs took a heavy toll on him, so, seeing that he struggled to walk in a straight line and since he offered to teach her a bit about potion-making, Astrid decided it's probably better for her to help him home. It all worked out anyway since Zeinav is on the way home for her. 

After days of journeying, the two of them arrive at the two-story building that is the Desert Rose Apothecary. Astrid looks the building up and down, decides that it's kind of cute, then helps Kvasir to the door that leads upstairs to the apartment. As the door closes, Astrid hears shuffling up above along with some upbeat humming and wonders if Kvasir's "roommate," as he insists calling them, is home. Maybe she'll get to meet them! Seeing that Kvasir's still exhausted, Astrid grabs his arm, pulls him over her tiny shoulders, and fireman carries the foxman to the top. It's not flattering, but she's not here for appearances, she's here to be practical. 

Cresting the top of the stairs, Astrid's eyes get her first glance at the apartment and immediately land on a sexily sprawled-out purple tiefling.

"Uh... hi?"

While Morrigan did not technically live in the home above the Desert Rose Apothecary, it was only a matter of time before Kvasir caved and decided to give them a room, they were sure of it. Even if Kvasir had not invited them to live here yet- even though that apprentice Morrigan had still yet to meet had been given a room- Morrigan had a special talent for burrowing into the lives of others and making their presence known to the point that most might consider unbearable. From Kvasir’s insistence on putting a special lock on the door of the liquor cabinet to the sheer amount of glitter Morrigan had managed to get everywhere that no one had been able to fully clean off, they’d already made themselves quite comfortable in a home that they didn’t even live in.

It was lucky Kvasir liked them so much, because any other rational person with half a mind would have kicked them out already.

For the past few weeks, though, the Apothecary had been mostly closed in Kvasir’s absence while the medic took care of some business back down in Moonglade. Morrigan was capable enough of taking care of some of the business in his absence, but the house had been dreadfully quiet, and mind-numbingly boring. Being alone in such a big, empty space made Morrigan feel like a put-out housecat that was a second from scratching at the curtains just for a speck of entertainment.

So the afternoon they heard the door opening downstairs, and the flurry of activity downstairs that meant Kvasir was home, they couldn’t help but jump at the opportunity to have a little fun.

All it had taken was a little flourish of rose petals from a special bag concealed in their jacket sleeve and a hasty retreat to grab and light a couple of candles, humming all the way- in a few seconds, the hallway at the top of the stairs had been completely transformed into a completely different place, dripping with romantic ambiance- exactly the kind of thing that would make Kvasir die of embarrassment. The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, perhaps a bit clunkier than usual, told them that they were out of time to set things up.

They immediately threw themselves to the ground, one leg propped up at an angle over the other, cheek resting delicately in their chin- with a flourish of their free hand they produced a whole rose seemingly out of nowhere, placing it in their mouth. Right as Kvasir made his way up the stairs, Morrigan flashed him a smarmy grin full of pearly-white fangs, delicately shrugging their shoulder so just enough skin was showing to be considered salacious, and called out, “Welcome home, my Desert Ro-”

Only the person that fully ascended the stairs was not Kvasir.

Oh, Ginma’s fuzzy horse ass, that was a child.

The rose immediately dropped out of Morrigan’s mouth as they scrambled to pick themselves up, tail nearly knocking over one of the candles they’d placed down. With one hand they scrambled to pull up their shirt once more and failing, eventually just deciding to clutch the lapels of their jacket over their chest like a delicate maiden who’d been interrupted while changing. “Oh, gods! Oh, gods. This isn’t what it looks like, I swear. I didn’t break in here, I’m watching this place for a friend. Kvasir Sigurros- he’s…”

That was when they caught sight of the familiar figure slung over the girl’s shoulder, and suddenly understood less of what was going on.

“Is that him?” They demanded, immediately getting closer as if to take him from her arms, but forgetting the fact that they had approximately the strength of a dormouse and decided it was probably better to just let this kid, whoever the hell she was, hold him. “What happened? How did he get like this? And who are you?”

Travel is, and likely always would be, one of those little things in life that Kvasir Sigurros could never truly see himself living without.

Wanderlust worked its way into his mind when he was young, when he trailed along after his father on simpler ventures to forage plants and fungi and other such important components from various parts of the Moonglade and neighboring Marsh Flats; the specifics are lost on him, now, any minutiae long-buried in the sand, but he has faint shards of memory of silently trailing along behind an older man with ink-dark hair and the same kind of fox ears as his own, his hand strong and steady as Kvasir held onto it with his own, following him through tall grasses and beside rivers and beneath trees that burst to life in a flurry of pink petals. He had been young, impossibly so, but he had grown to love the grandness of the world beyond their cottage so quickly, that spirit carrying him forward to this day.

He has wandered to every corner of Charon, now, back and forth, seen the cliffs of the Arid Mesa, the screech of thunder in Dragon's Cradle, the bitterness of the Frost-- ...well. He has seen so much of the world that it is no longer strange to him; in fact, the key strangeness comes in having someplace to go home to.

By Solaria's star-speckled skirt, though, he's never been happier to have someplace to rest after the kind of venture he just got out of.

The Lantern Light Wood is a place Kvasir is quite familiar with; he thinks he might have grown up there, but he cannot be sure. It is impossible to be sure now that the memories have slipped between his fingers, lost somewhere in the sand, specifics indistinguishable in the hazy fragments of what memory he has been allowed to keep. He has been there countless times for countless different things, to varying results; sometimes his ventures are peaceful and smooth and he leaves with a handful of plants, and sometimes he leaves in the wake of deep chaos. This was one of those particular ventures.

Getting mauled by insects, having his magic neutralized by insects, and having to be defended by said insects by a twelve-year-old girl and a plant child is, in some ways, a bit of a humiliating experience, but Kvasir can hardly act as though he is ungrateful. Especially considering that aforementioned twelve-year-old-- Astrid Stormstone-- had so kindly elected to help him get home. Though she'd managed to patch him up with a little bit of help from a potion of his own creation, he was still beyond exhausted, as though the life had been drained from him; he supposed that was merely what happened when one had their very connection to magic severed, divine circulation cut off.

Even all these days later, he still feels like he's going to collapse if he tries to stand on his own two feet, so when Astrid opts to carry him up the stairs once he gets the door unlocked, he does not object. She is strong and clearly not bothered by it, so he won't complain. Hell, he even lets his eye slide shut for a moment, allowing himself a moment of reprieve as she finally gets through to the second floor--

...

.....

He cracks an eye back open as soon as he hears an all-too-familiar voice, oozing with syrupy salaciousness until it heightens into panicked justifications and... worry. Kvasir's ears twitch as soon as he hears footsteps, managing to open his eye all the way to properly behold his favorite vision all in glitter and audacity.

Morrigan Moonweaver looks ridiculous. There are rose petals clinging to the lilac waves of their hair, a few frayed bits caught in their jewelry, and they look as though they're barely managing to keep their shirt on, their wizard jacket serving as a feeble shield. They look worried and confused and perhaps a little bit ashamed all at the same time, and considering the presence of candles and roses strewn about the room, Kvasir supposes that last thing is not unjustified.

"...Your 'Desert Rose,' huh?" he raises an eyebrow, voice weak and tired, only half because of his sapped energy. He sighs, patting Astrid's shoulder so he can shuffle down onto the floor, still leaning partially against her for support, but not wanting to make a preteen girl haul him around. "...Morrigan Moonweaver, I'd thank you not to scar poor Astrid, here. May I ask where you got all the candles...?"

Somehow, Astrid's face both looks unfazed and unimpressed by this tiefling before her. For a few seconds, silence hangs in the air between them as all she can do is blink slowly. Okay, that's weird. Her shoulder shrugs slightly, shifting Kvasir as it moves.

"Well, I didn't much think ya broke in 'til ya mentioned that's what ya didn't do," she says simply with just the right emphasis to make them worry. Being around Cantio has taught her it's easy to make the right person panic over the slightest of tone shifts, and honestly, she has fun with it. This situation is no different. 

"Aye, this is Kvasir, unless ya know another fluffy fox fella," she says, watching Morrigan shuffle over, arms open as if to take the man from her. She doesn't budge. "He got like this 'cause of some nasty insects in Moonglade," she explains. Her distrust for this stranger doesn't wane from her eyes, one eyebrow slightly cocked with suspicion. "Me name's Astrid Stormstone." And I could crush ya between me fists if I wanted ta, ya creepy weirdo. She leaves that part out, but she can't help the Stranger Danger senses tingling. "Who the heck are you?"  

Feeling Kvasir wanting to get down, she gently lets him off of her shoulders, but the girl has no issues helping to support him as he gives this purple tiefling his own tired look. Astrid's suspicion relaxes since Kvasir's calm about the situation. Morrigan, huh? They've made a heck of a first impression. Funnily enough, Kvasir's more concerned about her and the candles

She decides to play on this with a jest, "Aye, I don't think lightin' candles in a place fulla plants is the best idea. Ya'll burn down alla Kvasir's hard work." Then she looks up at the foxfolk. "Ya wanna sit down over there? I can help. If the candles are in the way, I'll carry ya over, no problem." 

“Well banish the thought. I didn’t break in in the slightest. I was asked to watch this house for the very same healer you have slung over your shoulder.” Morrigan insisted with a touch of haughtiness, crossing their arms as if they were offended by the little lass’s implication that they’d broken their way in through nefarious means even though they were the one to bring it up in the first place. Any further objections they might have offered were squashed as the girl explained what had happened, and Morrigan’s confusion only grew. What the hell kind of insect had done such a number on Kvasir that he couldn’t heal himself? And why was he hunting bugs with a literal child of all things?

Admittedly, said kid looked leagues stronger and far more intimidating than Morrigan, but considering that was a rather low bar to cross, Morrigan looked less intimidated than one might expect by Astrid Stormstone’s hesitant introduction offered with narrowed eyes and the promise of a clobbering of Morrigan took one step closer.

Despite the ridiculousness of the situation they’d found themselves in, Morrigan still lowered themselves into a deep bow, launching into their usual introduction. “I am known to many as the great Wizard of the Wastes- enchanter, diviner, storyteller, creator of miracles and maker of elixirs most wonderful. But you may call me Morrigan Moonweaver.”

This was accompanied by a flourish of the wrist, throwing glitter into the air- since they were used to speaking with people taller than them, it just kind of harmlessly fluttered down onto Astrid’s head like rainbow snow.

The kid did not look impressed in the least.

That threw Morrigan for a loop. They were usually pretty good with kids- children were practically just rubes you could distract with glittery, shiny things and big words. What the hell were you supposed to do with a child who had even the smallest modicum of common sense? And where the hell did Kvasir keep finding these kids? Was this yet another apprentice?

That was the moment, of course, that Kvasir chose to pull himself off Astrid’s shoulder to his own feet, leaning against her for support, wearing the most unimpressed look on his face.

Morrigan’s first thought was excitement that Kvasir was awake and not currently seriously hurt. But then they realized that meant Kvasir was awake and had heard everything Morrigan had just said, including the implication that they’d broken into this place.

“Kvasir Sigurros!” Morrigan yelped, immediately diving to collect the candles, resisting the urge to roll their eyes as the kid implied they didn’t know how to manage open flames. I know how to handle candles just fine! Burn down Kvasir’s home my ass… but arguing with a kid probably wasn’t the smartest idea in front of Kvasir, which was the only reason they held their tongue.

Morrigan was not above fighting a kid, to be honest. They’d done it before, they’d do it again.

“It was all just a prank, not to worry- I remembered you were coming home today and thought I’d amuse you with a little humor, but I didn’t know you’d be bringing home a visitor! And how did you meet this little spark of lightning?” They asked as they frantically put out the rest of the candles while Astrid Stormstone helped Kvasir to the couch.

To say that Astrid seemed quite unimpressed with Kvasir's favorite enchanter, diviner, and apparent seducer would be quite an understatement.

It is not easy to get a decent look at her expression from this angle, where he's leaning against her for support, but he can see in the hard set of her jaw and the furrow of her brow that she is not the slightest bit amused with Morrigan's titles or antics or the pocketful of prismatic glitter they've joyously tossed down over her as though it's a divine blessing. He sighs quietly, a soft, chittering tsk-tsk escaping him as he watches Morrigan's easy charisma melt beneath the panic of realizing he is, in fact, conscious, letting out a yelp and scrambling to fetch the candles they'd set up across the room. Gods, candles and rose petals-- what sort of prank was this meant to be?

"...mhm. Right, a prank," Kvasir mutters, raising an eyebrow. "Miss Astrid, as they said, this is Morrigan Moonweaver-- enchanter, diviner, storyteller, my partner in the Golden Consortium, and the reason I'm going to pass away from a heart attack at age forty." He snickers quietly at the edge of the words, though feebly. "Candles and rose petals must merely be the newest attempt on my cardiovascular health."

Were he a little less tired, a little less drained of all his energy, what faint vestiges there were being poured into reforging his connection with the wellspring of light magic that those blasted insects had closed off, he might have gotten a bit more embarrassed over the whole arrangement. Instead, he simply lets out a third, exasperated sigh as he nods and lets Astrid help him over to one of the chaises, a mildly pained groan leaving him as soon as he settles back against the upholstery, sinking back against the comfort of cushions. It's a nice change from days of walking and camping.

"...thank you, Miss Astrid," he says softly, giving her an appreciative smile. "Truly, you've been an absolute lifesaver. I might have met quite an embarrassing end out in those woods without you and Wit. I'd be happy to go and get you and my dear enchanter something to drink here in a moment, but I... need one second."

Kvasir exhales quietly, closing his eye as he leans back against the chaise. Dear Solaria, those bugs had done a number on him; he doesn't know why, exactly, he thought trying to stand between a well-armored child and the magic-stunting insects had been a good idea, but he... hadn't really been thinking. In that moment, despite any respect he had for Astrid and her strength, he had seen a twelve-year-old girl instead of a warrior, and it was his responsibility as an adult to protect her in any way he could. She was and is perfectly capable, but... who stands behind a preteen girl and expects her to act as a shield?

Gods above, his self-preservation instincts are... nigh-nonexistent.

"Morrigan Moonweaver," he calls after a moment, cracking his eye back open, looking to see if the candles have all been taken up. "Over here. Sit down. Ah... Astrid and I met once before, but we only properly got introduced in the Lantern Light Wood a few days ago. We, uh... sorted out a problem with a type of insect capable of disconnecting someone from their magic. I... took the brunt of the injuries. Miss Astrid here, however, made use of an elixir of mine, and she's the reason I didn't die an extraordinarily embarrassing death to giant insects in the woods."

A quiet laugh follows the words, but it's a bit strained; Kvasir has known no shortage of near-death experiences, but... why did so many of them have to involve nearly being mauled to death?! Girallons, insects, what next?! If he's going to perish, can he have some glamour or grace and dignity with it?!

He pouts a bit at the thought, though he knows it must look strange to Astrid and Morrigan. "...ah, well, like I said... can I get the two of you something to drink? I should have a fairly steady supply of tea, coffee, fruit juice... I'd get you something fresher from the greenhouse, but I'm afraid that requires energy I simply do not have."

Astrid, who is completely unaware of the typical manners of hospitality, shakes her head. "Mister Kvasir, yer way too exhausted fer alla that," she says firmly. "Just focus on restin' up. Now that yer home, ya can relax a bit more."

Her eyes cut toward Morrigan wondering if this Moonseamster will even allow anything of the sort to happen. As she steps away from Kvasir to give him space, Morrigan immediately swoops in to fuss over the injured and exhausted healer. Fussing won't do any good, so Astrid decides she'll be the one to find something helpful for Kvasir. What would Cantio do if she were feeling poorly? Maybe a drink, a potion, a cold towel? That all sounds good. 

So, with her complete lack of regard for (or knowing to regard) someone's personal living space, Astrid goes off on a miniature adventure looking for all of the things that would make her feel better in this situation. She, to the best of her ability, avoids the absolute mess of glitter on the floor. An empty space where Morrigan's form blocked the rug from the shimmering shower at least makes that easier. What an odd tiefling... What even is this stuff? Seems like a mess, honestly. 

As she wanders down the hall to find a towel, Astrid calls back, "Tell me how ya met someone whose idea of a prank is breakin' an' enterin' and settin' fire hazards all about the floor!" There's some jest in her tone. She gets the feeling this Morrigan person probably doesn't enjoy being taunted. With the show they put on, this is the least she can do in return. The sounds of doors opening and closing follow her throughout the apartment. 

"Wizard of the Wastes," she murmurs just loud enough to carry down the hall. "Sounds like they're tryna copy Kamille callin' themselves that..."

Finally, she finds a towel, a place to soak it, then she rings it out and brings it back. When she returns, she pauses and looks at the two adults sitting together. Something clicks in her head. 

"OHHHHHH, yer like... whatever comes before bein' married. Boyfriends? Theyfriends?" she mutters the last part, trying to find the right words.

Then she simply hands the damp, cool, folded-over towel to Kvasir. 

Morrigan’s eyes narrowed as Kvasir tried to suggest that he would get drinks for their guest. “Oh, no you don’t.” They warned, holding out a hand to prevent Kvasir from lifting a single finger, much less get up to get the drinks. “I will procure refreshments myself, for both Miss Astrid Stormstone and yourself as well- hey!”

The little shit had already dashed off as Kvasir was explaining how he’d met this hellion. Morrigan’s gaze altered between where Astrid Stormstone was banging around through the other rooms in search of… drinks? What was she looking for?

“Disconnecting someone from their magic?” They repeated, furrowing their brow. No wonder Kvasir had trouble with them… he was an expert marksman, but from what Morrigan understood of mages, it was jarring to suddenly be cut off from everything that made up your core. Morrigan imagined it was how they normally felt.

Wrong.

“I’m glad that she was able to help you out of that situation.” Their gaze softened for the briefest moment, something akin to worry on their face. It was not an emotion that Morrigan was used to feeling. But for some reason, the idea of Kvasir being hurt made their chest ache. They’d been worried about him before, of course, but never so much that it felt like their heart was about to leap out of their throat like a godsdamned dancing bullfrog.

Begrudgingly, Morrigan supposed they were… grateful to Astrid Stormstone for saving Kvasir’s life, as much as that word felt like poison in their mind. Ugh. That kind of sentimentality was gross. But it was the only reason they did not immediately snap back with petty childishness the minute Astrid Stormstone asked what kind of prank Morrigan could have been pulling in here.

“I know how to light candles!” They huffed indignantly, with perhaps a touch sharper tone for a brief moment before remembering they were supposed to be playing nice right now. They ran a hand through their hair before glancing back at Kvasir. “Hold on, let me make sure she doesn’t break anything.”

They dashed off to follow Astrid Stormstone as the kid bounded through the house, just barely managing to follow the sound of opening closing doors and stomping feet. Gods, how old even was this kid? And how the hell did people even manage children at that age? Morrigan’s only experience was with Fish, and the most they had to put up with from the wayward thief was the occasional stabbing. This running and chasing was pure agony.

“I’ll have you know that it was an incredibly hilarious and nuanced prank, with a lot of layers!” They raised their voice to call after her, still half-jogging through the house after her. “It involved-” They froze as they realized that this probably was not something they should have been explaining to a literal child. “Well, I’ll explain it to you when you’re older!”

Out of the corner of their eye, they caught the sight of a cabinet in one of the rooms they passed… the elusive liquor cabinet! A grin on their face, Morrigan made their way over to the cabinet, ready to open it, only to find that it wouldn’t budge for some reason.

What the hell? Was that a child lock on the cabinet?

Wait, this must have been for the mousy apprentice Morrigan hadn’t met yet… Nyr! That was his name. He lived around her sometimes, but he was out doing something right now. But if he wasn’t here, then why did Kvasir leave it on while Morrigan was house-sitting-?

“Oi! I’ll have you know that title was granted to me long before I met Mistress Kamille!” Morrigan shot back at the insult, leaving the liquor cabinet behind for now. They’d all just have to settle for boring juice. They made their way to the kitchen, procuring drinks for everyone before making their way back upstairs, setting out three cups of cactus juice for everyone just as Astrid returned with a towel for Kvasir, saying something that made Morrigan nearly drop the glass in their hands.

“You think we’re what?” They screeched right in poor, unfortunate Kvasir’s ear.

It is entirely unsurprising that both Astrid and Morrigan immediately rebuff Kvasir's offer to get up and fetch them something to drink; both of them seem exasperated by it, really, as though the attempt at hospitality is personally exhausting to them as well. What is surprising, however, is the way Astrid jumps to her feet, immediately barreling down the hallway in search of... well, something, if the distant sound of cabinets opening and closing is any indication, though Kvasir isn't exactly sure of what. Did she decide to go looking for drinks? Is that it?

All he can do for a moment is blink, staring off after her-- it isn't that he minds or anything, not at all! He just... cannot help but be a little bit surprised by how brazenly she'd elected to go searching through his house. Still, he... isn't going to lecture her about it or anything, so he relaxes back against the couch once more, letting out another quiet sigh as he tries to will the weariness from his bones.

"Mmhm," he manages in response to Morrigan, glancing back over their way, his gaze softening just so. Exhaustion still lingers in the edges of his expression, but it does not demand attention nearly as much this way, not with the way fondness washes over his face as he looks to his beloved enchanter. "Miss Astrid is... quite capable in a fight. More so than I am, really, but I... she's still a child at the end of the day. The idea of letting a child be a human shield, no matter how much armor she's wearing, feels... unspeakably wrong."

Another strangled sigh escapes Kvasir as he finishes the words, though the edges of it lift into a hollow chuckle as Astrid's voice carries down the hall, her voice high with amusement as she tosses down a taunt, one that Morrigan clearly bristles at-- just a bit. And then they're off, too, disappearing down the hall to ensure that Astrid doesn't break anything, though Kvasir's quite confident that there's not too much to worry about-- Astrid may not be the most... polite child in the world, but she's far from inconsiderate. He doubts she'd go around breaking things that don't belong to her, however little she understands the concept of hospitable behavior.

Still, it lets him have a moment where the quiet bickering falls to the wayside, a moment where he can simply settle into a bubble of silence. Kvasir lifts one hand up to pull at the ribbon holding his ponytail up, carefully unraveling it and letting his hair tumble down his shoulders, waves of petal-woven ink and ivory cascading down. He tucks the ribbon in one of his pockets and takes a deep breath, ears twitching as he settles back in place.

Dear Solaria, he can't wait to settle into a hot bath for an hour or so, pour half a vial of rose oil in and close his eyes and rest, let pain and days of travel and the ghost of combat fade away from his body. It'll have to wait until later, of course, likely not until the sun has already fallen down beneath the horizon, but oh, it will be worth the wait.

It isn't long before Morrigan returns to the room, balancing three cups of what looks to be cactus juice in hand. Gratitude flashes in Kvasir's eye at the sight, a tiny but fond smile pulling at the corners of his lips as soon as they set the glasses down, and he's about to open his mouth to say a 'thank you,' but that's when Astrid comes back into the room, pausing for a moment as though she's reached an epiphany, and--

And Kvasir's whole face starts burning.

"What?" he squeaks in tandem with Morrigan, his ears twitching in discomfort at the unholy screech that rattles out from his dear enchanter. "Um-- Astrid, that's-- I-- you misunderstand, we aren't-- there's not--"

He shakes his head vigorously, though it does nothing to ease the flame rising in his face, the panic lit in his gaze. Is he really so transparent? Gods above, does she have to sling around theories like this while Morrigan is right fucking next to him?

"We aren't... like that, Astrid. N-Not... no."

Wait, this person knows Kamille? Well, Kamille does get around, and she's well-known in Moonglade for sure. And she would absolutely not discourage the behavior Astrid's about to exhibit as she digs through the closets and cabinets. "Oh, ya know me gran?" she asks. It's a simple question asked innocently enough, but there are layers of implications behind it that would be impossible to unravel with a short interaction. How are they related? Will Astrid tell Kamille all about this little situation? How might that paint Kamille's perception of this self-proclaimed "Wizard of the Wastes." The possibilities are endless!

Astrid is certainly Kamille's granddaughter. The two of them quite enjoy stirring shit together. 

Watching Kvasir and Morrigan react to her very simple question is honestly the cherry on top. Of course, Astrid doesn't want to distress Kvasir much in this situation, and she didn't necessarily intend that by asking if the two of them are courting, but seeing it devolve into shock and terror stirs up the prankster energy imbued in her by her new grandmother. What a troublemaker she's going to be as a fully-fledged teenager. 

Seeing them both rattled is tempting, but no, she shouldn't. She shouldn't. She. Should. Not.

So she shrugs a little. "Oh, alright," Astrid says simply, as if to dismiss the matter. 

She's known Morrigan for all of five minutes, and seeing the way Kvasir glances their way in this short time reminds her of the way Kamille and Bellighul cut their eyes toward one another. There are a lot of things unspoken in expressions, Astrid's finding. Watching for subtle twitches in Veliky's face, seeing Cantio fretting, watching Kvasir with this "wizard..." Adults all seem to be the same: hiding their true feelings even if it doesn't make sense. 

So why not point it out? 

"Maybe ya should be?"

There were currently a lot of things running through Morrigan’s head at the moment that honestly the little detail Astrid Stormstone dropped should have been the least of their concerns. And yet, they figured they couldn’t be blamed for focusing on entirely the wrong things when Astrid Stormstone seemed hellbent on sending both of them to an early grave. Gods, look at her. Look at that smug smile on her face. Kvasir might buy the innocent act, the affixed stare of a child who didn’t know any better. But oh, that was a pack of lies. The little mischief maker knew exactly what she was doing, and Morrigan was as enraged by her attempts to stir the pot as they were proud of the hustle.

“Lady Kamille is your grandmother?” As in, she’d shit out a whole child that grew up and shit out Astrid Stormstone? “Man, she looks good for her age. I wonder what her secret is…” Probably some sort of magic of eternal youth and a really good skincare routine. It was at times like this that Morrigan truly hated mages for holding their effortless youth and beauty over mere mortals who could not hope to achieve the same.

Otherwise, Astrid Stormstone would note that her whole little “I’m going to tattle on you to my grandmama” act didn’t seem to rattle Morrigan as much as it ought to have. Lady Kamille was already fully aware of their hack nature and scummy character, and had been since their first meeting. They were pretty sure it amused her more than anything. It did, however, explain a lot about where Astrid got it all from. From behind Kvasir’s head, where the medic could not see them but Astrid Stormstone had a full view of their face, Morrigan gave her a wicked smirk, as if to say, you’re gonna have to try harder than that to rattle me, kiddo.

And so she did.

There was a straight moment where Morrigan’s brain simply stopped functioning at Astrid’s implication of their relationship, and the question of why they weren’t. The little fucker had done it again, finally managed to hit something that had flustered both Morrigan and Kvasir, who had lost his head so much that he could not offer anything except for a solid no. Which, was frankly almost insulting. Was Morrigan that horrible that Kvasir would deny a romantic entanglement so vehemently? Who wouldn’t want to date Morrigan? Wait, that was the wrong thing to get up in arms about. Astrid Stormstone was just completely off base, utterly incorrect. She was a child, she had no concept of the matters of romance!

There were a lot of factors involved in romance, layers of complication that Astrid couldn’t even begin to comprehend. For instance…

Huh.

Or what about…

Well, maybe it was really just that simple.

Or at least it would be if Morrigan wasn’t a liar and a hack and Kvasir’s heart didn’t yearn for someone else. They were dear friends, and Morrigan would be the first to admit that Kvasir was a handsome man - they’d noticed it during their first meeting, after all - but Morrigan simply didn’t do relationships. Had never understood them. And Kvasir deserved genuine romance, not whatever Morrigan would offer. But there was no way in hell that they were going to explain that to a child who was still wearing that disgustingly-smug mock innocent look on her face.

Oh, Morrigan was seething.

Even they weren’t especially proud of what they said next.

“It’s because of Nunya, that’s why. Nunya business.”

It is astounding, really, how some of the most convoluted things in the world can seem so deceptively simple in the eyes of an outsider.

Kvasir isn't sure how it is that Astrid somehow manages to draw the conclusion she does, how she manages to pare him down to his bare bones and see the aching adoration curling into the spaces between skin and sinew and blood, but she knows, somehow, knows the nature of the feelings Kvasir carries in his heart, and... and she talks about them as if they're as simple and natural as the cycle of the moon, as if they have any place anywhere beyond the recesses of his heart, as if ruin does not slumber in his veins, threatening to unravel all he loves and leave no thread behind.

He wishes it was that simple, still. It had been, once upon a time, back before one of his eyes burned sulfur-gold, back before the Archivist King carved out a space within his mind, back when the world was new and exciting and so very unknown-- something as devastating and earthshattering as love had merely felt like whimsy, the sort of thing that could carry him miles upon miles away from the forest he called home. But now his heart beats in the hand of a god, a god who seeks to hollow him out no matter what must perish to achieve it, and... and he cannot let his love be the reason someone as brilliant and luminous and wonderful as Morrigan Moonweaver burns out.

He can let himself have dreams of a life that might have been had divine fingertips never touched him, but he can never have anything more.

"...Astrid, I-- a relationship is hardly so simple-- there's a lot that goes into it-- I-- Um--"

Every word Kvasir tries to string into a coherent sentence comes out in choked snippets, embarrassment carving his words up into choppy fragments, their pieces crumbling, fitting poorly together. His voice is high-pitched from how flustered he is, distant distress over being seen through like glass lurking in the corner of his eye, and he can't help but shift in place, ears twitching nervously and tail swishing back and forth in a traitorous cycle, vaulted between anxiety and the joy of entertaining some other world where he could freely love Morrigan Moonweaver the way they deserve, without fear of a god clasping holy hands over their shining light in an effort to snuff it out.

Kvasir opens his mouth to speak again, trying to piece together some kind of coherent answer that may appease Astrid, and then--

...

Oh, Gods damn it.

"...really, Morrigan Moonweaver? 'Nunya?'" he sighs, exhaustion moving to settle where embarrassment once roosted in his face. He lifts a hand to massage his temple, as if the flow of this conversation is giving him a migraine. "...Dear Solaria... ahem. Um, Astrid, it's... it's complicated. I don't know what else to say."

And then, in a rather desperate attempt to steer the conversation away from this topic, to dodge any further questions from either party about what, precisely, is so complicated--

"Oh, um-- who is this grandmother of yours? I don't think I caught her name."

Seeing Morrigan puzzle over how on Charon Kamille is Astrid's grandmother brings a silent satisfaction to her innocent stare. While she could simply explain that they're not blood-related at all and clear everything up with one simple statement, watching the perplexed gears turn in their assumedly empty head brings her enough joy to keep this up for as long as she wants.

But clearly, this didn't rattle the lunar-cross-stitcher so much as it perplexed them. That's perfectly alright. For now.

Kvasir on the other hand seems to have been obliterated. That aspect of her comment wasn’t exactly intentional. In fact, throwing both of them into a downward spiral of flustered half-sentences and childish remarks was not her intention. But it’s what happened. So in response, Astrid simply shrugs.

“I mean, stuff’s only as complicated as ya make it,” she says. This in and of itself is true. In Astrid’s experience, waiting around for someone to love her only resulted in wandering the streets for years. When someone gave her the opportunity to turn things around for herself, she took it. The only thing she wished she did any differently was trying to stick with the person she felt the most attached to in that moment. Luckily, she ran into them again a couple of months later, and they got along just as well. When the opportunity presented itself, she didn’t let any of the complicated parts of the process stop her.

“I got adopted ‘cause I dared Cantio ta be me da an' he accepted, so… stuff don’t seem that complicated ta me. Most of the time, ya just gotta say what ya want.”

Nevermind the fact that she had a mild panic attack directly after because she thought he would’ve backed out because he was caught up in the moment. He didn’t, and look at where the simple act of asking (daring) someone to be a part of her life got her:

Fighting bugs with Kvasir and Wit in a dark forest. Honestly, not that bad of a mission.

“Who’s me gran? Miss Kamille, the Witch o’ Moonglade an’ alla that. S’pose I can tell ya ‘bout her when yer not dyin’ on the couch though. I can leave ya both ta stare longin’ly into each other’s eyes if ya'd prefer.”

“Yes, nunya.” Morrigan replied, crossing their arms as they adopted a defensive posture. “It is an age-old argument and a perfectly eloquent response given the situation.” They turned to Astrid with an ugly smirk on their face that read, play stupid games, get stupid prizes. If she thought that it really was that simple, then it was only fair they gave a simple response. In reality, they wanted to believe it was that simple, but they didn’t want to be the one to explain to a child - Kamille’s granddaughter, nonetheless - that they were honestly more of a one-night stand person, not the kind of person that had relationships and got married. That was the kind of person Kvasir was… or would be if it were not for that dickhead god bouncing around in his brain.

There were many reasons it would not work.

Ironically enough, Morrigan was under the same opinion as Astrid. They took what they wanted, no matter whether that was fame or fortune or fun… or even freedom. But for some reason, they couldn’t even fathom what Astrid was talking about. Relationships just weren’t something Morrigan could comprehend. Why would they want one, when a relationship simply felt like a deep friendship with more complications? Even though they looked confident, Astrid’s words had rattled Morrigan to their core. They had never really thought of love as something to fight for.

“… Kvasir is right.” They said after a moment of thought. “While getting what you want is simple, sometimes there are a lot of hurdles when getting those things.” Like scraping for your survival when no one thought you would make it past fifteen. Or learning all the ins and outs of alchemy and building a fake magical persona in the back of a dingy circus. Wants were simple. Obtaining what you wanted, in practice, was much more difficult. “But regardless of where we are, Kvasir will always be a very respected friend and treasured partner in the consortium. That won’t change.”

At least, they hoped it wouldn’t.

“Yes, yes, Lady Kamille. Lovely lady.” Had apparently raised a hellion of a little girl. Morrigan could see every bit of the witch’s mischief in her, though. They had a feeling that Astrid Stormstone was danger - not because she looked like she knew how to handle that armor and those weapons better than most adults, and was definitely leagues stronger than them, but because she had a child’s bluntness and asked difficult questions. Morrigan already hated kids. But the one that Kvasir had dragged in this time was more energy than they could handle. “Now don’t you have somewhere to be?” Toys to play with, they didn’t say, because of their aforementioned mental promise to Kvasir to play nice. “You’re right. Kvasir needs his rest… do you have some place to stay, like an inn nearby, or…?”

They hoped she had an inn nearby. Gods, they didn’t think they could take it if she was going to be spending the night, too.

Kvasir always figured he would die somewhere in the heart of the White Sand Sea.

It was starting to look like an inevitability, really; as the years since he departed the Tribe of the Lotus stretched on and he devoted more and more time to warring with the god residing in his mind, felt more memories slipping away from him, disappearing through his fingers like sand into the grand and unfathomable desert, the day that the Archivist King would erase every last trace of his identity seemed less and less like something he could prevent. He would one day perish unceremoniously somewhere in the sands he once adored, forgotten by all but the god that forged a puppet out of his body, and that... would be that. He had made peace with the likelihood long ago.

But now it's starting to look like he's going to die right here, slain in the living room of his own house, embarrassment the weapon and his killers a twelve-year-old child and his dearest friend who is currently acting like a twelve-year-old. It's quite the slap in the face to the God of Remains, really; Kvasir figures that Kasra will be quite angry that his chosen vessel perished of so simple a cause at so unceremonious a time, long before his grand plans could ever come to fruition. He'd laugh if he wasn't so busy trying to stifle the surge of scarlet flooding over his face.

"...that's a lovely thought, Astrid," he murmurs, perhaps a bit too quietly, unsure of if he even wants her or Morrigan to hear it. "I'm... glad things like that are so easy for you. I'm... happy for you and your family."

He wishes things could be the same way for himself, too.

In some other life, in a day and age where his fingertips never touched gold and glass and the splintering memories of a divine mind, where his life and Morrigan Moonweaver's were not parallel lines, he'd toss his heart at their feet if he thought they would want it-- he'd carry the continent on his shoulders for them, give anything to spare them the ruin any poem or story vaulted them toward. He'd love them as openly as the tide loves the moon, as the rose loves the trellis, as the rain loves the earth, and no god or man or monster could stop him.

It's only a dream, of course, but a dream he'll never stop wondering over.

Kvasir sighs.

"...it won't change," he whispers to Morrigan, leaning against their side for all of a moment in silent reassurance before straightening his spine and taking a deep breath, trying to process the words laid before him. He furrows his brow a bit at the description of Astrid's grandmother, a small spark of frustration kindling in his gaze at the lack of immediate recognition. "Ah... the... Witch of the Moonglade... I'd love to hear more about her someday, but I really should go lay down, yes."

Another quiet sigh falls from his lips as he gets to his feet, his ears drooping slightly as he moves away from the couch. He glances over his shoulder, giving a weak smile and a wave to Astrid.

"Thank you again, Miss Astrid, for everything," he says, voice lifting a little. "Please, drop by anytime-- I'd be happy to give you a lesson or two in alchemy as promised. Just be sure to let me know a little in advance so I can guarantee you see nothing... untoward next time. Have a safe trip back to Dragon's Cradle, alright?"