Fish has entered the Desert Rose through their usual method, scrambling through the window while the other two are distracted. The aviankin deposits themselves into the open space at the breakfast table. A silent and stealthy entrance as always. It is a little less fun now that Kvasir and Morrigan are no longer very surprised by it, but old habits die hard.

The past few months having an actual home, even if that home was a shed in someone's garden, was odd. Fish was still fiercely independent and didn't really rely on anyone else, but not having to steal meals was a change of pace. The others had also learned pretty quickly that Fish did not need constant check ins even with how young they are. The days of Fish needing to be treated like a child were long gone for better or worse.

In recent weeks, Fish had been helping Morrigan learn a few new tricks. The fellblood seemed to have a mutual interest in kicking the ass of whatever was bothering Kvasir. Fish had few details, but they didn't need them. They knew something/someone was a problem for a friend, Fish would eliminate that problem. There was something stranger to the air recently though, stranger than Morrigan putting in effort at least.

Murmurs and rumors flitted about the underground and some of Fish's contacts spoke about something bad coming. Whatever happened in the Arid Mesa had really set off a big chain of events that no one was ready for. Things were happening more quickly than anyone could rightly process, but how would it all come to a head?

Morrigan wasn’t really used to living in a stable place.

Even back before they joined the Dreamscape Bazaar, they didn’t really have a house built on solid foundations. Their merchant’s caravan was ever-shifting, always moving, in search of the next biggest sale, the next biggest market. Such a life didn’t make one accustomed to having so much free time on their hands. Morrigan usually came and went from the Desert Rose Apothecary as it suited their fancy, but even just staying still in the room Kvasir had set aside from them felt… wrong.

Morrigan was a creature who constantly needed to be doing something with themselves. Idle hands were the devil’s playground, and that was especially true for Morrigan. It was one of those days that they were currently absorbed in their brewing in their room - so much so that they didn’t notice that they’d been awake for the entire night until they finally finished the tricky elixir they were working on, raising their head to find that the sun had already risen outside of their window.

… They should probably get some breakfast.

Humming to themselves, Morrigan made their way down the stairs to the kitchen, where Kvasir was already making coffee. A smile grew wider on their face as they skipped into the kitchen proper, nearly throwing themselves onto Kvasir like they did nearly every morning. “Good morning, my dear medic. What delicious meal have you made for consumption this morning?” Their tail flicked behind them in interest, trying to catch a glimpse over Kvasir’s shoulder and figure out what he made. It looked like enough for the two of them as well as Fish, who should be making their appearance any moment now.

Just a normal moment in the apothecary. Given how crazy the world seemed to have been in the past few months, some might find the the peace welcome. Morrigan just felt antsy, as if they were standing on the precipice of a ledge, waiting to take the plunge… or for the wind to shove them over the side.

Surely, this peace would not last.

Perhaps when this bubble burst, Morrigan would learn to appreciate these moments of mundanity more.

---

Bringing Pets
Adult Form Bubbles (Adult Drake: counts against pet cap)
Luna Rose (Mephit: Beastmaster I, doesn't count against pet cap)

It's impossible not to wonder if he'll ever get used to this.

Kvasir knows there was once a time when he would wake up in the same place every morning in his father's house, the only change day by day coming in the strength of the sun's rays through the window as the seasons wandered on-- it is a vague and faded memory, defined by mere vestiges of worn blankets and haste in scrambling downstairs to stand by his father's side, but it is something he knows all the same. It has been... some unknowable time since then, now, those days lost somewhere in the sands that wait for him, and yet those tiny fragments linger all the same.

The nomadic years between then and now had been defined by inconsistency, by waking up in a new place every morning, by camping, cradled by nature-- the one bit of routine he'd had then came in the form of his journal, in the same five sentences he'd scrawled in hurried yet legible penmanship like a madman's mantra across the pages: I am Kvasir Sigurros, and I am not a god, his one key effort to preserve what he could of himself.

He does not know how long he spent living that way, but for the longest time, it was easy to believe that it would remain as such for the rest of his short life.

It's an odd thing, after all of that, to have a home, now.

Odder still to share one.

A quiet hum spills from Kvasir's lips as he stands at the stove, attention fixed quite firmly on the consistency of the mixture in the saucepan before him-- fereni is just one of those things that requires close attention and careful measurements, a balance of rosewater and rice flour and all its other components. It's important to attain a precise texture, to dodge skirting the lines of watery or burnt, and more important to be capable of continuing that cycle of stirring throughout. It's a damned good thing his arm doesn't get tired very easily.

It's getting there, though-- a good thing, too, if his ears don't fail him, and the sound of lackadaisical footsteps trailing into the room is indeed because of a certain lilac-skinned wizard.

"Good morning to you too, my dearest enchanter," he says with a smile, glancing over his shoulder as Morrigan slips beside him, trying to peer at what he's making. There's a domestic quality to it, really-- they stand so steadily beside him, their arms loosely thrown over his shoulders, and it would be so easy to lean down just so and--

No. Nope.

"...It's fereni, this time-- should be done fairly soon," he half-laughs, praying the strain doesn't cling to his tone. "I just need to spoon it out, let it set, and adorn it with rose and pistachios-- you're free to take any fruit or anything to go with it while we wait, of course. Go on, go sit."

Kvasir lets the movement of his hand slow, then, eyeing the rose custard carefully; it does seem like it's reached the right texture by now. He's quick to go lay out three bowls, moving to spoon out even portions into each-- though he pauses at the sight of a blur of ink-and-violet feathers moving in the corner of his vision. Sure enough, as soon as he turns around, there's Fish perched at the table as always, eyeing him expectantly-- just another part of this strange routine they've all forged.

"Ah, good morning, Fish," he gives a short wave as he sets the emptied saucepan down. "Breakfast should be done in just a moment-- it just needs to set."

He turns his attention back to his cooking, moving to monitor the way steam gradually ceases to curl off the surface of the custard, but before he can move to start grabbing handfuls of rose petals and pistachios, all his thoughts scatter at the distant sound of something-- it's difficult to say what. Kvasir pauses, moving to stand before the window over the counter, brow furrowed as he pieces together the sight of large crowds and indistinguishable chaos.

"...hm," he muses, squinting as he glances through the window out at the trading post of the Oasis. "...wonder what's going on out there?"

Fish does not complain about the food, as little as they know about manners and decorum, they know it is what the kids call a "dick move" to complain about free food. Though it wasn't fully free, there was a very, very informal bartering system that Fish engaged in.

Kvasir would pretty often find collections of herbs or other strange random odds and ends that look pretty or shiny sitting on his windowsill. It was Fish's way of paying him back for the food and also a good sign that Fish was still alive. They weren't exactly a letter writer, too easy to intercept and it leaves a trail they would say. Some gifts were left for Morrigan, mostly nuggets of fool's gold because that's as close to a joke as Fish can get.

They watch the little displays of affection between the two, head tilted as always. Fish never asked questions or pried into anything about their personal lives, just a quiet little observer at the table. Their head turns to the window, looking to the horizon with a curious little chirp.

Morrigan and Kvasir were so far the only ones that ever heard Fish make their more natural bird noises. A content Fish will make little croaks or chirps from time to time.

Morrigan sat as Kvasir instructed them. There were few people that Morrigan bothered to listen to, and even fewer that they would actually bother obeying. Kvasir, though he probably didn’t know the power he held, got the charlatan to sit with a single plea and a promise of something sweet. Their nose wrinkled at the mention of fruit, though they looked forward to something sweet.

“Just the rose and pistachio is fine.” They waved, waiting for Kvasir to finish up breakfast. As they sat, Fish approaching the duo to take their seat at the table, waiting for food, the charlatan was struck with how… homey this display all was. It reminded them of glimpses they once had of their parents, on the rare occasion that Elka and Pahyeka spent alone in one another’s company, unburdened by the child that lived with them.

Was this how families acted?

It was a strange as hell family if that was the case. Two criminals and a medic, all enjoying a happy breakfast together. Even Fish was relaxed, letting out little bird noises where they were seated, waiting for breakfast. Morrigan had never seen the young criminal so relaxed.

It was a damn shame, then, that the commotion outside had to ruin this little display.

Morrigan stood when they heard Kvasir’s confusion, climbing up on the counter with absolutely no manners whatsoever, attempting to get a better look at whatever Kvasir had seen that had spooked him so much. They pressed their face against the window, nose scrunching up against the glass, but despite their best efforts, it was difficult to make out anything from the sheer movement of the crowd it was difficult to make anything out.

Morrigan shrugged. Whatever was going on out there, the charlatan wanted no part in it.

“It is probably nothing. We should go back to enjoying breakfast, no-?”

A loud tremble that shook the earth immediately cut Morrigan off. They wobbled, getting knocked into a corner of the table, falling flat on their face.

“… Damnit.”

Whatever was going on, there was no way that Kvasir would be able to ignore it. He had a good heart that way, and cared about others. These earthquakes, the chaos outside - Morrigan wanted nothing more than to hunker down and hide, but there was no way the medic would be able to do that when people needed help, they thought.

And there was a small, strange part of them that wanted Kvasir to see them as heroic and bold. Everything that Morrigan was not.

They stood, gripping to the table as the tremors died down. Mother earth had fallen still, but its people had not. Straightening their braid, Morrigan huffed. “Well. I suppose I should go take a look at what’s going on outside. Make sure everything is okay.” Bubbles was nearby - they could give the young dragonkin the potion that triggered their adult drake form and fly overhead to make sure that nothing too horrible was going on.

From their screams, you'd think the damn world was ending! It better be, otherwise Morrigan was giving up a peaceful evening for nothing!

There’s a far-off look in Kvasir’s eye for a moment as he stares out the window, his brow furrowed as he searches through that distant crowd for any sign of what could possibly be going on out in the heart of the Oasis. The Desert Rose is situated on the outskirts of the area, a decent walk away from the heart of the markets, so it’s a bit tricky to see what warrants such a big crowd from here, but… it’s seized his attention all the same.

He’s snapped from that vacant bout of staring first by the sound of Fish’s chirping, secondly by the sound of Morrigan scrambling onto the counter to stare out the window as well, squinting through the glass as intensely as if it could unveil the secrets of the universe to them, only to peel themselves away from the window with a shrug of their shoulders. Kvasir gives them a blank, unamused stare, glancing between the slightly-glittery smudges they’ve left on the window from pressing their face against it– truly, there is never enough glitter in this household, it seems– before sighing in some mixture of fondness and exasperation.

“Oh, Morrigan Moonweaver,” he huffs, shaking his head. “You are utterly ridiculous sometimes, you know? Get off the counter before you fall and get–”

He barely gets to finish the thought before there’s a tremor in the earth, strong enough to rattle the whole building– some of the lantern lights strung from the ceilings shake, the contents of the cabinets clinking against one another as they shift inside, the dying flame of the stove trembling where it’s contained. Kvasir squeaks as he grabs onto the edge of the counter, trying to steady himself, his ears flattened back and his tail bristling as he barely manages to stay on his feet.

Morrigan, however, was not so lucky.

“--hurt.”

Kvasir sighs, glancing around the room to make sure everything and everyone is in order, that Fish is unharmed, before he starts over to where Morrigan is, ready to help them up if they should want or need it. They’re back on their feet before Kvasir can even make the offer, though, straightening out their hair, announcing that they’re headed out to make sure everything is alright outside.

“...alright,” he says, his voice perhaps a bit shakier than he’d like. “I’ll be out in a minute– let me just– I don’t want to head out in nightwear. Fish, if you’d like to go with them, feel free– I’ll go and get some extra potions, I…”

Whatever else he says is lost– he murmurs to himself as he slips out of the room, disappearing to go and get something more suitable for a potential disaster than the nightclothes he’d been wearing.