Word on the grapevine was that a certain cinder-skinned fellblood was tearing up the streets once more.

If one were inclined to listen to said grapevine, they’d have learned that his absence had been felt for quite some time - long before his family acknowledged such. All of it was very hush-hush. But there was no denying the salient facts; one day, Zarius was gone. The next, he walked amongst the living as if he’d never left. Speculation ran wild. Anyone whose words were worth a damn had something to say and those whose words were worth dirt did too. All of it was money to Morrigan Moonweaver, who collected gossip and stories like candy and enjoyed a daily dose of hearsay with breakfast and tea.

Not that they needed to heed rumors, of course. Not when the man’s corpse had rotted in their pantry for the better part of the past year and Morrigan’s own magical smack - yes, that alone and nothing else - had been the catalyst that brought him back to life.

Given that they had the full picture (or at least, what they believed to be a complete understanding, at the very least), Morrigan was quite content to sit atop their gold mine of truth, akin to a dragon watching over its hoard, and laugh as peasants speculated and sought a speck of grandiosity in their mediocre lives. Morrigan had lived it. They, one who’d been pitied and ridiculed for their nature until not a speck of that child remained on this earth, had been the one to reverse the very nature of life and death and harness the forces of entropy to be the better person and breathe life back into the soul of their rival.

Or at least, that was how the retellings would go, if Morrigan had any say in it.

Besides, the semantics of it all didn’t particularly matter when it came to who revived who. The point was that Morrigan had known of and protected the body Kvasir had volunteered to keep within his domicile, because he was just that giving no matter how disgusting it was to eat knowing that a puppet corpse was stuffed in some crevice less than ten feet away. It was Morrigan who’d shown incredible self restraint in not inking vulgarities and clownish images on the man’s skin while he took a slumber in the unknowable void. It was Morrigan who’d helped complete whatever ritual Kamille and Kvasir started, kept watch over the ritual while the mages completed their rites, made sure nothing went wrong with the ceremony. Whether Zarius liked it or not, Morrigan had played a hand in his resurrection that was not insignificant.

Even if they themselves couldn’t really quantify what that was in a way that could be considered wholly truthful.

All of this to say that Zarius owed Morrigan, if his twisted sense of equality and honor was anything to go by. Bastard recognized bastard and from the sum of their interactions Morrigan was easily able to piece together that Zarius saw people by their inherent value to him. Izzy was someone with razor-sharp wit and an incomparable intelligence and calculative personality hidden behind a visage of random chance and humor. In Caedes, he saw a lover, a beau to woo - in Kvasir, it was a generous man who would do anything for his loved ones and invaluable knowledge of the healing arts.

Morrigan knew, because that was how they viewed people too.

(At least, it was… it used to be, until something changed, and Morrigan still didn’t know why or how. People were stairs you used to climb to the top, except for those you wanted up there with you.)

After their last encounter in the artificial painting world Zarius likely saw no value in a charlatan like Morrigan, which suited them just fine. Morrigan liked to defy expectations. All the better to dazzle the other fellblood with their brilliance at a later date. And until that point, Zarius didn’t see them as a threat, which meant that the two of them existed comfortably in a space filled with inane banter and a back and forth Morrigan most certainly hadn’t missed while he was gone. If Zarius only viewed Morrigan as a minor annoyance rather than a problem to be taken care of it meant that they could waltz freely back and forth within his place of business - the Rookery - and receive nothing more than a few annoyed looks and empty threats for them to leave the property.

It was precisely what they counted on for moments like this.

They’d been in Darkveil a few days at this point, conducting business and tying up some loose ends and such. Enough time for them to have mapped out the regular comings and goings of the Rookery and know when it was busy and when it wasn’t. They’d also kept a loose eye on the times when Zarius himself, still recovering from his recent bout of being deceased, left the house to conduct business Morrigan didn’t particularly know or care about. More importantly, what was with that rat on his face? He seriously still hadn’t shaved since waking up? A travesty to hide all that behind a fur rug. Whatever. His funeral if he wanted to pose as some old feeble man.

Besides, it made it easier for Morrigan to identify his crimes against fashion and aestheticism in a crowd. And it was just one of these outings that Morrigan made their way to the Rookery proper, finally stepping inside for what was probably the first time since their little impromptu annoying visits during his death.

It had not changed much.

Any possible objections from whoever was bartending would be waved away by a glittery hand. “I’m here on official business. Friend of Master Zarius.” Accompanied by a smile of pearly-white teeth. If any further objections were offered, Morrigan would respond by releasing a jar of alchemical Sparklings into the bar, little shining annoyances that might catch the attention of that infernal guard-cat, or at least create enough of a show that Morrigan could simply let themselves in, take a bottle of wine from behind the bar, down at least a good fourth of it, and make their way to a nearby table.^[1]

Such was the way Zarius would find them when he returned from his excursion.

Perched on their side atop of a slab of solid oak wood, one knee bent and the other straight, sandals on the table and all in a proper show of disrespect. One cheek was perched on their elbow, a vague reminder of scantily clad times in which Morrigan had likely scarred the other fellblood at their first meeting. At least this time, they were properly clothed, for all the little comforts that offered.

“Hello, Zarius.” They purred, raising one hand in a delicate wave. “Did you miss me?”

The answer was likely not a positive one. Hell, Morrigan wouldn’t even be there themselves if this wasn’t a dire situation. Zarius wasn’t their first choice, and was probably closer to their last, but needs must. They wouldn’t be picky about what they could get.

Because Morrigan might have accidentally killed a man, and they needed Zarius’s help covering it up.

---

1. Bottle of Snowlings

SPOILER: Click to show

Quest Name: Sudden Death
Participants: Two or more
Location: Any City Post
Requirements: 6 post per person, 200 words per post
Reward: +1 Renown, Choice of 2 Common crafting materials
Description: A rich family is mourning the passing of one of their members. The circumstances around their death are very suspicious, and the family suspects a murderer to be in their midst. You have been asked to go in and investigate the situation. Someone connected to the deceased is responsible, and the family is trusting you to find the truth. You’ll be handsomely rewarded if you can bring forth some proof and connect the murderer to the death. The details around the murder and murderer are up to you. Make sure to be discreet, or else you risk having the murderer turn their attention to you.

Being indebted to the Wizard of the Wastes may just be a fate worse than death. Luckily for Zarius he has thus far avoided the debt collector in question thanks to being on house arrest for a few weeks in order to recover from the whole ordeal of coming back from the grave. That time was needed, but kept brief as the resurrected fellblood's own anxiety about picking up where he left off drives him back into society as a whole. 

He had a lot to catch up on, a year's worth of time irrecoverable. 

Learning of the nature of his revival and the fact that his replacement body had been entrusted into the care of Kvasir and Morrigan resulted in many questions and mixed feelings. He of course trusted Kvasir wholly, Morrigan on the other hand...

Well, given that he hasn't found anything weird about his new body - besides the lack of smokey scent and fine lines of gold that run across the surface of his skin - Morrigan must respect Kvasir more than they hate Zarius. That's a somewhat reassuring thought actually. 

What isn't as reassuring is learning of how Morrigan has staked their claim on the Rookery in his absence. The charlatan has made a bad habit of arriving unannounced and harassing the staff (mainly Eirynor). It's been fairly harmless thus far, but now that Zarius has returned, he can only imagine it's just a matter of time before the purple fellblood glitter bombs him in the comfort of his own business. 

It just so happens that a matter of time would be today most likely. 

Eirynor is manning the bar as usual when the doors fly open on their hinges announcing the arrival of one flamboyant patron. The half elf bartender never gets fully used to the way Morrigan just traipses across the floor like they own the place. How someone can have so much nerve is just beyond him.

Their claims of being a ‘Friend of Master Zarius’ does make him roll his eyes. Eiyrnor knows that’s a bald-faced lie. But at the same time, they haven’t given Morrigan that much grief for gracing the Rookery with their presence in the past year. The silent swordsman doesn't have any personal beef with the alchemist. so their interactions rarely escalate to anything of concern.

And for some reason Eameia had gotten it in her head that letting the liar feel comfortable meant they would get more information out of them easier. And, well, Morrigan did have information of varying value. So they've tolerated their intrusions for the most part. Snow has even tried to befriend Morrigan’s entourage whenever they happen to accompany the silly circus performer to Darkveil.

Despite how cordial they've been towards the fellblood, that wouldn't stop Morrigan from just being super extra and a pest.

Eirynor starts to sign to Morrigan that Zarius isn’t present at the moment when the fellblood unleashes a glittery stampede into the establishment. The mute half-elf stands there for a moment, just comprehending what happened before sighing and going to get a broom and dustpan.

It's not long after Morrigan has unleashed chaos in the lounge that Zarius returns. He steps through the door then pauses while watching Eirynor scramble to collect the wayward sparklings before they embed themselves in every nook and cranny they can find.

“What happened?” He dares to ask. 

Eirynor huffs and points accusingly at the purple fellblood lounging on one of the tables.

Ah. That explains everything. Well, at least the alchemist has kept their clothes on so far.

“Good day, Morrigan Moonweaver.”

Zarius takes his coat off and drapes it over the back of a chair as he approaches the self-proclaimed miracle maker. Morrigan’s question does make him hesitate for a moment and consider the best response. It’s very tempting to fire back with an insult given their past dynamic, especially with Morrigan going out of their way to pose themselves in the same manner at which they had first met one another back in the Desert Rose. But he doesn’t. He keeps completely composed and responds plainly.

“It has not been that long since we last saw one another, relatively speaking.”

He's of course referring to the fact that Morrigan was there at his revival. In fact the charlatan had unfortunately been one of the first faces he saw upon the rude awakening of being slapped with a glittery palm. 

“What brings you here? Forgive me if I have reservations about assuming this is just a friendly house call.”

Zarius has tempered his disdain for the fellblood since returning to the world of the living for the most part. There are a few contributing facts for this. One, Kvasir and Morrigan were still together, even a year later. Kvasir may be lovestruck, but the physician was no fool, had Morrigan only been using them for their benefit it would have all come to a head by now. Two, Morrigan did - if only begrudgingly - aid in bringing him back to life. If the charlatan could put his ego aside to do that, he could do the same in return.

That said, he still doesn’t trust the circus clown and Morrigan certainly would not be first on his list to call if he needed a job done. But that sentiment is likely a mutual one.

Oh, Morrigan knew exactly how ingratiating it must have been to his Royal Highness Dame Prince Zarius (nicknames courtesy of Issala Arodre) that Morrigan had solidified their person within the comings and goings in the Rookery in his absence. It was all harmless, in good clean fun of course. And if you really thought about it, the Rha’Oriyn family did actually owe Morrigan twice over, considering their hand in Zarius’s resurrection and their efforts in saving him from the painting world – the fact that saving him was only a consequence of rescuing their own ass notwithstanding.

Still, the Sparklings proved an adequate distraction, such that Eirynor was sufficiently distracted by the time Zarius finally returned.

”What happened?”

“Don’t listen to whatever Eirynor has to say, he loves me.” It might have surprised the mute half-elf in their first few meetings that Morrigan was actually quite fluent in sign language. In part due to their association with Fish, but the rogue had not been the one to teach them, either. Either way, it made it all the easier for Morrigan to tell exactly how much they were ignoring Eirynor, and all the more amusing for them to willingly ignore his reprimanding for little annoyances when it was evident that they could understand him all along.

Either way, they didn’t get to see his reply, but they imagined it was scathing and annoyed.

With Zarius’s voice signaling his entry into the Rookery proper, Morrigan tilted their head back and took a long swig of wine they hadn’t paid for (wine that was probably tallied on a long tab of goods from behind the bar they’d helped themselves to over the months).

Up close, he looked far more put together he had when he revived. Well, aside from that ferret on his face. At least he was alive and well. That was… good, they supposed. They needed him intact for this after all, and it would hardy be a rivalry if death had dulled his senses.

They smirked at his casual dismissal of their assertion that they’d been missed. Hadn’t been long enough, more like.

They suppressed the retort because they had some modicum of self-awareness; enough to know that insulting Zarius would send them straight to punchville again.

“Just the right amount of time for you to long for my wit and yearn for my presence, I’d imagine.”

They couldn’t resist a little teasing.

“I bet you wish this a social call, don’t you?” They replied, though there was a knowing glint in their eye. It was all in good clean fun, and the teasing was mostly to get under his skin. Oh, they knew exactly who Zarius would have preferred a social call from. They whirled around on the table until they lay on their back, tilting their head to regard Zarius from upside down. At this angle, his beard almost looked like a friendly smile.

“Or would you have preferred a visit from your ruby-eyed beau? As enchanting as I am I know I’m not your lover boy, though you’d be disappointed to find you’re not my type, anyways. Too much hair in… places it shouldn’t be.” And as elegant as others might have found the golden crackling scars, Morrigan found it to be too close to Kasra’s colors for their liking. The thought of caustic gold leaking into forest green made a frown tug at their lips, unbidden.

Kasra was neither here nor there, but he definitely was a symptom playing into the bigger issue, and the entire reason they were here in the first place… forced to lean on a man who’d once left a nasty bruise on their face over a silly little mistake. Which they definitely hadn’t forgotten about, by the by. This, too, was neither here nor there, and it probably was not in good form to remind him of this incident when they were about to request a favor of him.

They pulled themselves into a sitting position, and crossed their legs daintily, one over the other. It was evident that they had no intention of pulling themselves off of this table anytime soon. For one thing, it meant they had the pleasure of having at least one inch over Zarius, and for another, it was getting glitter everywhere.

“I suppose a broken clock can be right twice a day.” They hummed. If they felt any sort of begrudging kinship or respect towards the man after helping bring him back to life, it wasn’t reflected in their verbiage. The fact that they’d swallowed their pride to cash in their one free favor for something as stupid as this was sign enough that they at least… recognized his influence and authority. Especially in Darkveil.

At the query, the fellblood suppressed a scoff. Not annoyed at Zarius, but the situation as a whole.

“But, yes. The sordid truth is that…” Deep breaths Morrigan, “I have a favor to ask of you.”

From the tone of their voice, you’d think they’d been asked to swallow a toad.

“This may come as a shock to you, but I’ve found myself in a bit of a bind.” Hey, it might not have been their fault this time! Perhaps. It wasn’t the time to point blame about who killed who, now was the time to cover up said fellblood’s involvement before they wound up in jail. This pretty face would look awful in prison colors!

But alas, such is what would happen if Morrigan didn’t find a way to wriggle their way out of this one. Said murder hadn’t been their direct intention, per se, but it was what had come of their recent job in Darkveil. Some rich criminal asshole paid for their services – something went wrong with the potion Morrigan offered that definitely shouldn’t have happened.

“And I can handle it myself, obviously, because someone powerful enough to fell the Fae Queen herself can handle most any situation that comes their way.” If Zarius had been in communication with his friends and contacts who’d been present for the situation in King’s Valley he’d know that, unfortunately, Morrigan was telling the truth about their involvement; if not overexaggerating their talents.

They leaned forward, as if sharing a secret between old friends.

“So since I’m in town, I figured I would give you the opportunity to square up on that pesky little debt you owe me.” They wiggled their brows. “You know, for helping you not only find life again, but also a lover. I figure that owing me anything at all was just eating you up inside, so what better way to quickly and efficiently allow you to make up for it? Because I’m so generous, of course.”

They played coy, but the fact that they were there in the first place spoke to their own desperation. For all they twisted their words, hid it behind pleasantries, they needed Zarius, and that was eating them up inside.

“The best part is that it shouldn’t take up more than an evening of your time! Quick and simple! What do you say?”

They were partially hoping the allure of a mysterious job would work – and if not, the promise of a quick and easy solution to his debt.

Eirynor shakes his head and ducks under the counter to try and coax one of the sparklings out from between the overturned glassware beneath the bar. One of the wayward little puffs of glitter splitters across Zarius' foot and under a table. It'll likely take a few hours to round them all up at this rate.

Rather than help Eirynor, Zarius keeps his attention on their 'illustrious' guest. Maybe if he keeps the magic man distracted they won't create a bigger mess. He keeps a somewhat friendly smile on his face while regarding Morrigan as they engage in conversation. 

“Of course.”

Not.

The idea of longing for Morrigan's wit and yearning for their presence has never crossed his mind. But he would remain amicable towards the alchemist for now.

“You are already here," he points out. "I do not think my wishes particularly matter at this point in time.”

Upon Morrigan's alluding to Caedes, the charcoal fellblood's eyes narrow. It had been an unfortunate happenstance that the miracle maker had been present to witness that emotional response from the changeling assassin. Zarius of course doesn't blame Caedes, but he does wish that a sudden bout of unexplainable amnesia would erase that memory from Morrigan's mind. 

“Thank Lunala’s grave for that,” he mutters under his breath in response to Morrigan's assurance that there is no attraction between the pair of fellbloods. The next comment though gets an offput reaction out of him though.

“I-” he pinches the bridge of his nose. Why did Morrigan have to word it like that? He doesn't want to think about what Morrigan has or has not seen of this new body he inhabits.

Zarius pulls a chair out from the table and sits down. Probably not the best decision given how Morrigan is using the table as a prop for every pose change they can think of.

“You certainly have taken a keen interest in my personal relationships. I hope you are not using my love life as a distraction from your own. Are things well between you and Kvasir?”

If Morrigan was so insistent about making a mockery out of his personal life, he could easily do the same to them. That said, the question is genuine. Zarius hasn't gotten the change to thank Kvasir for everything yet, a fact he laments given every second he doesn't show gratitude is a second Morrigan is likely pointing it out to make him look bad in the fox-man's eyes. 

Being anywhere near Morrigan means getting glittered is nigh impossible to avoid. Zarius already notices some flecks on the knee of his pantleg that he dusts off while the charlatan continues to yap on. 

"I have a favor to ask of you." 

Zarius glances up at Morrigan with a raised brow. 

“Oh?”

Morrigan must have found themselves in quite the cauldron of hot water if they were resorting to asking for a favor. The wizard was more likely to lord it over his head for all eternity than actually consider them squared up. Not that Zarius is of the opinion that he is in any way indebted to Morrigan. As far as he's concerned, the charlatan still owes him for running over his tail and getting him kidnapped by a different circus freak with a magic painting. 

“You? In a bind. The great and powerful miracle-maker Morrigan Moonweaver. I can hardly believe it.”

He doesn't bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice. Anyone who knows anything about Morrigan Moonweaver is well aware that the performer is excellent at pissing off the wrong people. But they also would be aware that they are more slippery than an eel, so hearing that they feel they need help is a bit of a surprise. 

Considering Morrigan's offer, he can't help but let out half a laugh. “Well, that certainly is benevolent of you.”

Sitting back, Zarius folds his hands in his lap while crossing one leg over the other. He's not opposed to helping Morrigan out, especially if it means that no trouble makes its way back to Kvasir's door. Actually, that is the main motivating factor. If Morrigan wasn't entangled with the healer, he wouldn't care if someone beat Morrigan black and blue or if the scamster found themselves calling a prison cell home. Luckily for Morrigan, business is business, and Zarius can put his pettiness aside if it means maintaining a good working relationship with those he needs the support of. 

That said, Morrigan sure was being vague about the finer details of the situation. That wouldn't do. 

“Care to explain some more about what exactly you need from me? I would hate to accept your generous offer and then not be able to fulfill my side of the deal.”

Seemingly completely oblivious to the annoyance of their host – or, conversely, relishing in it – Morrigan swung their feet back and forth where they were now seated upright for this conversation, making themselves right at home. Oh, if Zarius was expecting them to go away with a little placating and pleasantries that masked annoyance behind a smile, he had another thing coming. This was only the beginning – and it might not be any comfort at all to know that such annoyances were Morrigan’s own way of making the best of a shitty situation. Coating the bitter pill with sugar as it went down, if you will.

“Oh? But if you did wish for it, then I truly must be a miracle maker to appear before you and make your desire come true.” They hummed, mainly in an attempt to dig a little under their skin. Zarius was acting so damn amicable since he returned from the dead, which was weird, no? Especially when they’d always had a sort of give-and-take relationship, a back and forth that Morrigan so rarely received from others. This bland politeness was like talking to a doll. Morrigan ought to have been grateful, but there was no challenge here. They wanted Zarius to snap back.

And snap back he did, though admittedly closer to the chest than Morrigan ever would have liked. Childish competitiveness and the instinct to one-up Zarius had them speaking before the thought have even fully formed. “My relationship with Kvasir is wonderful, thank you very much - faring much better than yours, evidently.” They paused, brain finally catching up to their damn traitorous mouth. “I mean - it’s fine. It’s fine. Wait, no, it’s - I ’s fine because we’re not even in a relationship.”

It was strictly platonic and could not be anything more. Kvasir clearly still pined for the fiancé he left behind in the desert; the man he hadn’t wanted to leave. Morrigan was no stranger to taking what they wanted… and oh, they did desire Kvasir, but it was that burning, novel want that was precisely why it could never be. Acting upon their own selfish desires would only give Kvasir an illusion they’d crafted. A fairytale fantasy and hope to cling to in a world that had wronged him more times than he could remember. Better not to let him get close and ruin that wonderful dream.

Morrigan shouldn’t love him. But they did, and pretending otherwise was yet another beautiful lie they would maintain for his own sake.

“Though if you’re confusing platonic and romantic affection I could see how it took you and Caedes so long to finally get together.” They dismissed, already clearly rattled by the insinuation that the situation between fellblood and foxfolk was anything like the sordid romance between two lovers. Mercifully, the subject changed to more pressing matters.

“Alas, it happens to all legends. Even the gods themselves met their end at Ziev’s hand. Unlike them, however, I was built to survive my struggles.”

Yes, Morrigan just insinuated that if they were in the same situation as the all powerful all knowing immortals they simply would not perish.

“And, yes. Unlike the gods, I am very benevolent, thank you very much.”

All said without a touch of irony.

A shame. Morrigan had so hoped to obtain an acceptance from Zarius before they explained what the evening would actually entail. Unfortunately for them, Zarius actually had half a brain and was tougher to crack than your average nut. A lifetime of paranoia evidently had not only given him stress wrinkles at his ripe young age of around a month resurrected and evidently made him a harder mark than the usual rubes Morrigan dealt with.

Then here came the tricky part. They were banking on the fact that Zarius did technically - even if he didn’t believe the same - want to be rid of any perceived imbalance between the two of them. If he was desperate enough, he would agree without thinking too deeply about it. But no, evidently Morrigan had to go and find the one criminal in town with scruples and critical thinking skills.

It was fine. They could sell spectacles to a blind man. They could sell a con job to a conman.

Snapping ring-clad fingers together, Morrigan ordered the Sparklings to attempt to charge into the backrooms in a not too subtle attempt to remove Eirynor from the equation. Whether the half elf followed or not was a different matter. Again, these were all assumptions made on the fact that the people here cared more about ridding themselves of a minor annoyance than they did exercising caution.

In fact, this level of caution in of itself was atypical of anything the charlatan was usually capable of. For all their flippancy, the situation did weigh on them.

“Alright then. Here’s the skinny. I was in town for a job. All hush-hush and on the download. I was to meet my client, who signed up for an experimental test for one of my new brews.”

They bit their lip and mulled over their next words.

Here was the thing. Morrigan was working on a little pet project. A project so petty its mere existence was a closely kept secret, one close to their chest so that neither the man it would hurt - or the man it would save - could know.

And they were about to let Zarius in on that secret, no matter how tangentially.

“I am currently working on an experimental potion – my own personal project. Its effect is dangerous, and I do not have the necessary prerequisites to test it on myself.” With a click of their tongue, they flipped their braid over their shoulder. That admission was genuine, at the very least. The brew, for Kvasir, was designed to seal away the magic of the divine itself. To accomplish such a feat, they’d made use of the anti-magic properties of their own blood… an ingenious little thing, but you couldn’t exactly possess divine magic and that which could destroy it all in one person. Hence, they needed fresh subjects.

“Think of it as like a black-market beta test. The folks who sign up for these trials meet all the necessary components, and they’re aware of the risks. I put some feelers out and a gentleman in this very city responded. See, he has the remnants of a very interesting little volcano god in his head, and he wanted it out. My potion might have been his only chance at freedom. So he took it, and he died not ten minutes later, while I was still in his bedroom.”

Apparently, when one made a pact with a god, it could become their very lifeforce. Go figure.

So now Morrigan had a body, traces of their person at the crime scene, and a very angry family looking for answers as to how their precious little heir mysteriously died in his bed.

“As it turns out…” They winced. “He belonged to quite the influential family, and they’re looking for answers.” Answers Morrigan couldn’t provide on account of the veritable case of medical malpractice they committed. “They’re the kind of people who believe in the age-old adage ‘an eye for an eye’, and I don’t think they’ll take alchemy as an excuse for the murder of their only son.”

They leaned forward, lowering their voice. “And I quite like having my head attached to my head attached to my shoulders.” It was an awfully pretty and smart one after all, and far be it from Morrigan to rob the world of one of its best angels. “Now, you must be thinking. ‘Morrigan, what are you dragging me into here?’ And I’ll have you know, that I didn’t come here looking for a bailout. I have a plan. The family is looking for their son’s murderer, and I’ve offered my services as a private investigator. I just need you to come with me, act as my assistant, and discretely help me get rid of any evidence left behind. It should be right up your alley, no?”

There was a dangerous gleam in their eye.

“So what do you say? Want to help me cover up a murder?”

Morrigan's habit of being unnecessarily verbose does nothing to impress Zarius. All he hears is a whole lot words that say absolutely nothing of value.

“Uh huh.”

Zarius is more than aware that Morrigan is the type to poke a sleeping avianbear over and over again until it finally wakes up. There have been times when their annoying tactics have gotten a visceral reaction out of the fellblood, but those situations were much higher stakes and stressful. Given the current situation, he has no real reason to raise his voice or demand for the charlatan to take things more seriously. It was no skin off Zarius’ back if they chose to make a fool and an ass of themselves for no reason.

Buuuuut that didn’t mean that Zarius wouldn’t fire back at Morrigan with some of the more personal jabs.

Still, it’s a bit of a relief when Morrigan’s defense comes back as affirming that all is well. While Morrigan could rot for all Zarius cares, Kvasir deserved to flourish. Guess the healthiest flowers need a little bit of shit in their soil.

“That is good. I a glad you are both doing well.”

He wouldn’t argue with Morrigan over their relationship with the talented medic being better than his own relationship with Caedes. Considering how smitten Kvasir had been in the past and how the two had shown so much comfort with one another in front of others, he could only assume that if they were still together - which was confirmed by their joint involvement in Zarius’ resurrection - things must be still well and good between the two alchemists.

Meanwhile, things were…still complicated between Zarius and Caedes. It’s been hard to talk about the state of their relationship, especially after everything that has happened. Zarius’ death had been hard on the changeling, and his return to the realm of the living wasn’t without its complications. Caedes’ spindly patron definitely had qualms with the ritual, and has only been placated by having the pair wear rings that bind their souls to one another for one reason or another.

Being under surveillance by some mysterious spider death god aside, Zarius still had personal hangs ups with even considering being romantically entangled with someone. He had long convinced himself that he would avoid such relationships due to not being able to promise someone his attention and affection given his line of work and the expectations of his family to follow in his father’s footsteps. Having a significant other was dangerous enough for anyone with money and influence, add a criminal enterprise to the mix and it’s just asking for disaster.

Even when Caedes became involved, it didn’t feel right to pursue that kind of relationship with the man since he had already lost so much, and Zarius couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t become a second tragedy for the changeling.

And then it happened anyway.

Zarius’ death had hurt Caedes, and he knows that. It was likely made even worse by the letter Zarius could not manage to finish writing that Caedes was given in the aftermath. In those pages, Zarius had let his emotions guide his pen, and words that should have never been written found their way into being regardless.

To say Zarius was personally conflicted would be an understatement. Many emotions he has never felt before plague him. Guilt. Regret. Desire. Heartache. And possibly the most frightening of all, undeserving. It’s made worse by the fact that he can’t even hide those emotions from the changeling behind his well practiced smile. The rings made sure of that.

Morrigan’s stammering and backtracking pull Zarius back into the conversation at hand.

They’re not together?

That comes as a surprise. It sure didn’t seem that way from what he had heard, and from what he has seen himself.

Zarius’ expression grows a bit more suspicious of Morrigan. “...Is that so?”

What did this idiot do? They were - or rather, are - still living together in the Desert Rose the entire time Zarius’ body was stashed in their cabinet. Had something happened? Had Kvasir finally wised up and dumped the fellblood’s glittery ass?

Morrigan’s words continue to only add more contradictions to the explanation.

“I do not think I am the one who is confused given how you tripped over your own words.”

Platonic? Are they joking? When they first met Morrigan had been waiting naked to greet Kvasir and then when they sat next to each other on the couch Kvasir had laid his tail in Morrigan’s lap. That was NOT ‘just friends’ behavior. Zarius might be struggling with his own romantic pursuits, but he wasn’t completely inept when it came to the subject.

He lets the topic go though, mostly because the last thing he wants is for the charlatan to stick their nose into his personal life. It’s just easier to let the miracle maker have their assumptions.

A thought does occur to him, however. Before his death, Zarius had penned several letters to those he considered close allies. Kvasir included. In that letter, Zarius had written some…less than gracious words warning the healer about his suspicions of Morrigan’s true nature. That letter was intended to be sent to Kvasir should Zarius have met an unfortunate end, but his family instead retained most of them in order to cover up his death for their own protection. He assumed the letter to Kvasir never actually reached the Desert Rose, but he admittedly hadn’t double-checked that as of yet.

If Morrigan is not lying about not being in a relationship with Kvasir anymore, it’s possible that the letter was responsible for that change in circumstance. Then again, if the words had carried such weight, you would think that the foxman would have kicked the scam artist out of their home as well.

No, given Morrigan’s reaction and other evidence, it’s much more likely that Morrigan is just in denial.

Huh.

Guess they have one thing in common. Not that he would ever admit that.

And then Morrigan goes on comparing themselves to the gods. Of course. Thankfully the alchemist moves on from such grandiose claims and moves on to providing some actual context for the request.

Listening closely to the details, Zarius’ eyes narrow. Morrigan had poisoned and killed an heir to what sounds like might be a rival Ashen Father crime family. While the downfall of their competition is rarely a bad thing, the scammer was clearly way in over their head. Darkveil’s criminal underbelly is incredibly complex, and for someone who only dabbles in its operations, it is all too easy to make a fatal mistake. Morrigan was potentially facing down a very unpleasant death should their victims succeed in getting revenge.

The nature of the incident is definitely upsetting to hear about. Morrigan was leveraging the desperation of the criminals still scraping by to survive in Darkveil post the destruction of Mount Drakolt for their own purposes, using them as test subjects for whatever this personal project is and justifying it by saying that they all agreed to it. He doubts the compulsive liar had been fully forthright with the risks, then again anyone stupid enough to fall for such obvious deceptions probably got what was coming to them.

Even so, it doesn’t sit right with Zarius to hear that Morrigan is going around sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong, especially given how precarious the situation in Darkveil is for those who have to suffer the consequences of their interference. It also doesn’t instill any confidence in the fellblood to think that the self-proclaimed miracle maker has now found themselves in a corner none of their tricks will get them out of. Why else would he ask for Zarius’ help given the disdain they hold for each other.

What a pain.

“They hired you to investigate a crime you are guilty of committing?”

Did he hear that right? Gods, how stupid is this family to hire the exact person they want to get revenge on? He can only assume the whole deal Morrigan struck with the hier must have been kept a secret, much to their own detriment. Well, at least that narrows down how powerful this family must be. If this were a situation involving the top three, there’s no doubt they’d have already caught Morrigan by now.

Covering up Morrigan’s mess doesn’t sound too difficult on the surface. But there’s no doubt more details the charlatan is withholding. What’s more is that Zarius does not particularly care for what he gains out of this arrangement. Morrigan will just rub it in his face and gloat regardless of if they’re ‘squared up’ or not. There is, however, something Morrigan might have that is of value to Zarius though. It’s just a matter of if they’d be willing to part with it or not.

“I will help you, but I want something else in return. You can continue to hold onto this so-called debt of mine as I am sure it brings you great joy to lord it over my head.”

Zarius’ gaze drifts past to where the glitterlings have successfully distracted Eirynor from being present in the space. That’s fine. The fewer ears to hear of this, the better for now.

“What I want from you is your insight. You have been living with Kvasir for a while now and there has been a matter I regretfully never had the time to invest much into.”

His eyes move back to Morrigan and his expression grows more serious.

“An angel once told me that Kvasir is a prisoner. That there's something tied to his soul much like how something corrupt strangled mine. I think we can find some common ground in saying that neither of us wish for any tragedy to befall Kvasir. I want to help him however I can, and I have to assume you want the same. If you know anything, I would appreciate your guidance.”