memlost | voicemail

Entry tags:

ic,
voicemail

voicemail

[An upbeat male voice comes on:]

Hey, it's Morgan! If you were expecting a girl, you picked the wrong picture. If not, then congratulations! But sorry too, because this means I've missed you. Leave a message!

[Beep.]

(( ooc: feel free to use this for face-to-face interactions as well! just leave a date and voice/action/etc. in the header. ))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ ... Okay!! IT'S GO TIME. He reaches to grab the back of his collar, sits up just enough, and

pulls his entire shirt off with one pull, he'll just get that out of the way for her.

There are the usual scars -- usual for him, anyway. The faint slashing array from Rexcalibur, and the dark, straight-edged dagger slit underarm. It somehow makes the Mark of Naga on his breast look old and battered too, though it's touched by no scar. ]

[ She'd wondered about the Mark of the Exalt, briefly, but now she presses two fingers against it, her eyes only briefly flicking to the scars left from Rexcalibur's onslaught before she closes them with a hint of regret. She had never liked the thought of Morgan dying, but that reminder hurts the most, because that was when they'd fought him to the death. ]

Do any of them still hurt? [ It's barely a whisper. ]

[ He softens as he realizes what she's seeing. He's so used to them now that he almost forgets they're there. Both hands reach up to slide over her cheeks, into her hair, down her neck. ]

Not in the least. [ Warmly, to let her know it's true. ]

[ That much is a relief, even though there's still a sense of heaviness lingering on her shoulders. Scars will never truly fade away, she knows. Nor will the memory of the arrow between his shoulder blades, the way he'd fallen, how Morgan had crumpled to tears just trying to reach his body, the utterly desolate look he'd worn when he'd told her that no one had needed him like they needed his mother.

It's suddenly all too vividly recalled, and it faces her when she opens her eyes under the gentle touch of his hands.

And without really thinking about it, Noire lowers her head, leaving a light kiss on every curve of those scars. That she can do this at all is something she'll forever be grateful for. ]

[ He rolls his head so he can watch her, one hand drifting to her wrist to give it an absent rub of the thumb. His scars affect more than just him, it seems... though he should've known from the start. Each kiss leaves him a little more warm and content until his gaze is half-lidded, the occasional brush of her lips sending a little shiver through him.

After a long moment, he speaks quietly. ]

I'm a better person for having met you, Noire. I'm happy you're here... and by my side.

[ He's not allowed to say things like that when she's already feeling sentimental. Noire hesitates, peering up at him through lowered lashes, before her hand moves to brush their fingers together. ]

You always talk about me... like I'm someone amazing. [ each pause is punctuated by another kiss as she works her way up. ] When all this time, I've always been so grateful that I had the chance to meet someone like you at all. I can't imagine leaving you, Morgan.

Noire...

[ If he had one wish, it'd be to stay with her forever. But it isn't so simple. Could it be so simple? He wanders the delicate curve of her hand with his fingertips, eyes drifting closed, each kiss like summer on his skin. She's a luxury and a necessity, richer than oxygen and far more painful to be without. ]

I'm grateful too. For you, and this... all of this. I feel sorry for all the me's who don't get to experience you the way I do, heh.

I'm sure your other you's have other people they're happy with. Although outside of Morgan... [ she pauses, resting her cheek on his chest. ] That's very odd to think about.

[ He runs a hand through the fluffy thickness of her hair, drawing slow and soothing circles with his fingertips, and breathes a happy sigh. This is the life... ]

I suppose there would be me's with all sorts of hair colors. [ That does seem to be the rule, judging by all the Shepherds he's seen here. ] But I see your point. It's odd thinking about you with white hair now, and I've already known that Noire for ages.

I would have expected it to be the opposite, because of that. [ and she smiles against his skin, her breathing slowing. He needs to stop doing that to her hair, gosh. ]

I'm honored.