Chapter Text
Her new imprint had been itching for days and Morrigan couldn’t wait to see what it was. She wasn’t the only one who was excited either because Squall had been making faces at her left hand for days. It wasn’t as obvious as Inferno and Weaving had been but less abstract than Ruination. A moving… dark blob, shifting away on the tip of her finger. It was her eighth Wundrous Art. She only had one fingertip left free, her left pinky, where Masquerade would be filled, hopefully sooner than later.
Squall was positively bouncing on his heels in a way that unnerved her as they made their way to the liminal hall. “Now this one is interesting,” he said after ducking out of glance of a Sub-Nine scholar, which confused Morrigan because he was still in the gossamer, she could see the slightly glassy air around him and that he walked through the wall while she struggled with a particularly heavy door. Because he was a horrible little man who didn’t like helping. And also he wasn’t actually there.
Still, the Sub-Nine group were the most learned of Wundrous Arts outside of… her and Squall, really so it made a little sense but only if you were a harebrained freak like Squall.
The Liminal Hall lit up like it had with every other one, like clockwork. Squall smiled a little enviously and told her to say ‘hello’ for him, like every time. She wouldn’t. Like every time.
“Good luck. And watch out .”
What in the Free State and the Wintersea Republic did the Layer mean by that. Wundrous deities were truly fascinating to talk to, to see, but they were enigmatic, either by nature or for pleasure. They all had little quirks and personality. The Kindling was jealous and lonely (they all were to a little extent but mostly the Kindling), The Wreck was careful , it never said a word it hadn’t… thought of? considered? She wasn’t sure if that was the right term but it only said what was necessary and nothing more. She respected that. Weaving was very dramatic and she wasn’t going to forget that experience in a long time. She felt colour-blind by the time she’d left and Rook had found her staring at one spot in the gossamer garden because she was late for Hometrain. She’d been there for hours.
This had been a lot less overwhelming than the others but she still needed a cup of tea and one of Ravi’s teacakes to fortify herself before she was due a lecture on Epistemological Espionage on Sub-Three.
She’d arranged with Cadence to get her notes on the chance she couldn’t make it and was zoning out in the gossamer garden again but she still had ten minutes to spare by the time she hopped in a railpod and had wiped away the last of the crumbs off her face very carefully.
She had a horror of being seen with food on her face ever since Holliday Wu told the press what she was. Or the Elders had or whatever. She’d still ended up with mushy peas looking like she had a snotty nose on the front of every newspaper in the seven pockets. Except the Sixth Pocket Recorder which had reported on the rumour of a disappearing magic rabbit through the pocket which later turned out to be a prank by some very bored teenagers.
She had that article framed in her room. Sometimes Room 85 trailed climbing plants around it in its place of honour. Last week it had been a fig tree in fruit which was nice to snack on while she did her homework.
The Deucalion was as busy as ever when she emerged from her room, fingers stained lightly with ink from transcribing notes from enmeshed scribble and half-code to readable format. Frank had enlisted Martha and Charlie in moving things around the lobby as part of his visual design for the Saturday party tomorrow. The Aurianna had gone down in popularity the second the Hollowpox had ended and was being boycotted loudly by Wunimals and human supporters after what they’d done to keep open by excluding them. The Deucalion even had some of their old staff, like the Bearwun doorman who’d nearly mauled Morrigan when she destroyed the hollowpox. His name was Barnaby and he was really good at whist.
Senator Silverback was staying at the hotel again. She spotted him sitting in the lobby with a pile of correspondence from Kedgeree. He had a golden W pin on the lapel of a smart looking barathea wool suit jacket and she spied his imprint on one of his leathery fingers.
“You look awful,” said someone from behind her and Morrigan rolled her eyes on instinct.
“You’re not exactly an oil painting yourself, Jack.”
John Arjuna Korapatti knocked her gently on the shoulder. “How’s being part of an elite society beholden to no one?”
“How’s being at a school for idiots who make you wear morning suits everyday?”
“It’s lovely, thank you. Have you seen Uncle Jove?”
Morrigan shook her head, “He’s still on an expedition. Left two days ago.”
Jack huffed, sinking down to the floor. Morrigan joined him. “Course he is. I wonder how the League ever got on without him given the amount of times they keep calling him away.” His hands fiddled with his eyepatch. “Want to play?”
“Obviously. Let’s see who’s having an affair!” She shoved her hands over her mouth and Jack glared at her.
“Not so loud, Morrigan. It’s supposed to be like, let’s see who’s having an affair,” he whispered the last part and Morrigan snorted.
“Alright, hurry up.”
Only one person was having an affair, a young man with curly grey hair who scowled at everything. There was a young woman who was excited about being pregnant but still keeping it secret. Morrigan noticed how she passed over the alcoholic drinks a little sadly for a mocktail.
Jack said, “Charlie seems nervous about something but also excited. I wonder… oh. Oh. ” He turned to Morrigan, his voice so low she took a second to understand it, “I think he’s going to propose to Martha.” Then he looked, looked , at Morrigan and frowned.
Morrigan, still focused on Martha and Charlie’s potential engagement, murmured, “How do you know?”
He blinked a little but told her, “He’s got like… rosy bubbles around his heart which is like… romantic excitement, don’t look at me like that you know what I mean, and there’s a very pale yellow around his head like a clamp, which is anxiety, usually about a life choice. Why do you look, for lack of a better word… haunted?”
She sighed, heard what he said, and straightened up, “What do you mean by haunted, please. That’s such a weird thing to say to someone, Jack, what does it look like?” She glanced around but didn’t see anything. Maybe the lights were a little dimmer but it was evening now and that’s what the Hotel did.
“Shadows around you. They’re not from you, they’re just surrounding you. As separate entities. I mean… it’s probably nothing. Did you do any weird Wundersmith stuff today?”
Morrigan told him and he nodded, a little cautious, which was understandable considering what the Layer was, as a Wundrous deity. “There you go. Probably something to do with the god you were hanging out with today.”
She recalled the last thing it had said to her and found this less comforting as he likely hoped it to be. He saw this and patted her shoulder, “It’ll be fine.” Morrigan did her best to believe him.
She awoke the next morning with a crowd of faces above her.