MIDSUMMER DREAMS

A joke, a joke! Though he had always been curious about this lady and her connection with Marks. What it was, why it was, all that kinda thing. He'd never ask Oz. They didn't talk about that-- about ladies or about men-- about relationships in general.

They talked business. And lately, the grisly nature of their separate... conditions.

"So what brings you to the Court, then? Feeling lonely?"

Menodora would normally be glad that Jack took the lead in the conversation. Asked a question, gave some direction. She doesn't know if she's glad now, when such a surface-level question ("Feeling Lonely?") hits very close to a deeper, raw truth.

For the past few months, Menodora has had to be alone. She's been unable to act as herself, fully embracing - no matter how empty it felt - everything it meant to be Mena.

It wasn't so much just lonely, Menodora thinks, but isolating.

"You could say that," she says, trying to shuffle all those thoughts away. "Sometimes it's nice to get out. People watch, or whatnot."

Was he flirting?

Maybe. He liked older women. It had to do with his copious mommy issues. Thanks, Wonderful!

He chuckled at his own joke, picked up one of his drinks and then knocked it back, letting a satisfied breath out after. "So how are you feeling today, then? Fidgety at all? Should I be prepared to duck?"

Menodora leans one arm the bar, resting her face on her palm. "Well, you haven't made me cross yet," she says. "Still, there's time yet."

She watches him knock back his drink. He had so many in front of him. If she had that many, she's sure she'd be wasted.

"Decidedly not fidgety. Unless you want me to be. I'm sure I could muster up something to worry about, just for you."

They'd rather carry the complicated feelings that composed their relationship with pride, as if they were a medal, than have to deal with the alternative.

Yes, if things had been any different that choice would have been terribly insensitive: had Menodora been affected by a natural ailment then the Septarian's choice to rather not deal with her in that condition would not be as acceptable -would have possibly been an insult to their bond than an expression of it-

-then again, Tófi had never claimed to be a good example when it came to morals, so they didn't exactly feel guilty.

It hadn't been a black and white thing and they were aware that the only reason why their choice had been remotely acceptable was because there had been many, many other pieces in motion; That wishful thinking rarely worked and that, maybe, this was the Norn's curious ways of figuratively throwing a bone at them after so many times making them miserable.

To try and compensate for person that did not have as much luck as Menodora, maybe.

"There is no victory, nor honour, in taking advantage of someone who is already suffering -you talk about that time as if it had been sunshine and rainbows, but it was not"

For they remembered the angst, the heavy pauses, the moments of fugue and how Mena had tried to cling to anything that could maybe give her answers about who she had been.

"I am glad you pulled through. That there are many people out there besides me that care for your well-being enough to actively fight for it"

They did not have any details about what had changed or how-

-but given Stella's threat and the Comission's actions? They could fill in the blanks just fine.

They lower their head, pressing their forehead to hers in silent affection

Then the question comes.

"I am note quite sure, myself" they admit with voice lowered "Mjaunie, I am afraid, will never be the same as they one I once knew. Times change, people change, and even places do -tomorrow's Mjaunie is as foreign to me as any other place"

It's a bittersweet thing to admit: that time has erased the vague idea of what Home had once been and that they no longer belonged to the place that saw them live their first of everything.

This was not quite like outgrowing one's birthplace, not like expanding your horizons, no, it was like...being dragged away by waves without even noticing it.

"And Swynlake is...terribly odd for my tastes. The bi-annual catastrophe and the collective dreams are not necessarily quite to my liking, nor their over-reliance on..."

The word 'magic' is left unsaid, but remains very present.

"I guess I will cross that bridge when I get to it -or whoever the phrase goes"

A long time ago, she had been happy-go-lucky. A long time ago, she’d been someone entirely different than what Mjaunie had made her. Or maybe that was what Tófi had made her. On purpose? By consequence? It doesn’t matter now, it’s done.

Assigning blame doesn’t fix the problem.

“It was nice for a time,” Moon admits, averting her gaze. Looking just off from their eyes. “I remember the good of it, the bad being suppressed or buried by the spell when it could be. I remember you had tried to tell me something — my name — and everything had shifted. There’s a gap there, a blank. I don’t remember what I said between that and us merely discussing…”

That hurtful conversation between them.

She lets her hesitation and silence speak for her.

“It was Stella who won me back,” Menodora says, “though she had help. I’m not sure if it was the spell she tried to counter-act with, or her own magic by itself. Do you remember my mother’s pies. The ones she used to bake for my birthday. She offered you a slice on my 10th birthday, that one where you indulged me with a class outside. It was the same one as back then. It tasted the same.”

The memory emerges in her mind piece by piece, resurfacing from its long dormancy. Tófi explaining to her the history (albeit revised) of her family’s reign, their responsibilities. She wonders how often they had cursed The Commission for the curriculum. They were outside on the veranda, Menodora scribbling down her notes on the subject. Her mother, radiant as always in her golden curls and blue eyes, bringing them lunch (tea sandwiches) with blackberry pie for dessert. Ice cream as well. Her love was stored in flavor, in food. Even if it wasn’t magic, her love was magic in itself.

There is a brief moment where Menodora wonders what Tófi’s relationship with her mother was. They seemed to co-exist rather well, her mother appreciative of Tófi’s efforts to rein in her child’s wandering mind.

Were they friends? Or was Tófi’s deferential smile always gritted, just out of sight?

Her had always inclined her head when the two of them — her and Mr Sethson — would pass each other in a corridor.

A tear nearly escapes Menodora as she looks up to Tófi’s face. This was a glamour. These were not the same eyes that Comitessa would have seen when Tófi had assassinated her.

Assigning guilt didn’t fix the problem, either.

Tófi lowers their head to hers. Menodora closes her eyes for a moment, letting her heavy musings slowly melt back into the back of her mind. Affection is what is conveyed. Affection is what Menodora feels back, even if it was complicated. And wrong.

“I wish I’d understood back then,” Menodora says, a softness to her voice that surprises her, “all that you’d lost. All that you gave up to be my tutor. I was too short-sighted to see it. I was too short-sighted to see beyond my own estate.”

Menodora loved Swynlake, she did. She loved the people she’d met, she loved the person she became - even if she loathed that person as well. Change was painful in ways Menodora had expected. In ways she hadn’t as well.

“I hope you find somewhere you can call home. And who knows? Perhaps, in some amount of years, whether in my lifetime or otherwise, Mjaunie will be a place you could find it in yourself to call home again. I want that for you, and every mon— (a clearing of the throat) —and every person that was every unfairly treated by myself and my family. I hope it can be rebuilt. I hope—… I hope it gets better.”

Jack nearly barked, but thankfully, he was sipping his drink at that exact moment, and so he merely choked on the liquor. Jerking his head away, some spittle ran out of his mouth, dribbled down his chin, before he grabbed a napkin and patted himself clean.

Bah! Fucking hilarious. The way this lady made Oz sound like some heartsick besotted little....

Jack's stomach suddenly felt queasy. Anyway! What did this woman know?

"Did you? Did I deserve it?" Jack ignored the Oz comments completely, cocking an eyebrow at the mention of pen violence.

"It was an accident," Menodora says with a slightly raised brow. "I'd been fidgeting, as I often do. Why, is there a crime you may be guilty of that would warrant it?"

There's something almost teasing in her tone, though maybe something also uneasy.

"I wouldn't think so. But you never know. You could be hiding some fantastic secrets."

How could he ever quite reconcile that with the woman who sat in front of him, smiling ever-so-slightly-sheepishly as if they were discussing nothing important?

"I hope it's see you later," he said, sighing a little to himself, before he drove the heels of his palms into his eyes to try and drive away the trace of the tears that wanted to fall. What else could he say?

"You're a better person than you think you are, Menodora," he reminded her, lifting his head again to try and break out a smile for her. "And I hope you get to come back to say a proper goodbye before you move somewhere else."

That would be a better version to imagine, wouldn't it?

Her intention was to find out what he wanted as a gift, to say thank you. Maybe to say goodbye.

This is not how Menodora wanted this interaction to go.

Hercules retracted his hands, staving off tears. Guilt resonates between Menodora's ribs.

"It's 'see you later,'" Menodora assures, with no idea whether or not it was a lie. "You're not rid of me, yet, Hercules."

She reaches into her bag and passes him a light blue, embroided handkerchief.

"Only if you'd like," she says, softly. "But, Hercules..."

She starts, though realizes she doesn't know what she means to say. Menodora wishes she could sip on her drink right now, but it was empty. She taps her fingers together in a rhythm. A self-soothing tendency she wishes she'd outgrow.

"I'll send you so many postcards of my adventures, it's like I'd never left. You'll be inundated with verbose musings about something as mundane as the weather." She smiles then, brighter than it had been. Yes, that is the better future. "You'll have so many words from me, it'll be like I never left."

But this was research! Just because he had his own club now didn't mean that he couldn't enjoy the fruits of others... perhaps take something here and there as well. He expected beautiful Jessica Rabbit to do the same kinda thing. Or she could try-- but she was so beneath him, magic-wise, he doubted she could ever truly rise to Pierrot's experience.

And that was fine because they both had very different experiences anyway, didn't they?

So today, Jack had ordered every cocktail on the menu. He sniffed them, licked the sugar, salt, and tajin rims (depending on the drink). He'd just smacked his lips and slurped a particular spicy margarita when someone caught his attention.

Oh! It was Oswald's... what was her name?

Clearly, she knew him. So Jack would just have to pretend to remember her name.

"Ahhhh, yes! That's me. Sort of," Jack said. "We're business partners, at least. Not sure about friends." He chuckled.

She almost feels bad to disturb him.

"Not friends?" But... Menodora withholds a frown, remembering that Jack was - in fact - Oswald's supposed only other friend. Only other real friend?

She supposed she's been crossed off the friend list already, though. Given the truly spectacular crashout, then collision, the two of them had in his apartment.

Her fault. Of course.

"I thought Oz thought the world of you," she says, brows knit in confusion. "Though, that's not my business. Sorry, I'm not trying to intrude on your relationship. Honestly, I'm a bit surprised to see you at the Court, instead of Pierrot. I think the last time we met..." she pauses, tries to remember if he'd ever met Mena... "No, it was here, wasn't it? I threw a pen at you by accident..."

It’s the sort of humid day that Menodora associated with mornings on the moors. Rain had washed over Swynlake overnight and now everything felt heavier, even the air. Denser, like fog. Or, perhaps that was just the fact that Menodora was still orienting herself to her new-ish life, despite it being a month and change since she’d accepted that her life would just be a lie until further notice. That would leave a fog in someone’s brain for sure.

She ends up at the Court after a quick trip into The Lucky Cat to say hi to Cassandra. It’s Cass who keeps her the most grounded, the most not-alone. Not being able to speak with Stella or River left Menodora feeling highly unmoored. Even Oswald had fallen away from her every day life, considering the facts of their last encounter and the revelation there.

Menodora sighs into her drink, fogging the edge of the glass.

She was nursing the same white wine for the past however many minutes when someone catches her eye.

Oh. They’ve spoken before, haven’t they?

Menodora shifts down the bar a few seats, finds herself next to someone she’s somewhat familiar with, though not nearly enough.

“Jack, wasn’t it?” She asks, happy for a somewhat familiar face. She might have recognized him previously as Mena, though it wasn’t as if they’d spoken. Would she have remembered him? “We met here before. You’re Oz’s friend, aren’t you?”

And if this were any other situation, any other person, Tófi would most likely wax poetic about difference between endings and beginnings, being nothing but an illusion, about cycles, about resilience and the bizarre nature of life-

-but they also understand where she is coming from, has a vague idea of how her experiences have shaped her and how, unlike them, she navigates the limited time she has been given.

So they merely nod, gaze softened.

'I've always had a hard time letting go.'

"I am somewhat glad that is the case" they admit, not thinking about their words until they hear them out loud.

They pause, then decide to elaborate.

"I like you better than Mena" which may, admittedly, sound a little cruel "I prefer when you are conscious of things, even the unpleasant ones, when you can be the you that is composed of little parts of everyone you have loved so far instead of a freer-yet-hollow version of yourself -the one that exists because you refuse to let go"

Of memories, of people.

And it is curious, ironic even, how they so openly admit how they will miss the other when they are gone, how the relatively brief time they have spent together has shaped them into a different version of themselves.

Tófi is no longer the angsty rebel, nor the somewhat standoffish tutor, but a worse third thing; And Menodora is no longer the innocent and carefree child, nor the jaded and reluctant warrior, but...a different person, that both encompasses that and is more than.

She is tired, scared, remorseful, but she is also wiser, and silently hopeful, she is learning, she is-

-kissing them. Huh.

Well, that is surprising -not unwelcome, mind, just surprising.

It feels natural, in a way: like a little gesture to express gratitude, like complicity, like fondness. This is not quite tainted by unnecessary labels or implication and, instead, just is.

And once it is done, things do not change a bit.

"I had hoped that you would return" they admit, voice lowered "and knew that you would be beyond mad if you came back to your senses just to realize that I had been less than helpful during your...moment of weakness"

Tófi pauses.

"I did not want to trouble any further. This was your chance to embrace a different life, free of the burdens of the past, if you had wanted"

They shake their head, chuckling, entertained by the whole thing.

"I did not want to accept it, hoped against hope and, admittedly, hated myself for allowed myself to do so -but also knew that letting go was the best, given the context"

Ah, there it is again: the fine, fine line between letting go and carrying on.

"But I am glad that you came back, that life gave us this chance to reunite and, maybe, voice some of the things that we did not have the opportunity to freely discuss, before"

Tófi, apparently.

Menodora's lip twitches, unsure whether to smile in gladness or sadness.

"Well, I appreciate that," she says, an embarrassed flush spreading across her cheeks. "It does my ego some good that my oldest friend wouldn't trade the real me for any other. You've seen me at my best and worst. Something has to be said for that."

The kiss is as unremarkable as Menodora expects. Truly, as unremarkable as she'd hoped. Her affections were often a muddled mess in her mind, wordless exchanges somehow clearer displays than paragraphs of explicit words.

For as much as she and Tófi speak, a soft kiss expressed more than she could possibly - coherently - convey in her current state.

Menodora tilts her head back with a bitter mirth - yes, both. "Well, you'd be correct. I'd be unbelievably cross if I'd discovered you'd taken advantage of my state -- moment of weakness, as you'd said."

She recalls that she's not as they remember.

Her dark hair, so unlike her mother's, no longer elaborately styled. Brown eyes. Clothes in softer fabrics, as opposed to formal and expensive textiles. Light colors, versus stark and severe tones.

Menodora wonders if she'd become a different person to Tófi far before her memory loss.

"I didn't know what I'd lost," Menodora murmurs. "Yes, it would be wonderful to live free of the weight of the past, but to do that, I would have had to trade my memories. That's not a trade I'd be willing to make ever. I'd lose Stella, and River, and you."

She looks at him intently. Her gaze is pointed.

"What are you going to do, Tófi," Menodora asks directly. "If we win this trial, your exile will be lifted, I imagine. Will you go back to Mjaunie in it's new form, try to regain some semblance of your old life? Will you stay in Swynlake? We talk so easily about my future... what about yours?"

After all, Moon was the one who was having a hard time. She'd had her memories stolen! Her literal life was in danger! So was Stella's!!! She had big, real problems to deal with, and she was fresh off of getting her memories back and trying to rebuild her life. She was the one who deserved care and support.

Cass was just on the side. She was here. She was a side character in this story and that meant she needed to pull herself together.

"I'm just so glad you're back. You're here and you remember things and you talk like you again and just...I'm so glad. Um, more tea would be great."

More tea was always the answer to problems.

Still, Cass's joy that Moon's back to her normal self is heartwarming. It's a mercy that Cass has asked for more tea, which Menodora is happy to provide. Even if this is Cass's home.

She stands, takes Cass and her own mugs back to the kitchen... wonders what she could be doing better

Everything, is the self-critical answer. But in the realm of being friends, Menodora truly just wants to help make Cass's life easier. And, like she's told Cass directly, she'd rather Cass not be involved.

When Moon brings the mugs of tea back, she's made her decision. Mustered the resolve to try, at least a little bit, to be brave. Not in the way that Menodora has been taught, but in the way that Cass has been encouraging her, explicitly or not.

She'd going to be herself as best as she can.

"I'm here and I remember things and I have a slight affect if I say too many vowels," she says with a laugh. "And, honestly, it's good to be back. Memories no longer trapped in my head - pressing at my temples when I got too close to the truth. I shouldn't keep you too much longer, though. I fear I'm leaning a bit too much on Monica to watch the shop. Can we squeeze in a dinner some time next week? I feel like it might be more appropriate to spend time together when I'm not ambushing you with wave after wave of new information."

Why should that mean that Menodora had to die, potentially? How could that be the way this ended, if Stella had challenged the system, didn't that mean that things could be changed.

"Not if you die it won't be!" He said, a little too loud (and earning them some very concerned looks from the table next to them, that made Hercules duck his head more.

"It's not right," he said, weakly and quietly as he tried to rein himself in once more. "I don't want that to be how it ends, not after everything you've been through- You've only just got your memories back!" How could it be fair, could these people, whoever they were, not just leave Menodora to stay here in Swynlake, away from it all?

Seemingly not. Hercules squeezed his eyes tight shut for a second as he tried to get control of himself again, before he reached across the table and laid his hands over hers. "You deserve better than that."

Maybe that was naive to hope for, and maybe it would change nothing, but Hercules felt like he had to say it.

"Hercules, it's an antiquated system. For all I know, it could be a scare tactic." She knows better, and maybe she ought to stop lying. No, she knows she should. Hercules could see through it, she's sure. And she promised herself, on and off as her nerves try and fail, to be truthful.

She exhales a defeated sigh. Clasps her hands in his.

"Do I? I'm not sure I do." She looks at him in a slightly imploring way. "I'm not a terribly good person, Hercules. Even with all my baked goods and gift baskets, I still fought a war against other magicks. I still perpetuated a system that hurt others. If anything, this is justice for crimes I'd long thought I'd swept under the rug."

Menodora remembers the shreds of apprehension Hercules bore when she'd mentioned her opinion against Monsters.

"Look, I didn't bring it up to worry you. I should have known better. I just... I would regret not saying goodbye to you. So I wanted to do that. I've lacked closure before, I didn't want that this time."

She shakes her head. "And even if I don't die, I think... I might not stay in Swynlake forever. So maybe it's not goodbye, but simply a 'see you later.' You don't need to worry about me, Hercules. I can handle myself."

"You-" He felt his hand shake slightly, his urge to try and grasp something to hold him steady but knowing that he couldn't. Anything he might touch might now might be turned into a crumpled heap of nothingness. "You can't just go off there expecting them to..." It was unthinkable, that she could simply walk away into whatever trap was awaiting her with its jaws ready to spring closed.

"You can't-" He protested, feeling suddenly very very small in a world he did not understand.

"I don't want anything." Herc added, feeling his eyes prickling and stinging with tears that he didn't want to fall; he didn't want her to see them fall. "I want you to not die."

She was always so nonchalant about the things that harmed her. It was hard, she imagined, being her friend.

"Well, I would hope that it doesn't come to that. But I'm the case that it did..." she trails off, looking at Hercules with soft, sympathetic eyes. "I wanted you to know."

No matter if he wanted her to or not, Menodora could tell slightly teary eyes when she saw them. Or, at least when she paid attention. She reaches across the table to take Hercules's hand, though decides instead to rest her's over his given the tension in the conversation.

"Stella challenged the political system as a whole. Formally. Everything that Mjaunie is. There was a cost to that. A risk. I wouldn't go down without a fight but I don't know how much I can do, ultimately if we fail." She laughs a weak little laugh. "Hercules, everything will be alright. I just want to celebrate our friendship."