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..."