you can call me morrigan.

Seth slips the cue back out of Morrigan's hands, but instead of taking his turn he lays it down on the felt with a light, wooden thud. "I think I've heard a few things about the Irish," he muses, taking a deep pull of his drink before setting it on the table, too: his breath is still cold and gin-scented as Seth steps in close to Morrigan, one of his rough hands coming to gently grip into the grave digger's shirt. "So what do you think, are you better at drinking or kissing?"

Embarrassingly, he squeaks.“Drinking,” he answers, he can’t stop looking at Seth’s mouth, “but I’m not great at that either.”

it was my dad. a foreign concept to ed, and yet so similar. the people that had raised him had also betrayed and caged him—but he had never had a parental relationship with them. never called anyone mom or dad. never even thought about it, until now. is that what they were? is that what he should have been, should be, calling them? "my handler, now. he was the one who designed it, i think." his collar, that is. before this it had been a lot of hopeful sedation, but he had started metabolizing it too quickly. it's hard to replace staff in that position. "he found me out there and spared my life." he leaves out the part where he had torn through several patrols, lost in a red haze ever since his untimely release. they were about to put him down like a rabid dog. try to, at least. "before that, i don't know. they were just people. none of them told me their names."

He pulls at his t-shirt collar, wishes he had a scarf or turtle neck. Something to cover up. The fear doesn’t fully go away, because thinking of Ed as some poor beaten dog only makes him more terrifying.  “I—ok.” He stutters out, uselessly. “I don’t know what to say to all of that.”

"Come to the next show, Morrigan! I'll give you a free front seat ticket!" He laughs a little, looking at the stumbling and awkward movements of a man that's all but toppling things over as he tries to leave the conversation. There's something there, the fugue of naivete upon meeting him that he laps up like a dog. It's why he likes the business; it's why he can never let go of it. "And you look a little out of it too," he comments, moving forward. "You sure you don't want me giving you a ride home?"

Look out of it! He hadn’t had anything to drink, he’s just like this. Morri wishes he’d had something because then he might have met V’s step forwards with at the very least not further backing away. “No!” he says a little too rushed. He holds out his hand, not close enough to touch, a simple hover near V’s chest as though to stop him moving closer. “I’ll get a tram, I’ll be fine.”

"good. maybe one of these days you'll spin around and sit right back down again, huh?" he grins, teasing. hearing him laugh, adrian can't help but feel endeared, even emboldened. "it'll be a breeze from there. you'll be able to practice more than once a night, too."

"I'm ready to spin. I even said you're brave in a round about way, so, your turn." Morrigan can't believe the words are coming out of his own mouth. Instead of denying it, he let's his smile turn a little goofier. What's the worse that could happen?

"all you have to do is think about it?" without meaning to, at that. ed wonders if he would feel the same in that position, but there's a road block between him and a different perspective. all he has is his own. "why didn't they make it... better, then? like mine? if they really didn't want want you to take it off. what if it came off on its own?"

The man looks positively perplexed. This mystery 'they' growing more ominous the longer he speaks. For a frightening moment of clarity, Morrigan realises that he might not be the one worse off in this situation. What a terrible thing to realise, for this stranger's sake more than anything. "Certain phrases trigger it." "There's no 'they'. It was my dad. And I—I keep it on myself. I want it on." Saying it out loud, without his voice wavering, feels like more awful a confession than this man could possibly understand the enormity of. "Who's they? Your they, I mean."

"i'll try and remember that before i compliment you, then," he says, lightly teasing. "but i'm glad you'll at least hear me out before you get up." a pause, accompanied by half a smile. "you will hear me out, right? i won't stop you from getting up after, but if we're trying to practice, you've got to sit still until i've finished."

Acknowledging the awkwardness has the fortunate side effect of making him feel less awkward! Who'd have thought? Not Morri. He laughs, the light teasing feeling very pointed but something he can half-smile at, too. "I'll sit tight till you finish. Promise."

"People should tell you you're prettier, sugar." He winks at him again, enjoying the shade of pink that the man turns into as he swallows the compliment like a too-large pill. It's a different kind of thrill, talking to a fan, making them feel good, even making them feel good about themselves. It's nothing he'll ever trade for—not his former job at Sector Three, not his money, and maybe not even his security. "Maybe I'll have it be your start," Victor says, "You really are handsome! Own it!"

All Morri can do is laugh! Pretty! Sugar! Handsome! He probably looks unhinged the way he's walking backwards, pink as ever, and laughing away. "You—you're good at this!" Morri's ready to leave before he combusts from embarrassment but he's too out of sorts to really look where he's going. Instead he bumps his back into a chair and nearly topples it. "Cheers," he says as he rights the chair and avoids eye contact.

"So, Morri..." The nickname comes naturally, Seth's way of implementing familiarity between them without having to work for it. "What's the story, huh? Where were you before Sol City?"

"Ireland," he answers a little quickly. There's little need for specifics, nowadays. What's the story? Has the real, honest truth springing to mind, but that's hardly something he should tell someone right off the bat? He's chewing over what to say, the pause long, as he considers the fact Billie might like people knowing that Morrigan has someone in his corner who would kill for him. "My brothers ended up here, so I followed. You, um, you always been here?"

Morrigan stands because Seth's hand has left him, and this time he watches the results of the break with more interest, giving a satisfied whistle as the balls come to their resting positions. "Alright, that's more like it!" Seth slips the cue out of Morrigan's hands and moves around to the opposite side of the table, bending to take his own shot. "Thanks... I like that. Sounds way better than 'sorry', huh?" His turn is quick and easy: he's played enough pool to consider himself a bit of an expert, but he doesn't show off too much, getting the job done with just a simple ricochet and sink into the corner pocket. Seth offers up the cue again with a wink. "And when you say 'thanks', I get to say 'you're welcome'. Can I get you a drink, Morrigan?"

"Yes, please," he keeps his attention on the table and his cue, a faint buzz at the use of his nickname, "Gin, please. If you have any."

He laughs, actually laughs as the flustered look of the man resolves into something resembling a smile. There it is. The unwinding, almost as fun as when he strings along socialites in a dark nightclub. Almost. "I do, but a guy can't really get tired of hearing about it, can he?" Victor pats the man's shoulder and shakes his head. A momentary touch, but enough to at least maybe give the guy something to think about. "I mean, you should know, right?"

The touch on his shoulder makes Morri want to melt into him. He's not necessarily touch-starved but touch hungry. He hugs Billie but it's not the same. Not the same electric thrill that is a guy touching him and telling him in a round about way he's... good looking? It feels like a cruel joke and insanely flattering all at once. Morri even stumbles back, face turning bright pink, "Yeah, no! I wouldn't know." He says with embarrassed laughter, reaching to touch the shoulder V had just patted.

the idea brings a disarmed smile to his face. compliments. it's like he'd never heard of the concept before. "oh," he says, a little sheepish. a lot sheepish, shy of embarrassed. "well, as you can see... i'm not very good at accepting those. but i'll give it my best shot." something has told him—yeah, morri himself, more or less—that his opposite isn't used to extended conversation. it's not a judgement. he's not bad at talking, he just has the air of someone who thinks they are. "maybe i'm just out of practice. you think that can happen?"

Morrigan didn't expect to get this far. Adrian is embarrassed, but taking the attempt at a compliment in stride despite saying he's out of practice. Is this... flirting? Successfully? Morri almost wants to ask if that is actually what's happening right now, but he'll pretend to have some dignity. "Definitely. If you try to give me a compliment I'll probably just leave without saying a word." He jokes. Half-jokes.