#scmcnymuses

“The boiler still acting up?” Helen entered the room without bothering to knock, and beelined straight to the boiler in question. She had recently started working at the museum as a member of the maintenance crew. It was still odd to her that someone’s office was down here, but she didn’t have time to focus too much on it. “I swear, every time I think I’ve fixed it for good, it starts up again. You’d think they’d just buy a new one at this point.”

    “That’s inaccurate,” Rhys commented, peering over his shoulder at Feyre’s painting. “You’ve made Lucien look positively terrifying. The last I saw of him, he looked like a pining lost puppy.” Was he bored? Of course he was. And when Feyre had elected to ignore his whining over their bond, he’d decided to come and do it in person, breathe right next to her ear... potentially annoy her until she paid attention to him. “I’m slightly insulted you’re not painting me after last night.”

Elain was sitting in the garden, tending to some of the flowers and enjoying the beginnings of spring. She heard the crunch of the path behind her and turned, expecting to see her sister but instead finding Mor. “Oh hello,” she greeted. 

So Elain stood on the edge of the party, watching, feeling out of place in a setting that she’d once felt very at home in. It’d been a lot time coming, adjusting to her new life, her new power. Learning it, learning how to interpret it. And it was strange to spend a night here. When she felt the presence approach and stand next to her she only glanced for a moment. “Hello,” she said softly. “I don’t imagine you’ll tell me what this is all about?”

Once humanoid, Excalibur replied, “Good question. If I recall correctly my last wielder abandoned me here. What led you to be here?” 

“Sleeping,” Albus mumbled groggily. Pulling Elphias closer and burying his head in his shoulder to block out the sun as best he could. He didn’t know what time it was, but the mild headache he was feeling was telling him it was too early. For anything. He didn’t make it a habit to overindulge in alcohol, and mornings like this only reminded him why. At least he wasn’t alone. “You weren’t planning on getting up, were you?”

“Was that--” The man gave an indignant huff. Golden eyes narrowed into a vicious glower, he stowed the steel shortsword in its sheath at his back, sliding it home with one well-practised motion, “I might not be bearing arms quite so LARGE as Geralt of bloody Rivia, but I’ll tell you that-- Gods above, SIZE matters not when one’s SKILL is unmatched.”