(no subject)
Who: Morgan Stoddard[Aesop's Horse] and Monica Demuth[Slue Foot Sue]
Where: Monica's "shop"; Chelsea.
When: BACKDATED. Last Wednesday, Noon-ish.
What: Five feet of each other and no collateral damage. Just fluff.
Rating: R. For implied situations at the end.
Morgan had been entrusted the well kept secret that Monica Rae Demuth owned shoes that were not high heels, and bottoms that were not skirts. It was an honor to be sure, not that the cock sure woman would have ever admitted as much to him.
Very rarely did anybody outside of her racing circles find Monica dressed down to her jeans, it proved a distinctive problem of course when Morgan's day off had coincided with the only one that Monica had been allowed that week with the onset of hormonal sea creatures, her vacation with Paddy, and kids on spring break flooding the Aquarium. What with the slightly amusing highschool version of infatuation that had begun to breed between the star crossed horse and cow girl it was the sort of opportunity for her to jump on, with the exception that Monica was set as an entrant in the Gumball 3000 for the first time, and it was now only four months away.
The biggest challenge that came was to create a fast car, that was comfortable, gas efficient, and stylish enough to draw attention without too much from the cops. It had become her obsession, and so the offer had been made for them to gather at her shop while she worked. This was a whole new feat in costuming to be sure, and Monica had only helped she could pull it off amongst what looked more like a well stocked museum rather than a mechanic's shop, all parts and tools safely hidden into a raised loft. The entire warehouse was relatively spotless with large skylighted windows flooding in the natural sunlight, with the walls lined with red lifts that stocked fourteen cars not including the one that she currently rested underneath. This left enough of the black and white checkerboard floor empty for the cavalry of motorbikes as well as a small sitting area marked off by two adjacent Persian rugs. It was surprisingly decorated much the same as any other sort of living space that may have existed in someone's home. Like a transplanted living room, it was complete with two rather retro looking striped couches and a coffee table, a large red painted 1960's Frigidaire that looked like something out of June Cleaver's kitchen, a large basket of dog toys, and a stereo system settled against the wall.
This was where Morgan was currently resting, watching her work on the car, petting the dog. The greyhound had taken a fancy to him and sat nearby, looking up at him with soulful brown eyes. He'd never been in a garage quite like this one. In fact, he'd never owned a car. He only drove his squad car, and that wasn't REALLY his. Looking around at the cars, he felt like he'd perhaps missed out on an essential element of masculinity.
And he had decided it was really hot for a girl to work on cars.
"So what exactly are you fixing on that one?" he asked.
Rolling herself out from underneath the 300M she was had been working on, Monica propped herself up from her prone position to rest back on her hands, surprisingly naturally hued lips quirking up in a light smirk. "I'm switching out the engine from the V8 it had to a non stock V6..."
It was an arduous task to be sure, and sounded surprising as most changes one would make to a car generally were meant to make the machine faster, this down grade however was more practical. "It'll make it more fuel efficient for long distance driving.." Pushing herself from the floor then to sit bare grease streaked arms resting on her knees. "You know, you oughtta feel special sugar. You're one of the first boys Minnie's ever become enamoured with. She tends to be wary of 'em caus'a where she came from."
"Yeah, I had to reassure her a lot in the beginning," he said. "If I hadn't been able to talk with her it would've taken a lot longer. I wonder what happened to her," he mused, rubbing the dog behind the ears. "You don't know the details, do you?"
"She used to be a racing dog, I found her at a rescue when they had a tent set up at the Annex actually." Monica smiled taking the moment to let her car be before lowering it off the lift and bringing in the leveller. Pushing herself up with a distinctive stretch she made way to the refrigerator, pulling the red bandana from her hair for a moment to run her fingers through her hair. "I can't imagine the sort of things they subject those poor dogs. It ain't cool to think about but she wasn't a pet, she was a fucking work horse- pardon the term, doll. She was a way of making money y'know? I s'pose it's why I go and spoil her so much now..Didja want a beer?"
"An animal can work and still be treated with love and respect. If the cruelty was too much, the ASPCA would be on their asses more." Though he wondered about that; what measures were in place to protect the race dogs? "I've seen a lot worse."
He didn't like to think about the animals he'd seen in his police work. Most of the abuse cases he'd seen weren't even the reason the police had been called. He could tell a fighting dog at a glance; it killed him that he couldn't intervene without evidence. And having heard it from the dog's mouth wasn't evidence he could turn in to the state.
He pushed the images of the pit bulls and rottweillers out of his mind. "Yes, I'd love a beer."
"I don't doubt that, sugar."
She felt his discomfort from the other side of the door, her back arching just a bit as her nerves stood on end. Forcing a calm, Monica dipped in to pull out a bottle of Killian's Red handing it over to him before taking one for herself. Settling herself into the couch adjacent to Morgan, a self satisfied smile made it's way over her features. Only five feet away from each other. How was that for progress?
"There's a shit ton of rotten folks in the world. It's a shame it ain't like it used t'be when we could take proper justice into our own hands y'anno."
Morgan smirked. "It's been a long time since then. And justice is a funny thing - tricky. Like holding a bag of soup." He reached over and clinked his beer against hers. He pulled back before his nerves rose too much. "I think we're doing well," he said. "This is a lot easier than writing over the Compendiums. Especially with my handwriting."
"Not for me." Monica said with a shy sort of grin as she tilted back the beer after they'd toasted. This was still just her first reincarnation since the days of the Old West where she had been written into, and it seemed that Morgan tended bring out that side of her more than usual. "It didn't used to be any trickier than shooting a good for nothing scoundrel when he went around bothering people, now we have this damned stupid system in place that goes and complicates it all."
It took a moment for her poise to return and the clipped edge of Sue's voice to retreat as he mentioned them. As in Monica and Morgan, not their tales. They were doing very well, and it made her grin. "Much easier, who knows sugar soon we might even get to holding hands." And with that came a recrossing of her legs and a smirk that was just slightly askewed from appropriate.
Morgan watched her with an appreciative smile. Goddamn but the woman was hot. "Better not try to make out or anything just yet," he chuckled.
"Darling if we can get close enough for me to kiss you without fear of a having to hand out another check or another horrible date..." Monica trailed off to eye Morgan for a moment, contemplating just what she ought to say, what the best way to phrase just the way the thoughts in her head existed. It didn't come easily of course, it never did when it was worth it. And so she continued.."Well..." and there came a soft chuckle to mimic his own.
"So what would you call me now?" he asked, turning playful. "Green broke?"
"I ain't sure yet, I could try and saddle you up and see what sort of outcome it brings." It was a comfortable banter, and though at first their rather unfair circumstances had been more than irritating, especially frusturating..Monica was beginning to find herself settling into it a bit more. It was nice, getting to know someone long term before acting directly on one's impulses.
Grinning just slightly, the bottle and her chin were simultaneously tipped back exposing her throat to him for a moment before returning to her typical state of slight dominance. "Besides, I forgot my spurs and crop at home." Not acting on impulse didn't mean one couldn't have fun either.
Morgan watched her with hungry eyes; he bit his lip when she tilted back the bottle. "God you're a sexy woman," he said. "It's just not fair. But ..."
He shrugged. "There's an element to it that's actually kinda cool though."
Morgan's words brought a silly smirk to her face, he was absolutely adorable. From his naughty innuendos stopping at "making out" and referring to their situation as "kinda cool", he embodied that wonderfully innocent sort of boy a girl wanted to take her to prom. He was like something straight from Happy Days and Monica found herself absolutely infatuated with him for it. "I absolutely adore you, Mr. Stoddard."
Morgan found himself nearly blushing. It was just such a cute thing for her to say - made all the more poignant because he strongly suspected she didn't say things to that to just anyone. He was saved from having to come up with anything in response by his cell phone. With an apologetic glance to her, he fished it out and looked at it, and answered it. "Hello? Speaking. ... Sure, that'd be fine. No, actually, scratch that, would Monday be ok? ... Yeah ok. ... Right. Ok thanks." He flipped the phone closed and stuck it back in his jeans pocket. "Sorry about that. I've been trying to get a doctor's appointment for like a WEEK now, but one of the doctors is on the longest vacation ever, so it's been hectic there, apparently." He rolled his eyes. He hated doctor appointments. They were never punctual.
Correct in his assumptions, the man received a small grin, and an understanding shrug of her shoulders. Phone calls happened, and Monica wasn't about to fault him for something so small when he'd been patient all throughout her time underneath the car. Beckoning to Minnie as he spoke, she allowed the dog to settle herself into her lap, fingers idly petting the dog's ears as she waited for him to finish. A smile offered then. "Why should you be sorry about something like that? It's you health...what's wrong anyways? You feelin' okay?"
"Oh I feel fine," he assured her. "I just have an odd spot on my shoulder. My partner saw it and he's been hounding me for weeks to get it checked out. It's nothing."
"Odd spot? Like what a birthmark or something?" Her head canted to the side a bit curiously, fingers drifting from Minnie's ears to pick up her bottle to take another short sip. The woman hardly ever drank beer, it just wasn't something she cared for in particular, something that didn't fit her image quite well enough. Oddly enough it was proving to be particularly refreshing today. "Or is more like a rash?"
"No, just a funny-looking mole," he said. He rolled up his short-sleeved shirt; it was a smattering of small brown spots, sure enough, with an irregular shape. "My partner's a total hypochondriac. He gets desperately ill about 10 times a year with no symptoms. It'd be funny if he was paired with someone else."
What was funnier was that his partner had been actively looking at his back, though when he pulled his shirt up Monica began to assume she knew why. A wolfish grin stayed concealed behind her fingertips as she pretended to intensely study the mark as opposed to ogling what was a surprisingly strong looking back. Finally getting to glance at the cluster of freckles on his shoulder blade a new amused laugh escaped her. "Funny..you almost have the Sagittarius constellation there..." She mused from behind as a fingertip traced it in the air just a few inches from his back. "I suppose it's better safe than sorry, I see nothing worth worrying about though."
"See, that's what I said," Morgan said, actively fighting off the buzz of heightened nerves in his head when Monica got closer. Too close, his instincts hollered. He sat up, lowered his shirt and turned to face her, pressed into the arm of the couch, hoping his jumpiness didn't show. "Yeah?" he said. "That's kind of cool."
"Yeah, you've got the torso and the bow, but your missing the bottom half." The horse half, which made her grin just a bit more. "Its sorta funny, how bits of our tale manifest physically still. Huh?" She felt him bristling enough to cause her to push herself back and away from him resting her chin in the hell of her hand against the back of the couch, a vaguely dreamy smile making its way across her features once the nerves died down some.
"It IS weird. I'm surprised I've kept the horse-strength this long - I mean, 2000 years is a long stretch." He was glad, sometimes, that his memories were sketchy. 2000 years of memories would be a hell of a lot of baggage.
Monica reflected for a moment on her own mark from Sue, not that she was about to go flaunting that anytime soon. "That most certainly is odd, albeit a handy thing to have now that you've got a far more gracile body, hmm?"
"ALWAYS handy," Morgan said, his grin taking on a slightly impish tilt. "You know, it's really weird, having all these memories sloshing around sometimes. Aesop's Horse has been a lot of different kinds of people. I was Adam's sister one lifetime - that was interesting." He grimaced.
If the man was paying any attention he'd find a subtle flexing of her fingers as Monica pressed herself closer to the couch at his grin. Seeming to contain herself a soft laugh escaped her when he continued to discuss the horse. 2000 years, it really was something to stand in awe at. The things one could see in that time span, the troubles and events one might have experienced. "I couldn't begin to imagine sugar," Sitting up, the beer was finished off and settled down on the table. "..it's wierd enough just having Sue up there, yanno? And she comes out at the wierdest damn times too, it's more like having multiple personality disorder than anything else."
"TELL ME about it," he said, eyes wide. "I thought I was going NUTS when I first started remembering things. And I have memories from a horse's point of view - very strange, knowing what a whole different creature's body feels like. Most of the time I just have to ignore it; it would be overwhelming to try to think through all those memories."
He adjusted his posture, looking a little more thoughtful than normal. "I used to wake up from dreams that were so vivid, it was like they'd just happened. I'd find myself crying or laughing at things that had happened centuries or even millennia ago. It's gotten better the past few years, as I learned to control when they surfaced. But I think it's a real wonder we don't all go mad."
Monica found herself frowning gently as he discussed his visions, a sad sort of sympathetic smile creeping its way over her features as he came to a finish. She felt horrible that she could hardly begin to relate to him, almost guilty for the current state of frivolty in which she existed. It only made her feel worse when she realized how much of what he tried to ignore she made surface. "That sounds absolutely awful...I'm sorry, doll."
"Well, it wasn't ALL bad," he said quickly. "I mean, there was a whole lot of good stuff about it too. Like, I can understand a lot of languages, when I really concentrate. Sometimes I'll find myself humming a song that probably no one has sung in 500 years, and that's pretty cool. And, of course ... there's something to be said for, ya know, experience." His smile went a little crooked, and for a minute he looked NOTHING like the Boy Scout that he normally projected.
No, he most certainly did not! It was as if the Richie Cunningham she'd been spending the past three hours with had suddenly turned into The Fonz, and it was enough to shock her into a state of speechlessness for a moment. Blue eyes gone wide as Monica searched for some sort of smooth come back, hoping that Morgan hadn't noticed her slip up. "Mhmm, is that you're way of saying that since you've been a chick before, you know first hand about what a girl really wants?" It was a promising thought to be sure.
"HA! I FINALLY got you to not be smooth for a split second! My work here is done." He laced his fingers behind his head and slouched down into the couch with an exaggerated sigh. "But you know, there IS something to that. I mean, I was a man most of my lives - something about the nature of my Tale, maybe. Adam's the same way. But I've been a girl enough times to not be mystified by anatomy. Which would've come in REALLY handy in high school," he growled. "But I didn't remember then. Pity."
Monica began to launch forward in a moment of playfulness, about to pounce only to realize just before she'd left the arm of her couch their strange condition. In her face came a look of complete and utter frustration that caused her to push herself up, walking to toss out her bottle and to work out the energy that'd built up inside her. "We all fumbled a bit in high school, like you said sugar, there's something to be said about experience..what you learn today would hardly be as much fun if you'd learned it back when you were seventeen."
Morgan started; he wasn't sure what she had been about to do, but it had looked reckless. He eyed her carefully as she crossed the room to toss the bottle. "Absolutely. Part of it may also be self-defense. What little teenage boy wants to be trotting across campus lugging a bookbag and a clarinet, only to suddenly have a vivid recollection of labor and childbirth?"
"You played clarinet?" It game with a soft smirk that curled up the corners of her mouth from the garbage pail where she deposited the glass bottle.
"Don't laugh," he warned. "It was only for a year. Like most kids, I lost interest." And lessons were expensive. He hadn't been able to justify continuing the instrument if he wasn't just absolutely enthralled with it. But he wasn't about to bring up that kind of thing with Monica. "C'mon - didn't you ever do dorky stuff as a teenager? Or were you always this cool?"
"I was always this cool..." Monica added with a joking grin, moving back to the couch with laugh. "Though I'll tell you two secrets that only one other person outside of my family knows, if you promise to keep them to yourself."
"Scout's honor," he said, holding up his hand.
Monica leaned forward with a wickedly confidential smile, curling up her fingers along the arm of the couch as if she were about to whisper into his ear. An eyebrow raised up then. "I used to be a cheerleader, and this ain't my natural hair color."
Morgan raised his own eyebrows. "Oh? The cheerleader I can actually understand - goes along with the whole leader-of-the-pack thing you've got going. Though the image of you with pom poms in a short skirt is oddly mesmerizing, in a slightly disturbing way. Can I ask what your natural color is?"
"I actually was not at the top of the pyramid, if you catch my drift. Didn't care much for squad leader...but I'm glad you've got something new to take to bed with ya." She couldn't help that flirtatious sort of smile that worked its way over her features as she layed back against the opposite side of the couch. "You most certainly can, sugar."
Morgan's cheeks flushed a little at the idea of taking anything involving Monica to bed with him. He covered by asking a question to cared remarkably little about in comparison. "Sooo, what color was it?"
Feeling that she'd gained her footing again, a satisfied smile came over her face, switching her position a bit so that she rested..or languished on her side looking very much like a cat. "If you don't find out first hand in the next month or so, I'll tell you." She hadn't said she'd answer, after all.
For all his grandstanding about two millennia of experience, it took Morgan a minute to figure out what she was talking about. The moment realization came over him it was written all over his face. "OH," he said, and was speechless. He finally shook his head and laughed. "You do enjoy being a step or two ahead, huh?"
"Always, darling. Always." The wolfish grin grew even more, proper pay back for the shock he'd given her earlier. "The only real question left is how do you plan on dealing with it."
Morgan shrugged. "Yours is a fun lead to follow. I'm good as long as I'm in the dance."
"I'm glad you think so, sugar." Monica smirked a bit, though her smile significantly softened to something warmer and far more affectionate with his words. "I promise not to step on your toes, especially if you spin me every once in a while."
"It seems we're at least finding our rhythm," he said, his flirting taking on a slightly more somber air, though he still smiled. "Maybe one of these days the beat will be right. And we won't be in danger of wiping out the rest of the dance floor."
"I think the band's getting better, don't you?" And though it was probably a worse than bad idea, a hand was extended out to him.
The Horse inside his mind snorted and whipped its tail in agitation, eyes showing white. But he didn't bolt, didn't buck. Morgan slowly stretched out a hand and took Monica's, though his skin twitched like he was shedding flies. The moment hung thick with tension, and after a few seconds he had to let go - better to let the Horse run off to the corner of the pasture than fight with him to stay.
"I'm sorry," Morgan said. "But it IS getting better."
"Every bit counts." She smiled, perhaps a bit dreamily despite the few moments of adrenaline fueled terror that'd pumped through her veins flushing her cheeks a hot red and causing sweat to bead into a soft glow upon her skin. "If you guess on your own, I'll give you a prize." Not that it'd be easy, the woman even dyed her eyebrows.
"Blonde," he said, a blind guess to fill the moment while his nerves settled. He didn't think she had the skin of a redhead.
Well that wasn't very fun. Her mouth dropped for a moment as her gaze settled on him, almost challenging. "Yep."
He tilted his head and squinted, trying to picture her as a blonde. "Huh. It's hard to picture. But I'm not the most imaginative type anyway. So - what do I win?" he asked, grin spreading.
"It was a dirty blonde, the Irish in me." She grinned a bit as she rested back onto the couch, the smile only curling as he asked for his prize. "Confirmation. Though I didn't expect ya to go and guess so soon so I ain't properly dressed. You'll get it in due time though, promise."
"I'll hold you to that," Morgan said with a heavy-lidded gaze.
"You can hold me to anything, sugar, swear it."
[Enter Fade Out Here. <3]
Where: Monica's "shop"; Chelsea.
When: BACKDATED. Last Wednesday, Noon-ish.
What: Five feet of each other and no collateral damage. Just fluff.
Rating: R. For implied situations at the end.
Morgan had been entrusted the well kept secret that Monica Rae Demuth owned shoes that were not high heels, and bottoms that were not skirts. It was an honor to be sure, not that the cock sure woman would have ever admitted as much to him.
Very rarely did anybody outside of her racing circles find Monica dressed down to her jeans, it proved a distinctive problem of course when Morgan's day off had coincided with the only one that Monica had been allowed that week with the onset of hormonal sea creatures, her vacation with Paddy, and kids on spring break flooding the Aquarium. What with the slightly amusing highschool version of infatuation that had begun to breed between the star crossed horse and cow girl it was the sort of opportunity for her to jump on, with the exception that Monica was set as an entrant in the Gumball 3000 for the first time, and it was now only four months away.
The biggest challenge that came was to create a fast car, that was comfortable, gas efficient, and stylish enough to draw attention without too much from the cops. It had become her obsession, and so the offer had been made for them to gather at her shop while she worked. This was a whole new feat in costuming to be sure, and Monica had only helped she could pull it off amongst what looked more like a well stocked museum rather than a mechanic's shop, all parts and tools safely hidden into a raised loft. The entire warehouse was relatively spotless with large skylighted windows flooding in the natural sunlight, with the walls lined with red lifts that stocked fourteen cars not including the one that she currently rested underneath. This left enough of the black and white checkerboard floor empty for the cavalry of motorbikes as well as a small sitting area marked off by two adjacent Persian rugs. It was surprisingly decorated much the same as any other sort of living space that may have existed in someone's home. Like a transplanted living room, it was complete with two rather retro looking striped couches and a coffee table, a large red painted 1960's Frigidaire that looked like something out of June Cleaver's kitchen, a large basket of dog toys, and a stereo system settled against the wall.
This was where Morgan was currently resting, watching her work on the car, petting the dog. The greyhound had taken a fancy to him and sat nearby, looking up at him with soulful brown eyes. He'd never been in a garage quite like this one. In fact, he'd never owned a car. He only drove his squad car, and that wasn't REALLY his. Looking around at the cars, he felt like he'd perhaps missed out on an essential element of masculinity.
And he had decided it was really hot for a girl to work on cars.
"So what exactly are you fixing on that one?" he asked.
Rolling herself out from underneath the 300M she was had been working on, Monica propped herself up from her prone position to rest back on her hands, surprisingly naturally hued lips quirking up in a light smirk. "I'm switching out the engine from the V8 it had to a non stock V6..."
It was an arduous task to be sure, and sounded surprising as most changes one would make to a car generally were meant to make the machine faster, this down grade however was more practical. "It'll make it more fuel efficient for long distance driving.." Pushing herself from the floor then to sit bare grease streaked arms resting on her knees. "You know, you oughtta feel special sugar. You're one of the first boys Minnie's ever become enamoured with. She tends to be wary of 'em caus'a where she came from."
"Yeah, I had to reassure her a lot in the beginning," he said. "If I hadn't been able to talk with her it would've taken a lot longer. I wonder what happened to her," he mused, rubbing the dog behind the ears. "You don't know the details, do you?"
"She used to be a racing dog, I found her at a rescue when they had a tent set up at the Annex actually." Monica smiled taking the moment to let her car be before lowering it off the lift and bringing in the leveller. Pushing herself up with a distinctive stretch she made way to the refrigerator, pulling the red bandana from her hair for a moment to run her fingers through her hair. "I can't imagine the sort of things they subject those poor dogs. It ain't cool to think about but she wasn't a pet, she was a fucking work horse- pardon the term, doll. She was a way of making money y'know? I s'pose it's why I go and spoil her so much now..Didja want a beer?"
"An animal can work and still be treated with love and respect. If the cruelty was too much, the ASPCA would be on their asses more." Though he wondered about that; what measures were in place to protect the race dogs? "I've seen a lot worse."
He didn't like to think about the animals he'd seen in his police work. Most of the abuse cases he'd seen weren't even the reason the police had been called. He could tell a fighting dog at a glance; it killed him that he couldn't intervene without evidence. And having heard it from the dog's mouth wasn't evidence he could turn in to the state.
He pushed the images of the pit bulls and rottweillers out of his mind. "Yes, I'd love a beer."
"I don't doubt that, sugar."
She felt his discomfort from the other side of the door, her back arching just a bit as her nerves stood on end. Forcing a calm, Monica dipped in to pull out a bottle of Killian's Red handing it over to him before taking one for herself. Settling herself into the couch adjacent to Morgan, a self satisfied smile made it's way over her features. Only five feet away from each other. How was that for progress?
"There's a shit ton of rotten folks in the world. It's a shame it ain't like it used t'be when we could take proper justice into our own hands y'anno."
Morgan smirked. "It's been a long time since then. And justice is a funny thing - tricky. Like holding a bag of soup." He reached over and clinked his beer against hers. He pulled back before his nerves rose too much. "I think we're doing well," he said. "This is a lot easier than writing over the Compendiums. Especially with my handwriting."
"Not for me." Monica said with a shy sort of grin as she tilted back the beer after they'd toasted. This was still just her first reincarnation since the days of the Old West where she had been written into, and it seemed that Morgan tended bring out that side of her more than usual. "It didn't used to be any trickier than shooting a good for nothing scoundrel when he went around bothering people, now we have this damned stupid system in place that goes and complicates it all."
It took a moment for her poise to return and the clipped edge of Sue's voice to retreat as he mentioned them. As in Monica and Morgan, not their tales. They were doing very well, and it made her grin. "Much easier, who knows sugar soon we might even get to holding hands." And with that came a recrossing of her legs and a smirk that was just slightly askewed from appropriate.
Morgan watched her with an appreciative smile. Goddamn but the woman was hot. "Better not try to make out or anything just yet," he chuckled.
"Darling if we can get close enough for me to kiss you without fear of a having to hand out another check or another horrible date..." Monica trailed off to eye Morgan for a moment, contemplating just what she ought to say, what the best way to phrase just the way the thoughts in her head existed. It didn't come easily of course, it never did when it was worth it. And so she continued.."Well..." and there came a soft chuckle to mimic his own.
"So what would you call me now?" he asked, turning playful. "Green broke?"
"I ain't sure yet, I could try and saddle you up and see what sort of outcome it brings." It was a comfortable banter, and though at first their rather unfair circumstances had been more than irritating, especially frusturating..Monica was beginning to find herself settling into it a bit more. It was nice, getting to know someone long term before acting directly on one's impulses.
Grinning just slightly, the bottle and her chin were simultaneously tipped back exposing her throat to him for a moment before returning to her typical state of slight dominance. "Besides, I forgot my spurs and crop at home." Not acting on impulse didn't mean one couldn't have fun either.
Morgan watched her with hungry eyes; he bit his lip when she tilted back the bottle. "God you're a sexy woman," he said. "It's just not fair. But ..."
He shrugged. "There's an element to it that's actually kinda cool though."
Morgan's words brought a silly smirk to her face, he was absolutely adorable. From his naughty innuendos stopping at "making out" and referring to their situation as "kinda cool", he embodied that wonderfully innocent sort of boy a girl wanted to take her to prom. He was like something straight from Happy Days and Monica found herself absolutely infatuated with him for it. "I absolutely adore you, Mr. Stoddard."
Morgan found himself nearly blushing. It was just such a cute thing for her to say - made all the more poignant because he strongly suspected she didn't say things to that to just anyone. He was saved from having to come up with anything in response by his cell phone. With an apologetic glance to her, he fished it out and looked at it, and answered it. "Hello? Speaking. ... Sure, that'd be fine. No, actually, scratch that, would Monday be ok? ... Yeah ok. ... Right. Ok thanks." He flipped the phone closed and stuck it back in his jeans pocket. "Sorry about that. I've been trying to get a doctor's appointment for like a WEEK now, but one of the doctors is on the longest vacation ever, so it's been hectic there, apparently." He rolled his eyes. He hated doctor appointments. They were never punctual.
Correct in his assumptions, the man received a small grin, and an understanding shrug of her shoulders. Phone calls happened, and Monica wasn't about to fault him for something so small when he'd been patient all throughout her time underneath the car. Beckoning to Minnie as he spoke, she allowed the dog to settle herself into her lap, fingers idly petting the dog's ears as she waited for him to finish. A smile offered then. "Why should you be sorry about something like that? It's you health...what's wrong anyways? You feelin' okay?"
"Oh I feel fine," he assured her. "I just have an odd spot on my shoulder. My partner saw it and he's been hounding me for weeks to get it checked out. It's nothing."
"Odd spot? Like what a birthmark or something?" Her head canted to the side a bit curiously, fingers drifting from Minnie's ears to pick up her bottle to take another short sip. The woman hardly ever drank beer, it just wasn't something she cared for in particular, something that didn't fit her image quite well enough. Oddly enough it was proving to be particularly refreshing today. "Or is more like a rash?"
"No, just a funny-looking mole," he said. He rolled up his short-sleeved shirt; it was a smattering of small brown spots, sure enough, with an irregular shape. "My partner's a total hypochondriac. He gets desperately ill about 10 times a year with no symptoms. It'd be funny if he was paired with someone else."
What was funnier was that his partner had been actively looking at his back, though when he pulled his shirt up Monica began to assume she knew why. A wolfish grin stayed concealed behind her fingertips as she pretended to intensely study the mark as opposed to ogling what was a surprisingly strong looking back. Finally getting to glance at the cluster of freckles on his shoulder blade a new amused laugh escaped her. "Funny..you almost have the Sagittarius constellation there..." She mused from behind as a fingertip traced it in the air just a few inches from his back. "I suppose it's better safe than sorry, I see nothing worth worrying about though."
"See, that's what I said," Morgan said, actively fighting off the buzz of heightened nerves in his head when Monica got closer. Too close, his instincts hollered. He sat up, lowered his shirt and turned to face her, pressed into the arm of the couch, hoping his jumpiness didn't show. "Yeah?" he said. "That's kind of cool."
"Yeah, you've got the torso and the bow, but your missing the bottom half." The horse half, which made her grin just a bit more. "Its sorta funny, how bits of our tale manifest physically still. Huh?" She felt him bristling enough to cause her to push herself back and away from him resting her chin in the hell of her hand against the back of the couch, a vaguely dreamy smile making its way across her features once the nerves died down some.
"It IS weird. I'm surprised I've kept the horse-strength this long - I mean, 2000 years is a long stretch." He was glad, sometimes, that his memories were sketchy. 2000 years of memories would be a hell of a lot of baggage.
Monica reflected for a moment on her own mark from Sue, not that she was about to go flaunting that anytime soon. "That most certainly is odd, albeit a handy thing to have now that you've got a far more gracile body, hmm?"
"ALWAYS handy," Morgan said, his grin taking on a slightly impish tilt. "You know, it's really weird, having all these memories sloshing around sometimes. Aesop's Horse has been a lot of different kinds of people. I was Adam's sister one lifetime - that was interesting." He grimaced.
If the man was paying any attention he'd find a subtle flexing of her fingers as Monica pressed herself closer to the couch at his grin. Seeming to contain herself a soft laugh escaped her when he continued to discuss the horse. 2000 years, it really was something to stand in awe at. The things one could see in that time span, the troubles and events one might have experienced. "I couldn't begin to imagine sugar," Sitting up, the beer was finished off and settled down on the table. "..it's wierd enough just having Sue up there, yanno? And she comes out at the wierdest damn times too, it's more like having multiple personality disorder than anything else."
"TELL ME about it," he said, eyes wide. "I thought I was going NUTS when I first started remembering things. And I have memories from a horse's point of view - very strange, knowing what a whole different creature's body feels like. Most of the time I just have to ignore it; it would be overwhelming to try to think through all those memories."
He adjusted his posture, looking a little more thoughtful than normal. "I used to wake up from dreams that were so vivid, it was like they'd just happened. I'd find myself crying or laughing at things that had happened centuries or even millennia ago. It's gotten better the past few years, as I learned to control when they surfaced. But I think it's a real wonder we don't all go mad."
Monica found herself frowning gently as he discussed his visions, a sad sort of sympathetic smile creeping its way over her features as he came to a finish. She felt horrible that she could hardly begin to relate to him, almost guilty for the current state of frivolty in which she existed. It only made her feel worse when she realized how much of what he tried to ignore she made surface. "That sounds absolutely awful...I'm sorry, doll."
"Well, it wasn't ALL bad," he said quickly. "I mean, there was a whole lot of good stuff about it too. Like, I can understand a lot of languages, when I really concentrate. Sometimes I'll find myself humming a song that probably no one has sung in 500 years, and that's pretty cool. And, of course ... there's something to be said for, ya know, experience." His smile went a little crooked, and for a minute he looked NOTHING like the Boy Scout that he normally projected.
No, he most certainly did not! It was as if the Richie Cunningham she'd been spending the past three hours with had suddenly turned into The Fonz, and it was enough to shock her into a state of speechlessness for a moment. Blue eyes gone wide as Monica searched for some sort of smooth come back, hoping that Morgan hadn't noticed her slip up. "Mhmm, is that you're way of saying that since you've been a chick before, you know first hand about what a girl really wants?" It was a promising thought to be sure.
"HA! I FINALLY got you to not be smooth for a split second! My work here is done." He laced his fingers behind his head and slouched down into the couch with an exaggerated sigh. "But you know, there IS something to that. I mean, I was a man most of my lives - something about the nature of my Tale, maybe. Adam's the same way. But I've been a girl enough times to not be mystified by anatomy. Which would've come in REALLY handy in high school," he growled. "But I didn't remember then. Pity."
Monica began to launch forward in a moment of playfulness, about to pounce only to realize just before she'd left the arm of her couch their strange condition. In her face came a look of complete and utter frustration that caused her to push herself up, walking to toss out her bottle and to work out the energy that'd built up inside her. "We all fumbled a bit in high school, like you said sugar, there's something to be said about experience..what you learn today would hardly be as much fun if you'd learned it back when you were seventeen."
Morgan started; he wasn't sure what she had been about to do, but it had looked reckless. He eyed her carefully as she crossed the room to toss the bottle. "Absolutely. Part of it may also be self-defense. What little teenage boy wants to be trotting across campus lugging a bookbag and a clarinet, only to suddenly have a vivid recollection of labor and childbirth?"
"You played clarinet?" It game with a soft smirk that curled up the corners of her mouth from the garbage pail where she deposited the glass bottle.
"Don't laugh," he warned. "It was only for a year. Like most kids, I lost interest." And lessons were expensive. He hadn't been able to justify continuing the instrument if he wasn't just absolutely enthralled with it. But he wasn't about to bring up that kind of thing with Monica. "C'mon - didn't you ever do dorky stuff as a teenager? Or were you always this cool?"
"I was always this cool..." Monica added with a joking grin, moving back to the couch with laugh. "Though I'll tell you two secrets that only one other person outside of my family knows, if you promise to keep them to yourself."
"Scout's honor," he said, holding up his hand.
Monica leaned forward with a wickedly confidential smile, curling up her fingers along the arm of the couch as if she were about to whisper into his ear. An eyebrow raised up then. "I used to be a cheerleader, and this ain't my natural hair color."
Morgan raised his own eyebrows. "Oh? The cheerleader I can actually understand - goes along with the whole leader-of-the-pack thing you've got going. Though the image of you with pom poms in a short skirt is oddly mesmerizing, in a slightly disturbing way. Can I ask what your natural color is?"
"I actually was not at the top of the pyramid, if you catch my drift. Didn't care much for squad leader...but I'm glad you've got something new to take to bed with ya." She couldn't help that flirtatious sort of smile that worked its way over her features as she layed back against the opposite side of the couch. "You most certainly can, sugar."
Morgan's cheeks flushed a little at the idea of taking anything involving Monica to bed with him. He covered by asking a question to cared remarkably little about in comparison. "Sooo, what color was it?"
Feeling that she'd gained her footing again, a satisfied smile came over her face, switching her position a bit so that she rested..or languished on her side looking very much like a cat. "If you don't find out first hand in the next month or so, I'll tell you." She hadn't said she'd answer, after all.
For all his grandstanding about two millennia of experience, it took Morgan a minute to figure out what she was talking about. The moment realization came over him it was written all over his face. "OH," he said, and was speechless. He finally shook his head and laughed. "You do enjoy being a step or two ahead, huh?"
"Always, darling. Always." The wolfish grin grew even more, proper pay back for the shock he'd given her earlier. "The only real question left is how do you plan on dealing with it."
Morgan shrugged. "Yours is a fun lead to follow. I'm good as long as I'm in the dance."
"I'm glad you think so, sugar." Monica smirked a bit, though her smile significantly softened to something warmer and far more affectionate with his words. "I promise not to step on your toes, especially if you spin me every once in a while."
"It seems we're at least finding our rhythm," he said, his flirting taking on a slightly more somber air, though he still smiled. "Maybe one of these days the beat will be right. And we won't be in danger of wiping out the rest of the dance floor."
"I think the band's getting better, don't you?" And though it was probably a worse than bad idea, a hand was extended out to him.
The Horse inside his mind snorted and whipped its tail in agitation, eyes showing white. But he didn't bolt, didn't buck. Morgan slowly stretched out a hand and took Monica's, though his skin twitched like he was shedding flies. The moment hung thick with tension, and after a few seconds he had to let go - better to let the Horse run off to the corner of the pasture than fight with him to stay.
"I'm sorry," Morgan said. "But it IS getting better."
"Every bit counts." She smiled, perhaps a bit dreamily despite the few moments of adrenaline fueled terror that'd pumped through her veins flushing her cheeks a hot red and causing sweat to bead into a soft glow upon her skin. "If you guess on your own, I'll give you a prize." Not that it'd be easy, the woman even dyed her eyebrows.
"Blonde," he said, a blind guess to fill the moment while his nerves settled. He didn't think she had the skin of a redhead.
Well that wasn't very fun. Her mouth dropped for a moment as her gaze settled on him, almost challenging. "Yep."
He tilted his head and squinted, trying to picture her as a blonde. "Huh. It's hard to picture. But I'm not the most imaginative type anyway. So - what do I win?" he asked, grin spreading.
"It was a dirty blonde, the Irish in me." She grinned a bit as she rested back onto the couch, the smile only curling as he asked for his prize. "Confirmation. Though I didn't expect ya to go and guess so soon so I ain't properly dressed. You'll get it in due time though, promise."
"I'll hold you to that," Morgan said with a heavy-lidded gaze.
"You can hold me to anything, sugar, swear it."
[Enter Fade Out Here. <3]