YOU Get A Big Banana, and YOU Get A Big Banana, and YOU Get A Big Banana! [closed post]

[summerdude]

"Okay, just another minute," Magnus says.

It's a hot day out, so holding Galahad's hand is a sweaty affair... and Magnus's current use of his alf seidr isn't making matters any more comfortable. The grass is tickling at Magnus's back -- his shirt has ridden up while he lies, spread-eagle, in the middle of the lawn. Galahad is always so smart about his clothes, Magnus bets he's not getting the grass itches at all.

But he can put all that aside. Grass tickles are good tickles, and the heat of the sun is -- to Magnus -- always more refreshing than it is annoying. There's a trickle of sweat at the side of his neck, but even though it's hot out it's not really a temperature extreme, so as usual he feels regular about it.

All his attention is on the plants around them. Feverfew and milkweed, black-eyed susan and queen anne's lace, aster and boneset and flowering spurge and yarrow and tickseed and teasel and wild thyme and forget-me-nots and poppies and and and -- well. He's not sure what else is in the mix. He's been trying to get better at plant identification with Claudius's guidance, but the package he found earlier that morning only said FIELD SEEDS. He's doing his best! Right now, his 'best' is less focused on identification and more focused on growing them to flower, high enough that some of them are providing shade to both him and Galahad, in a very neat outline of the grass they've politely crushed between the two of them.

Eventually, he's done all he can without overtaxing the plants. "There," he tells Galahad. "Summer snow angels, check."

Comments

[onthewillowsthere]

"What else is done for Christmas in the future?"

[summerdude]

"Well," says Magnus, as they reach the edge of the beach, "Mom and I would always get Korean food from the place downstairs and watch movies, and she'd usually get me a present or two so I wouldn't feel left out when the kids at school all bragged about theirs. Or sometimes, if the weather was right, we'd go snow-camping. Most people would do, like, a tree though. With lights. And I think stockings? They're supposed to be by the chimney so Santa can fill them. I guess some people go to church. Maybe a lot? Some kids would talk about going to church for Christmas and Easter and I think that's it. And there's the songs, obviously. Lots of people decorate the outside of their houses with, like, twinkling lights."

[onthewillowsthere]

In Camelot, the end of Advent and the beginning of Christmastide was a cause for endless celebration. Twelve days of feasting, of a shocking amount of drinking, of singing, of mumming, of pagan frivolity.

A time to remember that he was unlike everyone else -- that he was not permitted to feast, or drink, or be frivolous. Even Percival would join in, because he was allowed, because God was not sitting on his shoulder and speaking into his ear to remind him of his glorious purpose. Galahad would try not to be envious, and he would fail, and have as much to repent of as any drunken reveler.

He can barely remember Percival's face; he only remembers his long red-gold hair, and how when he was drunk on Christmas wine he would hug Galahad tighter and longer, as if he never meant to let go of him.

It barely sounds like Magnus' Christmastide, with gifts and lights.

Most of the time now he doesn't miss Percival. He's become so accustomed to his new life, and all the people in it, and sometimes there are whole days where he doesn't think about Percival. When he does, it's to hope that he's given up the Grail, that he spends his days riding the cliffs to look for seabirds. But right now he feels Percival's absence like a keen-edge ache. For so long Percival was there for everything that happened to him; he was never alone. Everything about the world Percival would understand, because he lived the same way. He would have to explain anything, because Percival would know.

It's not fair to Magnus, and he knows that. With an effort, Galahad nods and pushes away his feelings. They're not what he wants right now.

[summerdude]

But Magnus notices the slight, soft change in Galahad -- of course he notices; Galahad is his best friend, and often quiet, but also extremely expressive if you know how to look, and so Magnus pays attention. He doesn't want to miss anything. Plus there's been a little weirdness to the vibe, which Magnus doesn't fully understand and mostly assumes comes down to the fact that Galahad is married now, which is a whole different category of life that Magnus has never had interest in being part of even though his relationship is the longest-lasting one here, or maybe because of the adoption thing, or maybe because Magnus keeps meaning to swing by training and participate one of these days, but he still has weird nerves about it and so hasn't done that yet. But it's fine, if he studies Galahad long enough without asking, surely he'll be able to read between the lines.

All this to say: Galahad is having an emotion that he doesn't want to talk about. So Magnus pulls him in for a hug, and says, "Maybe we can ask everyone about their traditions and think of something nice to do when it's time?" in a way that means, I especially want to make sure to do nice things for you.

[onthewillowsthere]

"I don't know," quietly. "It won't be the right time of year. I don't think it will feel right."

[summerdude]

Magnus considers this. "Do you think," he ventures, one hand curled over Galahad's shoulder, "it's more important to keep the days and calendar from, like, earth, or should we set up something here that's based on this calendar? Like... make winter start with a Christmas/Hanukkah/New Year/... I guess Muslim holidays follow more of a lunar calendar. Anyway, that kind of thing. And ending Dark with an Easter/Purim/Passover/maybe-Eid sort of thing. D--Sagramore and Laertes did that Wanderers Gather at the start of last winter..."

Frankly, he doesn't care either way. He just wants Galahad to have what he needs.

[onthewillowsthere]

Perhaps it's time for that. He's kept his liturgical calendar so carefully, but it's almost like a relic of something bygone, a life and a person he no longer inhabits. Perhaps he should give in to the calendar of his new home.

He nods slowly.

[summerdude]

"Or we could do, like, a blended thing. A small thing on the Earth year day -- obviously I'll do whatever you want with you if you want me to, you just have to tell me when," because as Galahad knows, Magnus does not keep track of calendars; this was true even of his life in Valhalla. Galahad is his calendar. "And then a big thing during our winter."

[onthewillowsthere]

"We could hang lights," he agrees, thinking of the fairy lights strung across the ceiling of the bedroom they used to share. "And-- what is the tree for?" That sounds like something that would suit Magnus' Outside Guy vibes.

[summerdude]

"You take a pine tree and cut it down and put it inside and decorate it with lights an ornaments and it makes your house smell nice," says Magnus; he and his mom never really did the whole tree thing, obviously. "There's probably some cultural reason for it that the christians adopted to get people to convert but I don't know what it is. Um, sometimes they do garlands of, like, seeds and stuff... we could do things animals eat and decorate an outside tree? A way of giving back when it's cold out maybe."

They're at the shoreline now. Magnus fingers the edge of the handkerchief, unreasonably nervous. What if the boat doesn't boat?

[onthewillowsthere]

"An outside tree." He doesn't want to cut anything down. He looks down at the handkerchief in Magnus' hands. "Do you just throw it in?"

[summerdude]

"Sort of. Um, it's been awhile," Magnus says. He practices the wrist-flick necessary to launch the boat a few times, and then tosses the handkerchief into the surf.

Thankfully it works. It unfolds, again and again and again, almost like a sped-up Lego stop-motion video. In the space of two breaths, it goes from a simple square of fabric into a full Viking longship, shields lining its rails, hull neatly trimmed, five rows of oars at the ready. The figurehead is a carved dragon; the mast is hinged, so it can be lowered in tunnels and subterranean waters. And every single inch of it is a bright neon yellow.

"Meet the Big Banana," Magnus says.

[onthewillowsthere]

The color is deeply unpleasant, and Galahad frowns incrementally as he looks at it, trying to absorb the details through that extremely distracting feature. He waits for Magnus to explain how they get onto it.

[summerdude]

"Sorry about the color," Magnus adds. "Dad likes yellow."

As for getting on... Magnus knows Galahad finds getting unexpectedly wet unpleasant. There's really only one good solution.

"Hold on tight," he tells Galahad, swooping him up into a bridal carry, backing up a few steps, and literally leaping onto the deck.

[onthewillowsthere]

The bridal carry makes him smile, and he puts his arms around Magnus' neck the way Claudius did when Galahad carried him into their bedroom after the wedding. It's not just the familiarity of it; it's the reminder of how well Magnus knows him, that they're best friends for a reason. He won't see Percival again, but he has Magnus.

[summerdude]

The landing jars Magnus's legs, but not, like, badly. He settles Galahad back down, onto the deck, and does a hokey pokey-like shake of each one to work out the kinks.

"Okay," says Magnus, and prays (out loud, because he knows his prayers make Galahad laugh), "Grandpappy Njord, this is your grandson Magnus Chase? You've been on this boat before? It knows your sexy sexy feet? So, um, like... Give me a hand here -- or a foot -- thank you, amen. Goodbye."

Now that they're on deck, Galahad will be able to see that this is big for a Viking longship -- though he might not know what Viking longships typically look like -- and includes the rare below-decks area to protect from the elements, which was critically important when Magnus and everyone else sailed it to Niflheim. Magnus goes through the departure routine quickly, raising the sail, lifting the anchor, and lowering the rudder. "Do you wanna aim for anything in particular?" he asks, ready to guide them in a direction. "Or just see where the wind takes us?"

[onthewillowsthere]

It does make Galahad laugh (and, as is so often the case, his first instinct is to wrinkle his nose about Njord's or anyone's feet being sexy, but then he contemplates Claudius' feet, his slim ankles that turn so smoothly and exactly in a dance, the veins that barely show, blue, through his skin, and discovers that it's not such an absurd idea after all).

"Wait. Show me how to do the things you did. I want to understand."

[summerdude]

Magnus, to be fair, doesn't think Njord's feet are very sexy, just well-manicured. But Njord likes to be told Njord's feet are sexy, and it's usually a good idea to go along with godly eccentricities if you want to remain on good terms with them.

"Okay," he says. "Um, this is the anchor." He gestures at the forked branch with a stone lashed into place with a carved cross-bar. "So I pulled it up. The sail," which has its lower corners lashed to ropes running along each railing, "I hoisted up until it latched into place. You can also trim it from the bottom. This is the rudder." He pats the pole rising from the side of the stern. "It needs to be in the water to steer. You move it around to direct the ship. And then there's the oars in the middle, in case we have to row it somewhere."

[onthewillowsthere]

"But the wind will be enough today."

[summerdude]

"Yeah. Unless we drift too far from shore and it's moving in the wrong direction to get back easily, we won't have to use 'em."

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad nods. "What else?"

[summerdude]

Magnus squints. "We probably won't need to trim the sail or lower the mast, but this," he goes over and pats a thick length of rope, "is used to raise make the sail bigger or smaller, depending on, like, wind... or battle damage, I guess... and stuff. And the mast has a locking mechanism here," he adds, patting it. "It's pretty unwieldy though. I mostly just leave it up when I'm on outside water. Mostly we just need to twist the rudder until the wind catches us." He goes over to the little seat at the stern and gestures Galahad over to see how he twists the rudder. The boat bobs in the water slowly, gently edging to one side -- it would be a lot faster if they used oars, but they're not really going for 'fast,' so. Eventually, the sail will snap in the wind, and they'll be off. To where? Exactly!

[onthewillowsthere]

He notes it the way he notes most things, serious and attentive. The movement of the boat on the waves is unlike anything he's experienced before, and it takes some getting used to, but his body is adjusting more quickly than he might have expected. He turns his face out to see, where a cool wind is beginning to pick up over the water.

[summerdude]

"Have you been on a boat before?" Magnus asks, as the wind -- as threatened -- catches the sail and they start moving out, beyond the reach of the beach, past the cliffs he and Gu Xiang and Alex and sometimes Gideon and Tally use to dive into the water. They're not headed for any sort of land, so he sets the rudder in place and pulls up a patch of deck next to Galahad to sit down on, leaning back, feeling the sun on his face.

[onthewillowsthere]

"Twice. Percival and I sailed to Sorelais while we were looking for the Holy Grail. Percival wanted to look for birds."