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]

Galahad nods. Percival is there, holding his cold hands and blowing on them, rubbing them between his own to warm them, and laughing, always laughing about something.

[summerdude]

"Do you really want to do it now? We can wait until the next time you, like, strain a muscle during training with Hanguang-jun."

[onthewillowsthere]

"You don't have to be the one to hurt me. I'll do it."

[summerdude]

Magnus considers his options seriously for a long moment, then offers, "You wanna become, like, blood brothers?" In his mind, this is a perfect solution: hurt for two good causes, and just the right degree to where he should be able to get a clear image of Percival while healing Galahad.

[onthewillowsthere]

"What does that mean?" Galahad asks. He has an idea, from reading, but he's not sure if it's the same thing that Magnus means.

[summerdude]

"We each cut our palms and then shake hands," Magnus says. He's pretty sure of it, at least. "And the blood mixing makes us brothers? Or something? It's safe because I have einherjar blood. So I can't get sick and I can't get anyone else sick. And then I heal us both."

[onthewillowsthere]

"All right." He has Morwennol, as always, so he draws it from its scabbard.

[summerdude]

Jack is off on a date with a pike in the armory right now, so Magnus holds his hand out. "You can do me too."

[onthewillowsthere]

Then, very carefully, Galahad presses the tip of the blade to his own palm. It's sharp: he cares for his sword diligently, as Lan Wangji and Lancelot both have taught him, and the silvery metal slices easily through his skin. Blood wells up around it. Morwennol is so sharp it almost doesn't hurt at all.

He looks up at Magnus, offering the point.

[summerdude]

"Fuck me up, buddy," Magnus says, pressing his hand right against the edge of the tip.

[onthewillowsthere]

So he cuts the blade into Magnus' hand, too, with great deliberation; he's more worried about somehow hurting Magnus, even though that's the point of the exercise, and Magnus is stronger than he is.

[summerdude]

It doesn't hurt badly, of course -- or at least, on the scale of the sort of pain Magnus has felt in his life and afterlife, it lands closer to 'papercut' than 'eviscerated by burning asphalt' or 'beheaded' or 'blown up.' He grins at Galahad as the blood pools in his palm. "Two questions," he says. "One: Should we say something? Two: scar or no scar?"

[onthewillowsthere]

"Scar," immediately -- like all of the wounds he's had so far, he wants a physical reminder. Without it, he has a nagging fear that he'll forget something important. His memory has been altered so many times already. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wipes the blade of his sword clean, then sheathes it again. "What would we say?"

[summerdude]

"Ummm..." Magnus considers. He goes to scratch his head, remembers that specific hand is bleeding and instead takes Galahad's hand with it, pressing their bleeding palms together. "Maybe something like I, Magnus Chase, take thee, Galahad son of some guy, as my best friend and blood brother forever and ever and ever, amen. And I promise to do all blood brother duties, whatever they may be, whenever they might occur -- oh, by the way dude, we should figure out what blood brother duties are soon, but I imagine we're already doing them, like when you -- thou? -- helped me learn how to sleep inside again. I think you are -- no, I think thou art really cool, and one of my favorite people in any universe, and so I, um, choose you -- thee? -- above all others for this exclusive role, and promise to always be on thy... thine?? -- side during a snowball fight. Even if it's against Hanguang-jun. And to always try new things with, um, thee. And... whatever else we decide. I love y--thee, man. Brother. Blood brother. Galahad."

There! That was only moderately butchered.

[onthewillowsthere]

"I, Galahad, take thee, Magnus Chase, to be my best friend and blood brother forever and ever," Galahad says, as their hands squish together unpleasantly. A drip of blood runs down the inside of his arm; it tickles, and he does not care for it. "And I promise to do all blood brother duties, even the ones I'm already doing. I swear to always vibe check, even when the vibes are thine. Even when they're weird. And I swear not to win too much at Smash Brothers. And whatever else we decide. I love thee."

[summerdude]

Magnus doesn't mind losing at Smash, since that's just for fun, but he grins just the same. "Okay," he says, with a final squeeze of their hands. "Close your eyes and think about Percival, okay? One fresh new palm scar, coming right up." And he closes his eyes, too, and reaches for summer.

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad closes his eyes and thinks of Percival.

He thinks of Percival arriving at court, how back then his red-gold hair was matted and his clothing had been worn out and mended so many times it was like a patchwork quilt. He thinks of Percival choosing him out of the crowd of knights who had gathered to see the wild boy who had killed the Red Knight and taken his armor, walking across King Arthur's hall to him and taking his thin, cold hands. He thinks of Percival the morning after his chapel vigil, when he stepped out of the church yawning and lit up to see that Galahad had waiting all night for him, when he first hugged Galahad up in his strong arms.

He thinks of the unicorn. He thinks of the sea cliffs. He thinks of Percival putting thrift in his hair. He thinks of the nights when they shared a bedroll and he stayed up praying not to want Percival, not to ruin him with his base desires. He thinks of his Good Friday vision, of Percival slashing his thigh after the witch was banished.

In his own thoughts, Percival's face is blurry, or missing altogether -- he has only the impression of that long hair, the broad grin. But Magnus, he hopes, is seeing what he can't see.

[summerdude]

The good news? Healing a hand to a scar is a lot harder than healing a hand to unblemished perfection, but something about this -- leaving Galahad with the scar he wants -- is a lot easier than the last time he did it. Maybe it's that Magnus isn't as frantic. Maybe it's that he's had a lot more practice with healing than he ever did in Valhalla. Maybe it's something about Frey's visit.

He convinces Galahad's skin that it should knit back in a way that leaves a little line, working carefully on building up scar tissue that won't get in the way of how Galahad likes to use his hands. As he works, he lets the flashes of Galahad's memories wash over him.

It's clear what Galahad loves about Percival. He shines in Galahad's memories, as if lit from within, a source of sun on a dreary day. His nose is flat and wide, his skin the familiar sort of leather-tan that a person gets after spending almost every day outside, exposed to the sun and the wind and the cold and the heat. Honestly he looks like one of the bag ladies Magnus used to know, with his mended motley -- one of the younger ones, who'd been relentlessly cheerful every time they crossed paths in the Public Garden. Percival's dimples pop as he grins, and his warm brown eye sparkle under straight eyebrows.

Oh, Magnus thinks, as he sees Galahad's memory of Percival tucking a flower in his hair, broad callused fingers approaching, catching in the strands, and then retreating. He's an Amir.

Percival's eyelashes brush against his cheeks, a dark smudge. His breath in the morning, in Galahad's memory, is sour but not distastefully so. One of his ears is a little bigger than the other.

The last bit of Galahad's skin knits together, and then most of the blood in his palm is from Magnus's hand, which is still sluggishly bleeding. Magnus lets the summer sink into his own skin. He tells it to heal slowly -- over the next ten minutes or so -- in the hopes that he might be able to keep a scar, too. Then he opens his eyes and watches Galahad.

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad can't keep his eyes closed for too long. He's already watching Magnus by the time Magnus opens his own eyes, his expression subtly expectant. He wants whatever Magnus saw of Percival to have been good. He wants Magnus to understand how wonderful Percival is, to see what made Galahad want to follow him everywhere.

[summerdude]

"I get it, dude," Magnus tells him, eyes wide. "His vibes are off the charts." He stretches out, wiping his healing hand off on a nearby rope. "Want me to describe his face to you?"

[onthewillowsthere]

"Yes, please." He gets out his sketchbook, just in case. As usual, his emotions don't register plainly on his face, but just hearing Magnus say off the charts sends a thrill through him. Magnus understands.

[summerdude]

"Okay, so... His face is, like," Magnus gestures in the vague shape of it. "Square-ish, I guess? Strong jaw. His chin gets pointy when he grins. And his whole face gets caught up in it."

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad begins to sketch. Hearing Magnus say it, he does remember the way Percival's smile takes up his whole face.

[summerdude]

"He has dimples," Magnus says, poking his own cheeks in the appropriate places. "His eyes are a little more deepset than ours, but not by much, and he has these straight eyebrows. Thinner than mine, thicker than yours."

[onthewillowsthere]

Percival has dimples. Galahad's body suddenly feels tight and fever-hot as he sketches.