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

[summerdude]

No, Magnus can't, but he can't shake his conviction he's right anyway. "I don't know it, but I believe it," he tells Galahad, and then -- as a peace offering, since he's pretty sure Galahad didn't mean for the conversation to move in this direction, like, at all, he says, "So about his mouth. There's, like -- the sides of it make it look like even if he's not smiling in the moment, his mouth is built for it." He gestures to the corners of his own lips, trying to convey the shape of the vibe.

[onthewillowsthere]

Even though he can't picture it in his mind's eye, it feels right. "Yes," Galahad says. "He's-- warm."

[summerdude]

"Yeah," enthuses Magnus. Even though Galahad's memories were from Galahad's perspective, he can picture it: Percival's sun to Galahad's moon in, like, every possible sense. Percival's ruddy complexion and red-gold hair, his easy enthusiasm and steady, unwavering bright faith; Galahad's slight pale face and solemnity, his own faith tidally locked to god's stupid-ass meddling and involvement. (By process of elimination, in this mental image, Magnus assumes, the christian god must be like the earth: benefiting from Percival's warmth; depending on Galahad's attention, involved in life but certainly not the center of anything cosmic.)

It also helps him understand Galahad's earlier point a little bit better. The moon loves the sun, obviously, but that love can be occluded by the earth. It gets in the way, it muddies that clarity. ...Magnus's metaphor might be getting away from him, but he does resolve to get good enough at fighting that if the christian god ever shows up here, he can successfully defeat him and/or flyte him into a walnut shell and maybe feed it to Dro.

He says, "He has a cowlick in his hair, but it's long and floppy enough that it's hard to tell unless you're looking for it."

[onthewillowsthere]

There's a strange ache in Galahad's chest. Every time he thinks he's fully accepted that he won't see Percival again, something happens to make his absence newly painful. He wants to see Percival's dimples, his broad nose, his cowlick. He wants him to meet Magnus and Claudius and everyone who matters here, wants to show him the chapel, wants him to see Drosera and ask a thousand questions about what she eats and where she sleeps and how she's changed from a hatchling to a grown animal.

He misses him so much.

He tries to sketch in the cowlick.

[summerdude]

Magnus watches Galahad for a long moment, the movement of his charcoal on the paper, the way that the barest millimeter of the corner of his mouth tucks in. "What should I describe next?"

[onthewillowsthere]

"Tell me about his eyes." Do they have a halo of dark brown around warm brown, like Claudius? Are they flat and blue like his own? He doesn't remember.

[summerdude]

"Brown," Magnus says immediately. "Middle brown. Lighter than Claudius's, darker than Hanguang-jun's."

[onthewillowsthere]

"Lan Wangji's eyes are yellow."

[summerdude]

"Which is like a light brown, right?" asks Magnus "beige is my favorite color" Chase.

[onthewillowsthere]

In spite of himself, Galahad smiles for a moment.

[summerdude]

"Right??????"

[onthewillowsthere]

"All right."

[summerdude]

"Am I wrong?"

[onthewillowsthere]

"Yellow is not brown."

[summerdude]

"Okay, yellow like this boat isn't brown," Magnus says, with a disparaging look at their surroundings (Thanks, dad!). "But yellow like his eyes is brown-adjacent."

[onthewillowsthere]

"Your eyes are brown-adjacent."

[summerdude]

"Better than being dead inside-colored!" Magnus says brightly.

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad frowns at him.

[summerdude]

"That's not a being-dead joke. My eyes were like this when I was alive, too." Magnus shrugs. "It used to be really handy for getting people to back off. Most folks don't like the haunted scary empty stare."

[onthewillowsthere]

"I like your face."

[summerdude]

"You wanna see my stare in full force?"

[onthewillowsthere]

"Yes."

[summerdude]

Magnus sits up straight and leans in a little, then looks at Galahad dully, eyes slightly widened, the rest of his face slack, in the same way that both used to make his mom laugh, scrub a hand through his hair, and call her my spooky little pumpkin, and would, later on, get some of the rougher people on the streets to think twice about rolling a scrawny little kid.

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad gazes back into his eyes for a moment, then begins to study his face. Only because he and Magnus have been friends for so long, he can recognize that it's not Magnus' normal expression, that there's something particularly sad(?) about it. It's hard to read exactly what's going on, though.

[summerdude]

Magnus blinks, and the look intensifies: it's like he's seeing ghosts -- cruel ghosts -- but he's anhedonic about it.