pullmeoutalive | Morgan/Noire; Catch-All

[ To Morgan, the Halidom of Ylisse is more at peace than it's ever been. It might not be saying much -- anything seems more peaceful when your memories start at peak conflict -- but witnessing wartorn villages rebuilt, the people flourishing, and fewer battles by the day is an awesome thing. Talks with Plegia never seem to end, sometimes tense and punctuated with strife, but they haven't stopped new travelers and traders from pouring in and building tenuous bridges in the name of profit and adventure.

Morgan's parents grow older, as do their children. How surprised they were to find that Robin's second pregnancy yielded not one, but two. Not surprised as they could have been, perhaps, but questions that had once been easy to ignore came uncomfortably to the forefront. Yet anyone capable of answering those questions was already gone; Lucina first, always the leader, and then slowly but surely the other children as well.

At the time, Morgan couldn't understand why they'd want to leave. Why fight so hard to see your nation restored, only to leave it behind? It felt an awful shame.

Then, seeing his mother and father cradling their newborn twins, he began to see.

He began to take more interest in exploring the Outrealms, citing truthfully that it was better exercise for his noggin. Meeting people from other worlds and participating in outlandish events was unquestionably more interesting than patrolling a peaceful countryside or checking numbers in ledgers, as important as those duties were. His parents didn't protest, understanding his thirst for the new and exciting -- or perhaps understanding the faraway look that would sometimes settle over him, fixated on absent things.

Nowadays, they only send him off on his otherworldly travels with affectionate words and a hug or ruffle on the head. He's getting too old for the last of those things, but his father always smiles so brilliantly that Morgan never truly minds. Sustained by the well wishes of his parents, a thick book or two, and more than sufficient funding, it isn't strange for him to disappear on a job for weeks and weeks, his explorations engulfing him.

He's never quite sure what kind of situation he'll stumble into at the end of any of Anna's cheerful sendoffs. Sometimes gloomy wastelands, sometimes peaceful pastures, sometimes raging battlefields. Today it's an explosion of colors and people, booths fragrant with fresh food, laughter drifting in the air, children playing under the feet of the crowd. A town alive all at once, the cobbled streets teeming with merchants and revelers.

A festival. He hasn't a clue what it means to celebrate, but Morgan smiles and lowers the hood of his tactician's robe to better take in the sights. He's clearly a traveler with his sword and oversized backpack, but he's far from the only one. In fact, the vast majority of the crowd seems to hail from far-flung places. Observing ten different people yields ten different styles of clothing and speech.

Is everyone here from a different realm? Morgan suspects so, and that makes the festival all the more promising. All that's left is to figure out what all the hubbub is about. He strikes out, head swiveling to see everything there is to see. The chance that he'll see anyone he recognizes is incredibly low, yet he keeps an eye out all the same. You never know who you might run into out in the Outrealms... ]

[ She'd lingered the longest of the children, simultaneously understanding why they chose their own paths to follow (alone, or together, most pairings she'd expected) and feeling a sense of obligation to stay.

Noire's mother had never once left her memories, but Noire hadn't been able to connect to her when she'd been young-- too young, too frightened, her mother's thoughts more on the war and her husband when they weren't focused on testing her newest hex on her child. And the thought had settled in, that perhaps... no, definitely, the little blonde baby who had wrapped tiny fingers around her own was not going to be like her.

The Noire of this time was going to have Libra around to dissuade Tharja from too many spells. She was going to grow up in a time of peace, surrounded by friends. She was going to be fine.

And that was when Noire had smiled, kissed her child self on the forehead, and finally departed.

She'd reported back, of course, and kept in touch with the other children-- children no longer, honestly, but still bound by a fate that thankfully no one else had to share. But Noire has gotten braver-- ultimately still quiet, still soft-spoken and easily spooked, but more... poised, she likes to think. She doesn't need to be hiding behind Severa or stammering at Kjelle, and the thought makes her smile as she readjusts her grip on her bag of baking ingredients and hauls it off the counter.

Outrealm festivals are loud, ultimately overwhelming, but she'd promised Owain a new cake when she saw him and Cynthia again, and there truly was no better place to find exotic ingredients.

... If only she hadn't stuffed the bag quite so full. Because even with her arm strength from her days on the battlefield, it's still absurdly heavy, and although Noire succeeds in keeping her grip on it, one wobbly step later and she's gone and lost her balance, pitching backwards with a yelp. ]

[ There's a yelp nearby, and Morgan turns to see a shifting in the crowd. While everyone else flows aside to avoid the yelper, he lets curiosity carry his feet until he's clear of the throng and at the source of the disruption. In that bubble of space, he finds Noire at his feet.

Her hair isn't white.

His eyes widen, fixed on that blonde color. The rest of her isn't as much a surprise, older though she is; it wasn't so long ago that a different Noire was giving him a shy goodbye hug, fond but still so distant. In comparison, the Noire in front of him seems as warm as the sun. Her familiar imperfections, scars and blemishes from hard times in a cruel land, only make her more radiant.

She looks exactly as he imagined she would. Pitched over and everything. The fluttering in his chest, the absurdity of this meeting, the sheer flood of love he still feels for this girl all bubble out as a short chuckle.

He bends and offers her his hand with an easy smile. ]

Hey, stranger. It's been a while.

[ For all of her efforts to keep her ingredients safe and unharmed (because Noire, at least, was no stranger to hitting the ground in some fashion), all of that very nearly goes to waste when Noire looks up with a sheepish apology on her lips.

... Of course, it dies abruptly, and her grip slackens on the bag as gray eyes go wide. Thankfully for Owain's future cake, Noire has enough caution and sensibility to let the bag gently slide through her fingers and land safely on the ground-- so that when she lets Morgan pull her to her feet she can instantly throw her arms around him.

She'd wondered, of course, every time she had ventured into the Outrealms-- would she see him again? How long would it be? Would it have been better if their paths never crossed, would Morgan be happier moving on, did missing her hurt him as much as thinking of him hurt her?

Noire honestly couldn't blame anyone, and she hadn't regretted falling in love with a person who hadn't been by her side like the others had. Now, she takes a deep breath, trying to hide her face against his neck. ]

M-Morgan--

[ There's joy and relief and desperation, a thin sort of pleading-- he's really here, isn't he? ]

[ He holds her tightly to him, burying his nose in her hair. Her scent is strongly, achingly familiar, and he takes his time breathing her in before pressing a kiss to her temple. ]

I missed you, Noire.

[ His voice is warm and low, only for her ears. It might be romantic, if he didn't follow up with-- ]

I think my memory's acting up again, though. Did you get shorter, or am I going crazy?

[ She's never once forgotten how ridiculous Morgan can be-- exhausting at times, but earnest and always endearing.

It makes Noire smile, even as she draws back enough to look at him with teary eyes. She likes to think she does so well when she can't see him, but then this happens and she falls apart at the seams. ]

I don't think it's either. You've gotten taller again, Morgan.

[ Oh... but he did forget how cute her smile was. He knew it was cute, but was it always this cute? A blush blooms its way across his cheeks, his expression brightening even more. ]

Well, that won't do! That just means I gotta work harder when I wanna kiss you.

[ Practical couple problems!! But that's an issue for another time. He lets go of her, only to reach for her hands. ]

... I think we can work together on that.

[ But it's so, so nice to be able to stand here and gaze at him with her hands in his and her face very warm. ]

As long as we're able to stay together this time, at least.

[ She can't deny she's a little jealous that the others can stay with each other. ]

Mm. Now that you mention it, what're we doing, standing around like bumps on a log? Let's make every second count!

[ He lets go of one of her hands so that he can help pick up her bag. Wouldn't want it to get trampled in the crowd... ]

If there's one thing I've learned about the Outrealms, it's that there's always something crazy going on. Let's figure out what it is this time!

[ Still an attentive boyfriend, and Noire smiles gratefully. ]

Whatever it is, it seems to be couple-related... unless I'm being paranoid, and I might be... but I've seen a lot of them around.

[ He glances around. ]

I think you might be onto something. Wow, that would've been depressing a minute ago!

[ But now he's got his girlfriend and everything is peaches! How lucky. He squeezes Noire's hand and drags her along to the nearest booth. When the merchant looks at him, he questions: ]

Say, what's this festival all about?

[ The merchant explains that it's the annual "Love is War" Gathering! It's a hot spot for travelers to find love and couples to strengthen their bond.

Everyone who arrives in this realm comes automatically bearing a Token of Love -- a small placard bearing the owner's name and face. They say that whoever holds the Token at sundown will become bound by fate to the Token's owner. Thus, couples typically exchange their placards, and single people use this as their chance to find a new fated romance.

But travelers beware: not everyone arrives with good intentions. Some look to pilfer the Tokens of promising strangers, forcing their fates to intertwine. Their motivations can vary from greed to desperation to simple attraction. In any case, it's important to protect your Token from unwanted attention. It's common for fights to break out in the name of love...

Hopefully, it won't be a major problem this year. Just keep an eye on your Token; it should be somewhere on your person. It doesn't hurt to double-check that it's safe and sound! ]

[ ... And to think she'd been hoping it was something subtle and sweet, like just walking around with your lover and being happy together, and not something akin to a fight to the death for love. Noire really should have known better.

More importantly-- ]

I don't think anyone would stolen mine--

[ But she still sounds more than a little concerned (as per usual) as she gives herself a one-handed pat down (because of course she's not going to let go of Morgan's hand now). ]

... Ah, this?

[ She'll pull out the placard from a pocket, holding it up curiously. Yeah, that sure is a likeness of her face.

WHY ARE THE OUTREALMS SO WEIRD. ]

[ A hawk swoops in and plucks the placard straight out of her hand.

And there it goes

flying up into the distance...

Morgan stares after it in a kind of muted shock. ]

... Er. Does that happen a lot around here?

[ The merchant also stares after the hawk with a sympathetic look on his face and shrugs helplessly. "That's new," he says simply. ]

...

[ Noire finally releases Morgan's hand, for the all-important task of sliding her bow off her shoulder. Next, an arrow from her quiver, because even in times of peace, she likes to be armed.

Yep, SHE SURE IS AIMING AT THAT BIRD. ]

[ Welp. That hawk sure is dead now. Noire's arrow strikes it true, and it plummets to the earth in the distance... Morgan applauds enthusiastically. ]

Wow! That was an amazing shot! If we weren't already a thing, I'd be falling for you faster than that bird did.

[ ???Smooth??? Anyway, he grabs for Noire's hand again so that he can drag her toward her fallen target. ]

Let's go! We have to find your Token before anyone else can.

I-I really don't think anyone is going to be that interested in stealing a--

[ But no. There's the dead hawk and it will probably make for good eating, but Noire's grip tightens on Morgan's hand and she releases a distressed noise.

Because the Token is gone. ]

Why?!

[ Morgan hums thoughtfully. Think evil... Think evil... ]

I bet stolen Tokens would make for an easy ransom. Or if you wanted to make a big ol' fated harem for yourself, this would be the place to do it. An event like this is bound to attract a villain or two.

I don't want to become part of a harem! Or pay anyone for my romantic rights!!

[ how did this suddenly become the Worst Day Ever. ]

Well, I don't want those things for you either! Don't worry, Noire. We'll get your Token back even if we have to face down an army.

[ He pats the back of her hand with his free one. ]

... I'm sorry.

[ "Don't worry", he says, as though Noire has lived her life any differently. ]

I'm sure you didn't come here to battle, and I've gone and dragged you into something potentially violent...

[ He shakes his head. ]

I've got just as much a stake in this as you do. This Token stuff might just be a gimmick, but if there's even a one percent chance it's real, then your Token's gotta be all mine! ... Not to be presumptuous, of course.

Please, presume away. There's no one else I would even consider giving it to.

[ And it's currently the... one person who doesn't have it.

Thanks, hawk. ]

Morgan/Noire; Catch-All

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