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Futuristic ♕ Camelot | ellarose & Syntra

Guinevere swallows. Okay, that didn't go according to plan. She can hear blood rushing in her ears, the pressure of the situation escalating with her heart rate, and on top of the headache she's already got-- she starts to feel almost faint with panic. (At least she's in bed and doesn't have to worry about standing still.) God, she's going to screw up and Morgan's going to get hurt because she's too inexperienced to manipulate her husband-to-be -- who is somehow supplying her with more reasons to think there's a coldhearted monster hiding behind his smile. Thank god she's had years of practice holding a steel front over her fear, or he would see right through her. The emotions swarming her chest feel worse than it appears on the outside. Breathe. It's all she can do. Focus. She recalls Morgan's advice, once more. The way she'd told her not to talk, unless it was... what was it? Glory to Arthur? Right. Goddamn. Okay, maybe she can still salvage this.

"I do try to get along with everyone I meet. It's very much like you said-- I've been told that I can be kind to a fault." Guinevere offers, her stomach twisting into a whole variety of shapes with her anxiety. Tell him he's right, because that's what he wants to hear. She's kind, like he said, but it can be a fault, like he said. This hurts. Because she already knows where she needs to go with this, if she's going to give Morgan a chance. "We're not friends, not exactly... but I did spend a good deal of time with her, because of our lessons. I learned valuable skills from her and trusted her because I trusted you. I trusted your judgement." Her eyes bore into his. He can't disagree with that, at least, because that was the arrangement that was made for them. Neither of them wanted it, not at first. She remembers her heart-to-heart with Morgan in the tent. How they both resented each other because of Arthur's plans for them.

There's no denying that he put them together in the first place. There's no changing that. But she knows that this isn't going to be the end of it. It's not going to be that easy.

"I never believed that she had ill intent because I never imagined you would endanger me like that. So of course she couldn't have had ill intent."

Guinevere knows that to truly help Morgan, she'll need to make a sacrifice of her own. She remembers Caelia and maybe... maybe Morgan has more support elsewhere. Besides, it's not like she could ever be someone that Morgan could actually rely on. She's too clumsy and unsure in a place like Camelot. Doesn't know enough about magic to be helpful with her research and ambitions. (She remembers Morgan being thrown backwards by her touch in the disturbance zone, the way she had seen memories that were meant to be concealed, and then her hands wrapped around her throat--) While Morgan has been armoring her with advice to survive, Guinevere has only been... hurting her in return.

So she's taking scissors to the thread that keeps her tethered to the only person who's capable of keeping her sane and comforted in Camelot. It's too selfish of her to cling to Morgan if it's only going to end up dragging her down. If... if that's what it takes to keep her safe from Arthur and his unjust punishments --

"I trust you. So if-- if you say I shouldn't see her anymore, then I won't." Guinevere looks down at her hands, clutching the blanket tightly, her heart dropping like a stone in her chest. "But please don't punish her. I wouldn't be able to rest easy if you did that."
 
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"Ah. You were-- you were right to do that," Arthur managed to stammer out. Apparently, Guinevere had struck gold this time, for the king could not imagine a situation in which trusting his judgment was a bad idea. And if reality itself contradicted that? Well, clearly reality must have been wrong! "Of course you were right. Morgan-- she's a good teacher, even with all her faults. She used to teach me as well, and that's how I knew she would be good for you." It was almost funny, really, how quickly he re-arranged the puzzle pieces so that they composed the picture he favored. A second ago, his sister had been but a monster; a heretic who dabbled in the forbidden arts, and deserved to burn for it. Now, though? Why, it seemed as if Morgan really had been a sensible choice, after all! Oh, how quickly things changed in Camelot.

"So, yes. You were right to trust her, as a teacher. Not in any other capacity, though. That in itself is a lesson, my lady," he said as he sat down next to her again. (The bed moaned under his weight, almost as if if couldn't stand him, either.) "Things can be complicated here, my lady. More complicated than in the wastes." Oh, now that was unusual. Arthur didn't tend to talk about her past much, preferring to pretend she had lived in Camelot since her birth instead. Again, it was easier for him. Because the idea that his bride knew how to fight the monsters that had forced them to hide behind the walls-- that kind of ruined the whole damsel in distress shtick he was so fond of, didn't it? It seemed, though, that he didn't mind bringing it up when it meant he could condescend to her. How charming! "Sadly, not everyone is your friend here. There are those who would love to see us fail - to see Camelot fail - and so you must exercise caution. That goes double for people like Morgan. Allow her to get too close to you and she will use you. Trust me, I know my sister."

It almost looked like he wanted to add something else, but then he decided against it. Was it due to her pleading? Perhaps. Arthur gave her a strange, measured look before averting his eyes. "Very well. A sense of loyalty is not a bad thing to have, even if it can be misplaced at times. And isn't it a queen's role to soften her king's decisions?" he smiled and planted a small kiss on her forehead. "Love really does make you weak. But as you wish, I will allow Morgan to return to her chambers. You cannot meet her anymore, of course, because she doesn't deserve the privilege of your company, but she won't be punished. Well, aside from being banned from attending public events, of course. Surely you understand that I cannot allow her to sit by my side after what transpired?" Arthur gave her another charming smile. "Oh, and I shall give you a personal bodyguard. The idea of you going about your business unprotected-- that is too much for me to bear, I'm afraid." Was it, though? Because he had been just fine with it before. Had he had a change of heart or did he just not trust her anymore? Was she actually losing her support system instead of strengthening her position? Only time could tell, it seemed. For now, Guinevere could at least revel in her small victory.
 
Guinevere accomplished what she set out to -- but the victory doesn't taste even remotely triumphant. When Arthur finally leaves her to rest for a while longer, she cries bitterly, nose and mouth pressed into her pillow to smother the sound. It has her in shakes, like she's a starving, bleeding little girl on the floor again, but she just doesn't care anymore. She has to release all this pent up anxiety somehow. (All the magic she doesn't yet understand -- and probably never will. Her hands around Morgan's throat. Her marriage to Arthur, who is proving to be even more of a prick with every passing day. Losing Morgan. Because how is she going to do this without her?) Either way, without anyone in her corner to talk to, she might as well let everything out now, while she's safely hidden behind closed doors. If she holds onto it for too long, it'll break her open at the worst possible moment and -- and she needs to keep a level head if she's going to survive in here. The advice she was given had carried her through, miraculously, this time. But it wasn't easy. And it's not going to get any easier, the way things are going now.

Guinevere stays confined to her bed for as long as she possibly can, to 'regain her strength', without it seeming too suspicious. This grants her a few days of solitude with sporadic visits from healers and Arthur. (He seems to like it, anyway, having her cooped up so he can dote on her.) Why bother doing anything else, after all? She barely has the energy or the desire to leave her room in the first place. What's the point? The only person she wants to see is the very person she's been ordered to avoid, which -- how the hell is she even supposed to pull that off? Her stomach sinks every time she pictures seeing Morgan for the first time since that night.

Eventually, though, that period of 'healing' has to end. People love to talk, after all, and she's sure they'll come up with something outlandish if she doesn't come out eventually. The instant that she takes the first step outside her room, Lancelot sticks to her side like a leech. Camelot mostly consists of the floor from that point onward, as she can hardly do anything but look at her feet when she's walking. Avoiding everyone's eyes, in a way, as if to say stubbornly that she won't deign to give anyone the time of day if she can't speak to Morgan. Avoiding the whispers behind her back, offering polite but fatigued smiles to those who offered condolences. It's the same as usual, isn't it? Everyone crooning about what a poor, pathetic thing she is. But this time it's because she's been 'bewitched'. Lancelot, to his credit, has always been more attentive to her moods than Arthur. And knowing that something's wrong , he offers polite greetings to those they pass in the hall so she doesn't have to. He'll do silly things on occasion to make her laugh. These attempts are unsuccessful, for the most part, but she does appreciate him for trying. But she's got to keep him at a distance too, to a certain extent. When Lancelot looks at her, she can only assume his feelings are the same as before. She can't lean into that -- not even slightly. Too dangerous.

Even though she never seems to have a moment in which he's not occupying her space. The day finally comes when she hears Lancelot clear his throat and greet Morgan in the hall-- and her eyes go wide with panic. She keeps her gaze determinedly on the floor, quickening her pace to the point that Lancelot practically has to run to keep up with her. No, no, no. She can't even look at her, not when she has to avoid her like this. Glimpsing her once would only make it that much harder to tear her eyes away again. As much as she wants to know that she's all right-- as much as she wants to speak with her-- she can't. (Because in Camelot, the only thing that matters is what Arthur wants, isn't it?) Ugh. But running-- really? Did she have to run and make it so obvious that she's afraid? Guinevere's not afraid of Morgan. Of course she's not indulging all the ridiculous rumors. But she's afraid for her -- afraid of Arthur. "I'm such an asshole." She mutters under her breath when she turns the corner. Lancelot asks her to repeat herself, he didn't catch what she said, and she waves him off frustratedly.

These encounters will repeat in scattered intervals, where Guinevere averts her eyes and rushes off before she can be looked at properly or spoken to. Then it becomes rarer and rarer to catch Morgan out and about at all. Guinevere can only hope she understands it's an illusion, that she's just using the advice she'd given her to try and keep them both afloat.

Speaking of advice. Arthur also assigns her a new teacher, as promised. An anxious, twitchy woman who still seems concerned that their future queen might have carried in some disease with her from the wastes. Always keeping a good distance as she circles the room, like Guinevere's an insect that she's afraid to touch. The lessons are boring and uneventful. She simply does what she's supposed to, counts the minutes, and then goes on her way. It's not particularly useful, anyway. Mind-numbing lectures about how to be Arthur's good little wife. In fact, the new criteria fixates more on her being an obedient woman than that of etiquette and manners. She can only assume that was Arthur's bright idea.

At last, she finds a night where she can sneak out from her room without supervision. The knights are preparing for another "grand quest", all tucked in bed to get a good night's rest. So she's decided to gather supplies. (Which has become increasingly harder, especially now that she's always got eyes on her.) The sole guard stationed outside of her room is sitting on the floor and snoring away, so she tiptoes around him and makes her way to the kitchen. No one should be awake at this hour, after all. She's begins packing some bread to take with her when -- oh -- someone appears in the doorway. Her first instinct is to duck under the table to hide and she starts to... until she notices that it's Morgan. The first time she's truly seen her since that night. (And it's true, it's impossible to tear her eyes away now that she sees her again.) Guinevere lifts back up, perhaps a touch too quickly, and bangs her head in the process. "Ouch! Shit!" Yeah, this is getting off to a great start. She rubs her forehead and slowly straightens up. Her heart feels heavy in her chest, far too heavy for one person to carry alone. She is... alone. But now... they're alone. They're alone! Alone, for once, without any eyes or ears around to catch them. So maybe... maybe she'll finally have the chance to explain? "Morgan. I..." God, how does she even begin? 'I made a deal with your brother and he might as well be the devil?'
 
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Darkness, vast and all-encompassing. Normally, her eyes would have gotten used to it, but that was out of question with the blindfold they had made her wear. So they were going for sensory deprivation, huh? A surprisingly good choice. It required pretty much no resources while being very, very efficient at breaking people at the same time. The mind, after all, required endless stream of stimuli for it not to turn against itself. The shapes it painted in the absence of anything else, fueled by gods knew what-- now that was the stuff of nightmares. Had Arthur himself thought of it? Or Merlin, perhaps? Well, it wasn't like it mattered. Even if she did manage to figure out who had designed her prison, that knowledge wouldn't free her, and so it was ultimately pointless. But then again, what wasn't? Because this-- this really seemed to be the end. One mistake, one step in the wrong direction, and boom, game over. All things considered, though, it had been a good run. Could she reasonably expect to be able to defy the odds longer than this? Hell, making it that far was a small wonder in itself!

Still, Morgan hadn't really anticipated it to be this... unceremonious. Some part of her had been deeply convinced that she'd die in a blast of glory, either impaled by Arthur's sword or maybe torn apart by wild magic. That she would have the kind of death bards would sing about. A symptom of immaturity, perhaps, but Morgan had always enjoyed her stories, and becoming a protagonist of her own legend wouldn't be that bad. Unlike Camelot, she'd attain immortality; a final spit in Arthur's face. It seemed, however, that her brother would snatch that away from her as well. Because wasting away in some dungeon, with only the rats to remember her-- yeah, that was pretty anticlimactic. Who would compose a song about that? Who would even spare her a thought? Nobody, that was the answer. How grim.

Well, at least Guinevere had made it out fine. (And she didn't have to face her after that last fiasco, either, which was honestly a blessing in disguise. Looking her in the eye ever again just seemed distinctly impossible. The girl had seen too much, and just like Camelot, Morgan simply wasn't that impressive upon closer inspection. The image of herself she had constructed couldn't survive that collision with reality. And without it? She was nothing. Nothing but weakling, from start to finish. The tears that pricked her eyes, too, proved that. )

And then they came for her.

Without bothering to explain why, they put her blindfold away and led her-- somewhere. To the gallows, perhaps? Maybe Arthur had grown weary of waiting and decided to make a spectacle out of her death after all. Well, if so, Morgan intended to face it with her head held high. One last show of defiance was all she wanted, really. Except that, for some reason, they guided her back to her room. That... okay, that was unexpected. What now? 'You are not to go out,' they told her. 'For the time being. The king has granted you mercy in his wisdom, but don't force his hand. Repent instead!'

And Morgan did, in her own way. If she hoped to build something new from her fractured existence, some kind of repentance was necessary. She-- she had grown too arrogant, without anything to back it up. That needed to change! It really did, especially if she hoped to redeem herself in Guinevere's eyes. The future queen's support would be necessary in the upcoming days, and Morgan had to secure it. Right, that was what this was about. No feelings or anything silly like that!

The next few days were a blur-- she could only really tell how many of them had passed thanks to the food they brought her. Three meals equaled to one day, so... five days, then? Maybe more than that because it seemed to her like they forgot about her food from time to time, but not by much. Either way, she spent that time reading, mostly. She had no idea what Arthur planned to do with her, but armoring herself with new knowledge in the meantime could never be too harmful. Besides, Morgan had to play the obedient sister, now more than ever. Guinevere still needed her, after all-- in this den of lions, every ally counted. As such, she had to stay inconspicuous and wait for her visit.

Except that Guinevere never came. More than that-- she seemed to avoid her in the hallways, long after her ban to enter the shared spaces had been lifted. Oh. Well. She probably should have expected that, really. Why keep allies that only dragged you down, after all? It was wise of her to distance herself. Arthur would surely watch her from now on, and Guinevere had her own business to take care of. It also made sense that a survivor from the wastes didn't want to associate herself with someone like her any longer. The weakness she had witnessed? Gods, it must have disgusted her to the core. At least-- at least she could focus on her magic properly now, Morgan supposed.

Magic. In the end, that was the only thing Morgan was good for, wasn't it? For taking her body and breaking it, over and over, to give birth to something new. Something better than her. (Her legacy would be forged in her own blood, she'd always known that. That it hadn't changed did bring her some degree of comfort; familiarity soothed, and it felt like salve upon her wounds. Having something to return to was sweet, wasn't it?) Once again, magic embraced her like a faithful lover, and Morgan dissolved in its arms.

And then she met her. Morgan had just wanted to steal a bun or two from the kitchen because she hadn't eaten much for dinner, but of course that Guinevere had to be there. Immediately, her appetite was gone. Gods, why did she have to see her now? Morgan looked terrible, she was sure of it. With her skin paper thin and covered in bruises, dark circles under her eyes and lip torn from the latest accident, she probably appeared more dead than alive. (She felt like it, too. Could it be some illness she had contracted in the catacombs, perhaps? The timeline would fit; not a single thing had been even remotely fine since then. Food tasted like ashes now, and her own flesh served as prison.) Morgan looked up to her, half shocked that Guinevere even chose to address her. "Lady Guinevere," she said, her tone measured. (The way she called her by her name, as if nothing had happened between them at all? No, Morgan couldn't do that. She needed the 'lady' to put a barrier between them, otherwise-- otherwise everything would fall apart.) "No need to explain anything to me." Not that you'd bother to do that anyway. "If this is about your ventures, I still have no intention of telling anyone. Do go on." That was the reason she had even spoken to her in the first place, right? To ensure that her secret would stay safe? Because Morgan certainly saw no other motivations here.
 
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“Oh. Um... thank you?” Guinevere doesn’t know what strikes her harder. The fact that Morgan looks so terrible right now, or the title stuck in her name like a barrier. A shield to protect her from a supposed ally who supposedly abandoned her. Hurt her. (Killed her— that wasn’t real but Guinevere still has nightmares.) As if the guilt she carried on her shoulders wasn’t soul crushing enough already. It’s hard to say how long they’ll have now, so she steels herself instead of softening the way she wants to. “Morgan, I need to apologize. I need to explain while...” her eyes flick to the doorway, “While I’m not being watched.”

“I was out for two days after that night and... and Arthur had me cornered. I really tried to make things better, but I’m still new with— with the illusions.” She waves her hands mystically with the word and, god, now she really feels like an idiot. “Now he won’t let me see you. I’m not allowed to go anywhere without an escort.”

She looks at the ground, feeling small and alone and somewhat bitter over that stupid moment of happiness she’d had when they agreed not to use the titles. She tried to use Morgan’s advice to make things okay, but they’re not okay and—

Lady Guinevere. That’s Arthur’s Guinevere. The only Guinevere that exists in Camelot without Morgan by her side. They’re alone now. So fuck Lady Guinevere. She’s not playing games when it’s just the two of them, not convincing Morgan that she’s avoiding her on purpose when she looks so beaten down.

“I’m such an idiot. He did something behind my back, didn’t he?” It throws kindling on the fire in her. If they were on the outside, she’d have wanted Morgan to give her names. All the bastards responsible, so she could sock them in the face and then some. Unfortunately, that’s not how things work in Camelot. Might as well sock herself in the face, too, because she’s clearly part of the problem. “I try to make things better but I only ever seem to make them worse— I’m— I’m so sorry.”
 
Morgan just... stared at Guinevere, uncomprehending. So all of this had been a charade? A conscious effort to meet Arthur's demands? (In hindsight, it probably should have occurred to her. The way he had released her out of nowhere, Guinevere's strange behavior after that-- those were puzzle pieces, but she hadn't recognized them as such. Jumping to conclusions had been easier, as well as nursing her wounds. Gods, Morgan felt so stupid. One would have thought that years of manipulation had taught how to spot when someone else was controlling things from the shadows, but apparently not. And the puppet strings had been so obvious! What would it have taken for her to notice? Arthur screaming into her ear that all of this was his evil, evil plan? Because he certainly wouldn't have done that! Nobody but comic villains did, and comics were forbidden as well. Not educational enough and so on and so forth.)

"I-- uh. I haven't considered that?" she said, which sounded tremendously stupid, but it was true. And since deception had gotten them into this predicament in the first place-- well, wasn't it kind of the appropriate thing to do? To be honest, if only for a few moments. "So I suppose that means we're both idiots," Morgan concluded. "No need to apologize." Almost involuntarily, her lips curled up in a smile, and she realized that hadn't happened to her in days. Not since she and Guinevere had been separated, to be precise. ...huh. So the girl had that sort of effect on her? Interesting. It must have been the spontaneity, really; one didn't get to enjoy that much in Camelot. Nothing too deep, just fascination by the unknown. That was only human.

"And he didn't do anything," she admitted, a bit sheepish. "If you're talking about this, I mean," Morgan pointed at her face. "I didn't have much to do, so I experimented with some new magic. That's all." Morgan was only thankful that she got to present Guinevere with the tamer version of the events, really, because what she had been doing seemed dangerously close to over-reaction now. Not that it had been anything like that, of course, but Guinevere could get the wrong impression! People-- misunderstood often, that was all. "It's okay. I've been through worse." Gods, why did she feel so light right now? Almost as if a gust of wind could lift her and carry her away? Oh, right. Relief. Perhaps Morgan shouldn't let it get into her head, though; not when Guinevere still seemed so distraught.

"Guinevere," she said, enjoying the way the name tasted on her tongue. It reminded her of honey. "You've done well. It would have been better to send a message, but he only released me because of your actions, right? Thank you. I mean it."
 
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Guinevere's metaphorical puppy tail wags vigorously at Morgan's praise, at the sound of her name without that title dragging it down. She returns her smile, bright as sunshine. (And why wouldn't she, when the sight of Morgan's smile is so beautiful it could make flowers grow? Oh. Was she always this sappy? Maybe she'd been listening to too many of Tamara's romantic stories herself.) Her eyes and heart are alive with a feeling she's frightened to name. Well, it's because they haven't seen each other in so long. Because she's glad Morgan's alive and not trapped by herself in some horrible dungeon. (And, oh, does she empathize with what it's like to be held captive.) But it's also because -- well, she has an inkling of what it is, but it's not something she should mention or dwell on. Because it'll only end in heartbreak. Because she's in Camelot, where Arthur takes anything, anyone he wants. And Arthur wants... her. For some reason.

"I was only able to pull it off because of all the advice you gave me. I... I really do need you, Morgan." It slipped out. It'd almost happened back in the wastes, too, but now-- well, to hell with it. She needs Morgan and she means it. Especially now that Arthur's gone and replaced her with someone who gives genuinely terrible advice. (The most important duty a wife can hope to have is attending to her husband's needs and happiness? Right.) "I thought about sending you some kind of signal... but I was afraid I'd mess it up somehow. Like everything else lately." Something complicated stirs behind her eyes in that instant, but she's quick to shake it off. Having magical reactions? Following magical urges to a specific location, as though hypnotized? She knows it'd probably be wise to ask Morgan about all of that before she causes some other unforeseen accident, but... seeing her like this makes it difficult. Who is she to ask for help with magic when it looks like it's killing her? (And she's been through worse? Arthur had said the same once before, hadn't he? It's... not exactly comforting.)

"I still can't believe I'm marrying such a monster. Somehow he keeps on getting worse, but... I know I don't need to tell you that." Guinevere sighs. (She can say she knows with certainty now more than ever -- the way he'd smiled when bringing up the concept of punishments? The way he'd been so incredulous at the concept that she might want to be Morgan's friend?) She returns to the bread she'd sorted on the table, resumes her packing, and waves one of the loaves with a cunning smile. "Anyway, I'm robbing him. You know, that's actually how we met? Robbed him a few times before he caught me... then he tried to convince my gang to trade me over for a little less than a week's worth of food. Took a few more promises than that to convince us, but, you know... They needed that food. Still do."

With her honest voice held prisoner in her throat for so long... it's hard to stop once she starts. And maybe, just maybe, she feels the need to share on account of having been into Morgan's mind the last time they saw each other. It only seems fair. To say she trusts her with these feelings and thoughts. (Even after she'd gone and avoided her, she said she wouldn't tell anyone... that's not lost on her, either.)

Guinevere's expression is thoughtful as she stacks bread in her bag, brow slightly furrowed. "Arthur likes to forget that I come from the wastes. But he brought it up the other day, to patronize me... told me it can be more complicated in here than it is out there. I wouldn't argue that Camelot isn't complicated in it's own way, because it definitely is but..." she's packing with a touch more force as she goes on, her inner fire building back up now that she's started, "He's got no goddamn clue what I've been through out there. And he had the audacity to say that, when he knows I'm only putting up with his bullshit because I want to try and make things better for everyone outside? If things were really so simple out there, I'd leave his ass in a heartbeat." He doesn't see the survivor in her. He likes the concept of the 'damsel' he'd saved too much for that.

She coughs, if a bit awkwardly, when she runs out of bread to stuff in her bag. Well. That turned into... a passionate rant. Something about seeing Morgan again must have inspired it in her. To feel ambitious and strong and herself again. Like Guinevere. Not the Lady Guinevere who might as well have possessed her body like a mournful ghost over the past few days. That's it, isn't it? The stark difference between spending time with Arthur and spending time with Morgan. She's allowed to just... be.

"I'm finally adapting, Morgan. If I act annoyingly dumb and helpless, it's just because Arthur likes me that way. But I'm not going to let that change me. And you taught me that." She closes her bag with an air of finality. Though she's finished packing up, she doesn't want to leave. Not yet, while they still have a moment. "...Um. Would you mind giving me a quick lesson, while we're here? What's the best way to send a message in Camelot? Without... without getting caught, that is."
 
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"... wow," Morgan chuckled. Because this really was a wow kind of situation, wasn't it? Every single word that fell from her lips counted as treason, and yet Guinevere spoke as freely as if she was, say, sharing her opinion on the last night's dessert. More freely than that, actually, since most people would take the cook's feelings into consideration! It was stupid, of course. What if somebody heard them? Arthur's spies never slept, and bringing such a juicy piece of information to him-- well, that would probably earn them knighthood. Someone should tell her to shut up, and that someone ought to be me. Except that she didn't. Just... look, the rant was too glorious for her to stop it, alright? Indirectness tired her, just like polished manners did, and seeing Guinevere voice her feelings with such passion felt utterly vindicating. They were her feelings as well, after all. Well, aside from the fact that she wasn't required to marry her brother on top of all of that. (Gods, how did she even find the strength to get up from her bed every morning? Morgan... wasn't all that sure whether she could have done that. The noose probably would have looked like a more tempting alternative.)

"... yeah, you really don't. But hey, at least he mostly ignores me, so I think you've got the worse deal between the two of us," Morgan shrugged. Her existence in Camelot honestly wasn't that bad these days-- the catacombs were one giant mistake, not a recurring pattern, and compared to having to love Arthur, Morgan would have chosen them any day of the week. At least the catacombs didn't condescend to you. "So that's why you're doing this. I always wondered, you know. Wondered why someone--" someone as wonderful as you "--someone like you chose him." And if that was her answer? Morgan knew, right then and there, that she could trust her with the rebellion. This was a woman who valued self-sacrifice above all, and Camelot-- Camelot was the antithesis of that. Camelot was survival, yes, but survival carried on the backs of those who couldn't say no. Hoarding of precious resources, keeping vulnerable people out, all those rules that benefited Arthur and Arthur alone? Those were just symptoms of that, really. Moreover, Guinevere had saved her, hadn't she? Not for entirely unselfish reasons, at least if her 'I need you' had any weight to it, but that only made her more trustworthy. (Need, after all, was a damn fine motivation for not betraying her. And-- okay, it made her heart sing, too, but Morgan wouldn't let that affect her judgment! Never, not even a little bit.) Still, in order to discuss such things, they needed privacy greater than this. Guinevere's intervention may have protected her the last time, yes, but not even her influence could sway Arthur if this particular secret got out. It was dangerous.

"Ask for a servant named Marietta," Morgan said, once again smiling. With Guinevere there, it just felt... natural? Or something close to that. "She's a seamstress, and a good one, so it won't be strange for you to ask for her specifically. What Arthur doesn't know, though, is that she's mine more than she's his. She also knows like-minded people. Any message entrusted to her will get delivered to me. I still wouldn't tell her anything too incriminating, but, you know. Dates and places of our meetings-- those things should be fine. I mean, if you wish to meet me," Morgan added quickly. "It'll be dangerous, most likely, but I--" want to see you "-- think you'd benefit from our, uh, continued association." Phew, that one was close. She had almost, almost blurted that strange thought out! What an embarrassing prospect. Besides, wanting to see her wasn't an argument; no, Morgan had to support her proposal with a solid reasoning. (Nobody had ever cared what she wanted, but people did listen to logic. That was a lesson she had grasped early in life, and it had been as sweet as it had been bitter.)

"Um. I think I still have much to teach you," Morgan looked on the floor. Amazingly, she seemed... a bit hesitant? Shy, even? "And since you clearly have some sort of magical gift, we should look into that, too. Before it starts causing trouble." (Just like hers had in the past. Gods, how different would her life have been had Morgan had a mentor? Someone to help her with her powers instead of her just-- thrashing around blindly and trying not to drown in the stream? It... was better not to think about that, probably. Too many wasted opportunities.) "You don't need to learn how to use it," Morgan assured her in case the concept scared her, "but you have to learn how to not use it. That, too, is a skill."
 
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"Everyone's got it bad, in one way or another. You're either free and hungry or fed and trapped in this backwards hell. It's a 'queen's role to soften her king's decisions?' Well, I'd certainly use my voice to do more good for everyone involved if he'd just let me speak. I only got a chance this time because it concerned... well, us." Guinevere shakes her head and almost blushes, as if the implication means more than the surface level, and bites her lip. It's, perhaps, moments like these that showcase how she came to be a leader of a gang in the wastes. Maybe she'd been holding back, before, with Morgan. Because she pretended to be an active participant in her engagement to Arthur. Without that barrier, everything else might as well rush out with it. "Being queen makes it sound like it entitles me to some kind of power. But that's an illusion, too. I don't know how much good I'll be able to do for you in return for everything you've done for me. To be honest, I... I feel like I've only been dragging you down."

There's a touch of vulnerability that leaks into her expression there, but she steels over it quickly, looks Morgan in the eye.

"I know you won't back down in the face of danger and I respect the hell out of you for it, but--" Guinevere swallows. It breaches a little too closely to fear, the place she's at now. It's strange to think about the day she woke from that coma, that she would ever feel so scared while lying safely in a bed. But clumsily fumbling through her attempt to manipulate Arthur only solidified just how difficult it's going to be to continue to keep Morgan safe from harm, should something like that happen again. "I appreciate what you're trying to do. But the guilt's been..."

Eating her alive? Giving her nightmares? She squeezes her eyes shut tight around it all for a moment. How does she articulate all of this?

"Fuck." She says softly, running her fingers through her hair. The way her heart's racing, it's hard to ride it out, to keep herself in check. But she manages, somehow, coming through with honesty that doesn't tremble with fear the same way her heart does. "Morgan, the last time I saw you, I had my hands around your throat." It messed me up, she wants to say, it messed her up in more ways than she can say, because--

"Then I wake up to Arthur-- and, and he's smiling and asking me to punish you somehow when I feel like I'm the one who deserves--" There's a sharp intake of breath as she catches herself, knowing exactly the looks of disappointment she'd get from her gang. What, exactly, does she deserve? No, she can't do this to herself. Can't go down this path. Not again. She's been trying to work through this, because it's capable of accumulating into something that could lead her to the grave. But it's hard. She tries again. "--I do want to keep meeting you. I know I'd learn a lot. But even if I learn how not to use magic, will it... will it hurt you, somehow?"
 
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"You don't have any actual power, no," Morgan chuckled, but there wasn't a trace of amusement in it now. Instead, the laugh sounded bitter. "A queen is still nothing more than a wife, and wives are status symbols. Your job is to be beautiful and well-mannered, not smart or politically savvy. You're there to be his eye candy, more or less. And if you aim higher than that-- well, you'll need to be creative about it." 'You need to join me,' she meant to say, but dared not to voice it. Not here, at the very least. She wanted to add something - perhaps a cryptic remark or two, just to set the stage for later - except that Guinevere rambled on and on, and Morgan was swept up by it.

"Dragging me down?" she repeated after her, clearly confused. Those parts about Guinevere reciprocating gave her a pause, too, because wow, unexpected, but first things first. "I don't understand."

And then she did, since Guinevere wasted little time in clarifying her position. Um. Okay. Was it bothering her that much? Really? Morgan had almost forgotten about the incident by now! Maybe not the bit with Guinevere seeing her memories, but the rest of it-- well, these things just happened. No witch worth her salt had ever shied away from pain. Hurt and magic existed as two sides of the same coin, really. You couldn't embrace one and reject the other! The world just didn't work like that. There were those who claimed they knew how to fool that system, how to avoid paying the ancient tax, but such people? Charlatans, nothing less and nothing more.

"Guinevere," Morgan said, a bit hesitant. (Gods, she looked so fragile. Almost as if a single touch could shatter her, really. How did you even treat people like that? Did you give them space or-- or did you pull closer, to let them know they weren't alone? If there was a protocol for such situations, nobody had bothered to teach her about it. It was just her and her instincts, it seemed, and that... was a terrifying thought. Mainly because her instincts sucked! What to do, what to do?!) "Guinevere, listen to me," she said and reached for her hand. "I don't mind. I don't blame you, either. You did what you did because I asked you to. If you hadn't choked me to death in that dream, perhaps we never would have made it out. It was-- a precarious situation. Besides, I'm used to it! Not to being killed, I suppose, but it's not that different to what usually happens when I cast spells. I mean, it didn't feel that different at least?" ...yeah, that probably wasn't the right angle here. Not when Guinevere's concerns seemed to be colored by such raw care for her. (And that was the thing, wasn't it? The thing that simultaneously made her heart ache and soar. Guinevere worried about her. Morgan didn't understand why, but that changed very little.)

"I'll be honest with you," she said quietly and clasped her hand between hers. "I have no idea. What you possess-- it's a strange kind of magic. Something I haven't encountered before. As such, yes, I think I will get a little hurt while exploring it. It's almost an inevitability. It will be worth it, though, because if you don't get it under control, then the damage will be much more severe. Damage to me, you, potentially the entire Camelot." Talk about optimism, right? (Maybe feeding her such catastrophic visions in her current state wasn't the best idea. How did you soothe someone's fears, though? Nobody had ever done it for her, so Morgan just didn't know. Hm. Or did she? Some book she had read recommended physical touch, which sounded... kind of legit? Humans had evolved as pack creatures, after all.) Seized by some brand of madness, she... kissed her on her nose. Briefly, fleetingly, but she did, and her cheeks turned crimson in response. Damn. Just what had possessed her to go for that kind of touch? Had some of her magic perhaps resulted in brain damage? Because it sure felt like that! "It-- it will be fine," Morgan stuttered, doing her best to pretend that her actions were both normal and justifiable. "You will learn everything you need to know. I will make sure of it."
 
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Held steady and comforted by the warmth between their palms, Guinevere's gaze flits from Morgan's hand around hers to her eyes as she speaks. She asked her to listen, so she listens. It does alleviate her, to hear that she doesn't blame her for what happened. And the fact that Morgan's holding onto her right now is proof that she wouldn't shudder with disgust at the thought of her touch. (Or expect her hands to hurt her on purpose.) Perhaps, to some extent, Guinevere's grown so accustomed to wilting under Arthur's touch that she can't stand the idea of ever inspiring that same fear in anyone else. But then... the concept of the dangers arise, the harsh truths to hear, and it snowballs into the concept of her accidentally destroying the whole of Camelot and leaving it in ruins. The thought paints horrible, angry images in her mind, ranging on nightmarish when--

Morgan kisses her. On the nose. And, if only temporarily, all her magic-related concerns vanish in a puff of smoke. She can't help the hushed little noise of surprise that escapes her throat. She... What-- what does it mean?

A particularly warm blush blooms in her cheeks and singes her ears. Perplexed, Guinevere brushes her fingertips to her nose as though to savor the feeling, however fleeting it was. It occurs to her as the shock gradually wears off, just how freaking cute that was. Her nose, of all places? Oh, she wants so badly to crinkle her nose and grin at her right now. If they were on the outside and this happened, she'd have taken a risk and put her heart on the line, she'd have leaned in closer and -- but no, no she can't. Because they're not on the outside, are they? They're in Camelot. So instead, she burns soft and quiet behind the eyes, struggles to cope with her disastrous self. Christ. Arthur almost made her forget just how nice kisses can be. How long has it been since she hasn't felt the urge to flinch away from the press of someone's lips against her skin? But this is dangerous and she knows it.

Compared to all the ranting from before, she hasn't said a word for a while. "Um. I--" She's lost, still warring with her emotions, can't seem to think straight. (Well, it figures she can't think straight when she's so damned gay--) Wanting to reciprocate but knowing she ought to keep a respectful distance, she does the safest thing she can think of. Guinevere gives Morgan's hand in hers a light squeeze of affirmation and rests her free hand atop their already joined hands. Almost like a secret code. To say she appreciates it, to say she wouldn't let go if there were any other way it could work. "If you really think it'd be safer this way, then... then I trust you."

Guinevere said those very words to Arthur the other day and it'd been a blatant lie. But spoken to Morgan, they ring untainted and true.

The magic rematerializes in her mind after a while and she bites her lip. She supposes she'll try to push the fear aside, for now, until the time comes that they truly confront it. Take it step by step and try not to lose her cool. She doesn't know what's going on, either Until recently, she never would have believed that she possessed any kind of magic. It's strange, though. There are hazy things she's put behind her from childhood, things she's tried to forget that... could potentially be explained by the idea that she's had something inside of her this whole time. And maybe she's afraid to unbury that, too.

"I'm going back to camp soon. The day after tomorrow, if all goes according to plan. Do you... want to come?" She attempts to rebuild herself, manages a little smile. "You know, they'd really think we were married, if they caught us like this."
 
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Morgan half-expected Guinevere to slap her in retaliation. It would be a totally fair thing for her to do, after all, considering how many boundaries she had crossed with that stupid kiss. Had someone done that to her-- well, Morgan wasn't entirely sure what exactly she would have done in that case, actually, but it wouldn't have been pretty. Not at all. You just didn't invade someone's privacy like that! Well, not unless you were called Morgan, apparently. (Gods, just how low had she sunk? Low enough to measure up to her brother, that was the answer. Because, no matter how uncomfortable it felt to admit it to herself, it was Arthur who did things like that; who took what he wanted without asking or consideration for others. Camelot-- Camelot had warped her, too. It must have.)

The slap didn't come, though. Instead, Guinevere leaned into her touch, and Morgan felt-- accepted. Wanted, even. It was both terrifying and beautiful at the same time, which didn't alleviate her confusion in the slightest. Maybe that didn't matter, though. Not when Guinevere held her like that, both firm and gentle, and for the first time since forever, Morgan had an inkling that things would be just fine. Somehow, the world just seemed more alive? As if everything had been monochromatic before, and she only got to glimpse now how striking colors could be. How vivid, how breathtaking. (The hope blooming in her chest must have been responsible for that, Morgan was sure. It could alter your perception in many ways, most of them illusory, but so what? From time to time, everyone needed to cling to their little delusions. It made living in Camelot just a little bit more bearable.)

"I-- I suppose," Morgan stammered out, brought back to reality by the power of her statement. Marrying Guinevere? What a concept. Weddings had always been marred by a strange kind of dread for her; it was a loss of agency, a glorified slavery celebrated by the masses because, hey, that was what women were for. So, dress in white and rejoice! (Maybe it wouldn't have been that bad with another woman, though. Without the power imbalance in play, Morgan guessed it could be nice. The closeness, kisses and all the, uh, other things. Things that made her blush just by thinking about them, goddamit! Perhaps she should just come to terms with the fact that she'd never, ever look dignified again in her life, because the way this was going-- yeah, it just wasn't likely.)

"I'd love to go. We should let your friends know that it's not true, though," Morgan said, hoping to sound resolute. In reality, though, it mostly came out-- sort of whiny? Yeah, she was a mess, alright. "Us being married, I mean. It is not good to mislead people, especially given your situation with Arthur." Never before had she thought she would complain about 'misleading people,' but here she was. Gods, the things Guinevere did to her. "Maybe we could wear friendship bracelets, for, uh, our friendship." Why the hell did every word she said sounded more stupid than the one before it? Too bad you couldn't just reset your brain, because that was exactly what Morgan needed! "I'll see you the day after tomorrow, then. We shouldn't be standing here out in the open so much, so I'll just excuse myself. Goodbye." There, the closest thing to her desired reset. Hopefully her head would be a little clearer by the time they saw each other again?

And, blessedly, it was. With some distance between her and Guinevere, her mind had calmed down somewhat. Well, okay, not entirely, but at least it wasn't flooded by all the wedding imagery anymore. (For now.) The two women met by the gates and then they ventured in the wastelands again, armed with... supplies and more supplies. (Morgan had decided to grab a bag stuffed with food as well, mainly because those people needed it and also, fuck Arthur.) "So, about your magic," she started when the Camelot grew into a tiny dot on the horizon, "tell me about it. What does it feel like? And have there been some strange, unexplained incidents surrounding you in the past? They might be related, so I want you to think long and hard about it." If they hoped to unravel the mystery, after all, they needed all the clues.
 
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Since their last meeting, Guinevere took the time to bolster herself with newfound strength in exploring the concept of exploring magic. To own it, to adapt, because that's how she's survived this long. Pointedly ignoring the whims of her yearning heart all the while -- knowing it could get her in so much trouble, if left to it's own devices. Magic. That's the focus, here. She thought about the conversations they might have (and tried not to think about Morgan's lips--), practiced how to articulate her answers. She sorted hesitantly through her memories to try and put some pieces together, but... they're still hard to decode. And quite possibly unreliable, with all the panic and urgency mixed in. (Jen might remember more than she does-- but who even knows where she is right now?) It's not as if she could go back and read the labels of the bottles on the shelves, or understand all the things they put her through when they never bothered to explain it to her. The pain and the need to escape tended to distract from the hows and whys of it all.

"The first time, in the disturbance zone, I don't think I really felt it. When it happened, I mean. I was trapped in a vision and standing outside of myself?" It doesn't make much sense, even as she's saying it out loud, and her brow furrows. As much as she thought about it and rehearsed how she might approach an explanation, it still comes as a challenge. It was just so... inexplicable? The way it made her feel, the way she'd jolted free of it in tears. Maybe Morgan will be able to make some sense of it, though. It occurs to her that they haven't had the opportunity to really speak about it in length since it happened. "There were these voices that weren't really voices...? I could tell that they wanted to take me underground. Wanted my help. But I don't know. There's more, too, but... I don't know if visions are supposed to mean anything. My arm might've been a little tingly where you touched me?"

"Um, then... the second time might have been a kind of possession, too? It was just one presence, this time. I changed and left my room... and that's when things get a bit fuzzy." Guinevere's in a reverie, thinking of that night. She'd intended on going back to the banquet, knowing she wouldn't be of any help when it came to magic. But then she'd dropped to the floor and... well, the rest is history. Disastrous history. "I felt it, too. It was sudden and painful when it happened. My head, first, and then my whole body. Like if I didn't follow it, it was going to tear me apart. So I did, and... all I knew was that I needed to get down there. Beyond that door."

That's when she got swept up into Morgan's mind. She's thoughtful, steps carefully around that particular subject for the time being. (It was an invasion of privacy -- and she doesn't want to make Morgan uncomfortable by bringing it up right now.) Maybe one day they'd have a chance to talk through it, but... she doesn't want to unpack it here and now. They were both there, anyway, so Morgan probably knows more than she does about what happened next. The connection was broken from that point and then she'd fallen into that coma.

"And, heh, my life's been filled with unexplained incidents. But you could say the same thing about practically anyone you meet out in the wastes." She tries to make light of it, but it dims after a moment. "Never like this, though. Never involving magic... o-or, at least, I don't think so? I'm... not entirely sure."
 
Morgan listened, and she listened intently. The symptoms that Guinevere described-- they sounded magical, alright. Especially the part about voices. It didn't reflect her own experiences perfectly, of course, but there were definite overlaps. "The voices and such-- that checks out. Those are the spirits communicating with you, or at least trying to do so. They aren't like us, so their ways can be a bit confusing," Morgan chuckled. 'A bit confusing,' yeah. What a nice euphemism. Just how much time had she spent lying in her bed as a little girl, trying to decode the signals? Usually, she had come out of these sessions none the wiser. "Full sentences, for example, are rare. They mostly try to convey their intentions through repetition, or through rousing particular emotions in you. Some of them even show you images. Mostly, it's just-- annoying, to be frank," Morgan admitted. "Once they deem you to be a suitable vessel, they'll keep visiting. There hasn't been much research on the topic, obviously, but I think they just like the company. Very often, it feels like they don't even have anything important to share. All those stories about the dead having regrets and trying to come to terms with them? That hasn't been true in my experience. Not at all. Hell, I am not even sure if what I am communicating with are the dead. Some of them may have been people at some point, but when I reach out to them for power, those who respond seem to be-- well, avatars of the primal forces, for the lack of a better word."

It seemed that, once the floodgates opened, it was impossible to close them; Morgan just had to share everything, and she had to share it now. Because being able to speak about her gift so openly? That didn't happen very often. Certainly not in Camelot, where people refused to even look her in the eye for fear of magic latching onto them like some bizarre sort of parasite. Such behavior had ceased to bother her ages ago, but still. It just felt... nice, okay? Humans were social creatures, after all, and there was nothing strange or suspicious about wanting to reach out to someone who had experiences similar to yours. That that someone happened to be Guinevere was just a pleasant bonus, really.

"Pain, too, is normal," Morgan sighed. "It can be mitigated somewhat depending on what you're trying to do and how skilled you are, but ultimately, the human body just doesn't seem to be built for this. You're straining muscles you don't have, and that takes its toll on you. In your case, it's probably even worse than usual since it's happening against your will at this point. As such, I would be very, very surprised if you didn't struggle against it subconsciously." Really, if this went on, it was a matter of time before she sustained some internal injury. And wasn't that a terrifying thought? Guinevere, lost to errant magic-- no. No, Morgan would prevent that. "Fow now, I can only recommend you to relax when it starts happening again. Relinquish the control and let it happen. I'll teach you some techniques later, as well as techniques that will let you sever the bond. Those are more complicated, though, and we need to focus on damage reduction first."

The rest of what she said, however? That perplexed Morgan. The actions of the spirits-- well, it almost seemed as if there was some underlying purpose to them. As if there was something they wanted to do with Guinevere specifically, which wasn't how they usually operated. Hmmm. "I don't understand why they're behaving like this, though. Dragging you underground? Leading you somewhere? I haven't experienced that, not once in my life. As I said earlier, all of their interactions with me - and other people, as far as I understand - have been aimless. We'll need to investigate that." Maybe a séance would do? Morgan hadn't held one in ages, but that didn't mean she had forgotten how to do it.

"Also, what do you mean that you are not sure?" she raised her eyebrow. "Have there been some unexplained events in your childhood, for example? Since that's when the affinity for sensing the spirits usually develops."
 
With every step and every word, Guinevere finds that breathing comes a little easier. Morgan clearly knows what she's talking about -- and that knowledge will only help her. Listening quietly, intently, she offers contemplative nods with each piece of advice she receives. Thoughtful and willing to learn in a way she wasn't when they first began their lessons, all those months ago. It was ingrained in her early on to stay as far away from magic as possible-- but how is she supposed to know, now, if that advice wasn't misguided? For instance, she'd have continued struggling in vain against it if she didn't know she was meant to relax, to embrace it in some capacity. If this had started happening when Morgan wasn't part of her life, well -- she doesn't know for sure if she'd still be standing there right now. She'll be okay. They'll be okay. So she ought to trust Morgan with this, too. With a piece of her that not even most of her gang knows about.

"You know... how I said once that I was always on the run? I wasn't just running from beasts out there." Guinevere feels a sort of tightening in her throat with every word. It's not that she doesn't trust Morgan with this, because she does. She's usually an open book, anyway, but opening these particular chapters of her life are... hard. They're some of the worst ones. She decides she ought to backtrack, to take account any detail that might matter. "When I was little, my old man was really paranoid. Our windows were always boarded up, he didn't let us go outside... and he did everything he could to teach us how to survive. I was so little, though, just a stupid kid and... well, you know I'm not good at, um, listening to instructions all the time."

She tries to smile there, as if there's some way she can spin it to make this a happier story, but... there really isn't, so it collapses into something neutral. Not sad, not afraid, not anything, really. Because she'd prepared herself to talk about this. She tugs absently at the ends of her hair, to give her hands something to do, to tame the nerves.

"I snuck out a few times. At first it didn't seem like anything bad was going to happen, but... one day these strange guys showed up. Kidnapped me and my sister. Locked us up in this creepy old hospital. They were always sticking me with needles or putting me under to do who knows what... They never told me anything. I never knew why." Guinevere glares around the memories, trying her best to remember, fighting the rage she still feels on behalf of her younger self. All those men peering at her behind their clipboards like she was an experiment instead of a person. "I was in and out of that place for three years... always escaping and getting caught again. You don't tend to get far when you're a kid in a world that's always trying to kill you. We kept getting stronger, though, and smarter. One day we managed to get away for good. It was... well, I tried to forget. It's all kind of a blur, so I don't know for sure if it has anything to do with..."

It isn't lost on her, they wanted her specifically. Like the spirits. And... like Arthur, now that she's thinking about it. But she doesn't have much time to dissect that particular line of thought as they start to approach camp. It's unsettlingly quiet today, in a way it wasn't the first time she'd brought Morgan. She can hear the faint sound of sniffling, though, and her stomach drops. The kids are crying over someone and that's always the first sign that something has gone wrong. That alongside the sharp sounds of her girls preparing their weapons and hushed, grave tones. "--Oh no."

"--Gwen." Adrianne's voice breaks through her thoughts. She must've been on watch tonight, because she's the first to greet them. Dark ponytail swaying behind her, she jogs over to talk before they can come right through. It's the first time Guinevere's seen her since -- well. Arthur came along. Despite all the time they'd been apart, the other woman isn't shy about taking her forearms into her hands and peering into her eyes with a hard, meaningful look. Studying her scar, in particular. "It is you. You're okay."

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" Guinevere asks, steeling herself over with a hardened look of her own, matching the other woman's seriousness like a mirror image before she can succumb to panic. Fear won't help anyone, now, and she's got to push it down before it can take over. She overhears one of the kids crying for her mother specifically and... "Don't tell me Camilla is--"

"Not just Camilla. Sammy and Fallon, too." Adrianne's grip tightens, her brow furrowing. Guinevere's heart shatters in an instant, she finds herself relying on the other woman's grip for stability. "There's a new beast out there. Keeps giving us hell. It snatches you up and swallows you whole. Takes a girl, then it just leaves before we get a chance to kill it. We're holding a meeting, now. It keeps leaving tracks, so we're thinking if we can hunt it down..."

"We can kill the bastard once and for all. I'm in." Guinevere pales, but grits her teeth around the heartbreak. Three girls. And some of their best, too. That's no joke. It takes all the strength she's accumulated over the years just to hold herself together right now. This is how it goes, out in the wastes. Tears won't solve anything and there's always time to mourn later... not addressing the danger early on can only lead to more suffering. Doesn't mean it's not hard. It all began with her, Sam and Adrianne. And... Jen. (Well, kind of. Not really.) She's shaky and breathless when she speaks again. "Shit, Adrianne."

"I know. We leave first thing in the morning." Adrianne steps back, then, looking like she might want to protest but thinking better of it. "Kara caught a glimpse inside of it last time -- it was a real close call. But she thinks there's a possibility they're not dead. Not yet, anyway. She's done some sketches... you can come see in a minute."

Guinevere hums, a complicated expression on her face. Keeping that hope in mind, but refusing to lean too heavily on it for support in case the worst happens. Adrianne finally addresses Morgan with a level stare. Glimpsing the second bag of supplies in her arms seems to soften her a bit. "You must be Morgan. Everyone was buzzing about you, after you left." Her attention flicks briefly to Guinevere. "Gwen, you're not really--"

"...We're friends." Guinevere offers, thinking specifically about what Morgan had said the other night, about clarifying things. It feels nice, though, to call Morgan a friend. It's still a step closer than they were before.

Adrianne nods slowly, seemingly lost in thought, and fixes Guinevere with a look that tells her she'll want to talk in private later. Then she shifts back over to Morgan. "I've heard you can hold your own out there. Three girls down, we can use all the help we can get. Do you want to come with us tomorrow?"
 
Alright, that was definitely suspect. Morgan had heard of such cases, of course; of masked men abducting people, children usually, to conduct experiments on them. Such scenarios weren't even that rare. Not even The Catastrophe could quench mankind's thirst after knowledge, and-- well. Let's just say that certain individuals found the current climate beneficial more than anything else. Who, after all, cared about enforcing the laws when the machines roamed free? Who would search for a missing child when you could pay for that effort with your own life? The cynical ones could even welcome a disappearance or two, since it would translate into having fewer mouths to feed. 'Might makes right'-- had the wastelands had an official motto, surely it would have been something like that.

Still, in this context, it seemed that there were too many coincidences. A mysterious kidnapping and mysterious powers-- were they connected? And if so, what was the cause and what was the consequence? Had they kidnapped her because she was special, or had her affinity developed thanks to whatever they had done to her? Morgan had read of ways to increase one's sensitivity towards sensing spirits, silly as they had seemed at that time. Mere manifestations of wishful thinking. Their existence, however, proved one thing; people were trying to reach the spirits, and it wasn't entirely unthinkable for someone to find a way. Humanity, after all, rarely accepted failure. (Especially in cases where it would have been wiser. Had they stopped for a second and thought, things wouldn't have had to turn out like this. Earth would still have been blue and green instead of grey, alive instead of dead. A lesson for the future generations, Morgan supposed. Not that they would learn from it because people never did, but it was a lesson nonetheless.)

"I'm... I'm sorry," Morgan whispered. As fascinating as those circumstances were, they were also deeply personal, and for a second, she regretted asking in the first place. Still, it had been necessary. Without knowing these details, you couldn't really formulate a hypothesis-- or at least a hypothesis that was even remotely close to the truth. "I can't imagine what that must have been like." Morgan was no stranger to chains, but hers had never been quite as literal. (Well, not until recently. Those few days she had spent in the catacombs, though, could barely be compared to three freaking years!) "It may have something to do with your... unique situation, though. I don't suppose you remember where they held you captive?" Because Morgan would love, love to pay them a visit. Pay them a visit and ask them a few things. Something told her they wouldn't be exactly talkative, but so what? There were ways to convince such people of, uh, the value of communication. (Let's just say that residents of Camelot weren't afraid of her for no reason. Magic that could cut through machines as if it were butter-- yeah, human bodies didn't stand much of a chance, either.)

Such concerns were put on hold, though, when more immediate trouble reared its ugly head. "Gods," Morgan sighed. "I thought something like this might happen." The numbers, after all, spoke clearly. The machines were getting not only stronger, but also smarter as well, and that could never lead to anything good. Not if you found yourself at the bottom of the food chain, which was kinda their situation. "And yes, that is me. Morgan. It is a great pleasure to meet you," Morgan curtsied. Was that an overkill? Most definitely, though you couldn't kill a habit that easily-- especially not a habit they had quite literally beaten into you. "If you'll have me, I'll be glad to assist. I am not entirely sure how useful I'll be since I have never heard of such a monster, but I can help you track it down faster if nothing else." There was just no way for a creature that large to be subtle about its emissions; no matter how advanced it was, it had to follow the basic laws of physics. In that, humans and machines were equal.

"Good," Adrianne nodded. "Let's go to the main tent, then. The girls are discussing further strategy."

Wordlessly, Morgan followed Adrianne's lead. She just didn't feel like talking. And under these circumstances, who would? It was... striking, really, just how much things had changed around here; there was grief where there had once been hope, grief and crying children, and it broke her heart. It just wasn't fair. Those people fought tooth and nail for their little oasis of happiness, and now it was gone. Irrevocably. Even if they managed to get their people back this time, what did it matter? More monsters would come, and sooner or later, they would succumb. No war of attrition could last forever, after all. They were basically just... postponing the inevitable, weren't they?

"Gwen! Oh god, Gwen, it's you."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, a few girls rose from their spots to hug Guinevere, however briefly. (Morgan wasn't greeted with the same warmth, though she hadn't expected such welcome in the first place. No, you had to earn that. Only people like Arthur expected loyalty for-- for the circumstances of their birth.)

"May I?" Morgan asked, motioning towards an empty space at their table.

"Sure, sit down," Tamara smiled at her. Some of the girls were watching her with wary eyes, Morgan noticed, but since they said nothing, she took her seat. So what if they didn't trust her yet? Such a position was entirely rational since, well, she hadn't really done anything that would justify them seeing her as an asset yet. To Guinevere's gang, she was just Arthur's sister. Arthur's sister and a witch, and could you possibly ask for a more damning resume? Morgan didn't think so.

"So, what's the plan?" she asked.

"The plan," a fair-haired woman she didn't know yet answered, "doesn't exist. Seeing as we don't have many other options, we're just going to rush the bastard and hope it doesn't kill us first. Or do you have a better idea? Is Arthur coming to save us, for example? Because help would sure as hell come in handy." Was it just her or did she sound... accusatory, somewhat? Why, though?
 
“—Liv.” Adrianne’s warning comes automatically, her voice like a shield, perhaps out of habit.

“No. It’s okay.” Guinevere shakes her head, waves her off. She’d anticipated this would happen eventually. She's felt a familiar pang in her chest every single day she tried and failed to get Arthur’s attention in regards to the issues she cares about. The people she cares about. “I get it. I left to make things better, and… things are only getting worse.”

“No shit.” Liv’s blue eyes are like daggers and Guinevere takes them without flinching. She’s had days to prepare and she's ready to receive it, to take it on her shoulders. “Arthur strolled in here acting holier-than-thou and stole you from us. Meanwhile, we’re out here dying while they sit pretty and carefree in their precious castle. Why hasn’t anything changed, Gwen? Doesn’t he care that the people you love are suffering?“

“...No.” Guinevere holds her own, knowing how this one word seems to suck all the air out of the tent, as if it condemns them to certain death. Smothering the hopes any of the false promises Arthur made might have brought. The truth is hard to hear, but she’s got to give it to them plainly. “No, he doesn’t. And I know that because he doesn’t care about me, either. If he did, he would have stepped in with all the help he promised a long fucking time ago. I'm not gonna waste my breath making excuses for Arthur, Liv, ‘cause I’m frustrated too.”

Oh and frustrated barely scrapes the surface. Like the humiliating fact that she might as well be Arthur’s toy — his doll to dress up like a queen, a vacant object he can hold or leave behind whenever he pleases. Like the fact that she can't sleep at night because she's scared as hell for everyone. (And with good reason, considering the state things are in, now!) But she’s not going to unload everything on them here and now, while tensions are running so high. There's a heavy silence after that, and she sets her bag of supplies down and leaves it open for the taking with a sigh. Adrianne looks like she’s struggling to say something to break it, always the grounded defender, but Guinevere shoots her a look that says ‘don’t’. Adrianne nods reluctantly, seeming to receive the message.

With every passing day that Arthur ignores her concerns, the guilt inside of her grows and suffocates, it's the feeling that she’s not accomplishing a single thing she set out to do. That she’s failing them. Guinevere could just stagger under that weight and break apart. But she’s failed so many times before that she knows that the solution here isn’t to wallow. Not to fight amongst themselves. Succumbing to despair in the wastes is certain death.

“But you know as well as I do that frustration isn’t going to solve a damn thing. You’ve got me and that’s got to be enough for now.” Guinevere moves to take a seat at the table, offering Morgan a meaningful glance, “Morgan’s here to help, too. That alone is proof that not everyone in Camelot is the same as Arthur. I’d be willing to bet that beneath all the fear of their backwards rules, there’re some more good people hiding in there, somewhere. It’ll take time to find them and I’m still learning how to navigate my position. But I haven’t stopped fighting for you guys. I won't.”

Guinevere steels herself with a breath, pulling her hair back into a ponytail, a telltale sign that she’s ready to focus on the task at hand. This information seems to settle with everyone in different ways, but everyone's placated for the time being. Too sad, too tired, too hungry to be fighting so hard amongst themselves. She can tell Liv's not completely satisfied, though, just by looking at her.

“However… that’s not the fight we need to be focusing on if we want to stop this thing. Liv, if you need to get something off your chest, I’ll hear you out later. Okay? For now, we need a plan. I want to know what we're up against.” Guinevere’s all business, now, glancing over at Kara. “Adrianne said you had sketches. Can I see them?”

Kara blinks, surprised for a moment at being addressed so suddenly — the poor girl’s got bruises all over, probably from her encounter with the beast. She nods and slides her sketchbook across the table. Guinevere holds it out so that Morgan can see it from where she’s sitting, too. The paper is dirty and wavy from exposure to water, but the drawing is clearly defined, intricately detailed in dark charcoal.

“It… almost looks like the spider from last time. Doesn’t it?” Guinevere observes. Consisting of mostly metal... and it’s almost just as large, compared to the figure Kara scribbled beside it for scale. But this one is comparable to an octopus in a way, with loose, tunnel-like arms spilling out the sides like oversized wires. There’s a second view of it as well, an empty interior of sorts. “And this is what the inside looks like?”

“Mhm. It looks almost… livable in there? You’d probably suffocate after a while, but…” Kara mentions, fidgeting. Tamara sets a hand on her shoulder and she settles down. She’s one of their youngest fighters, a teenager still finding her way. “We damaged a few of the arms, so we know it’s the same beast each time. Takes someone away and comes back for more. It was empty inside when I saw it, so… we can’t say for sure where they end up, after it takes them away.”

Guinevere nods, taking this into account. Weird. She's never seen anything so weird. Monsters usually attack and kill people, she's never known them to be this... calculated. "It's like it has some kind of motive." She frowns, lost in thought, before glancing at Morgan. “And you said you can track it? If we can find the monster's base, we should be able to figure out what happened to them.”
 
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Trouble in paradise, huh? It was amazing, really, just how far Arthur's reach extended. Without his empty promises and other questionable practices, Morgan couldn't see this particular issue arising. No, really, how did he do it? He truly was like a black hole, warping everything in his vicinity. And that he had somehow managed to convince himself he was the hero in this scenario-- well, that was just the icing on the cake. Still, did Liv really have to do this? Morgan understood her fury, and understood it quite well, but it wasn't like Guinevere enjoyed being there. Chastising her for that was like-- like blaming a fly for getting stuck in a spider's web. And, yes, she may have gone there willingly, more or less, but who could have predicted that Arthur wouldn't care about his promises in the slightest? He didn't have 'I'm an untrustworthy buffoon' written on his forehead! (Maybe he had, in a way, but others rarely saw it. Not when his charm acted as the perfect concealer. No real monster, after all, could be this gallant, right? Right. Gods, the depths of some people's naivety.)

"If you're going to wait for Arthur's help," Morgan said, oh so calmly, "you will be waiting until the sun gets cold and everything returns back to nothingness. But," she smiled, "since he would have just gotten in your way anyway, you might consider yourself lucky that things are the way they are. You have me now, and that's honestly just about the most qualified help you could hope to get from Camelot." Yeah, it may not have been the most humble of statements, but you know what? It was true. Had the girls known just how incompetent the knights were, they would have been happy that they hadn't bothered to show up. Knowing them, they would have wasted precious time polishing their shields, or teaching the gang how to survive in the wastes because obviously they were stupid enough not to possess that skill. No, really, in their heads, something like that probably would have made sense. The world, after all, couldn't keep turning on without them. (Morgan was vaguely surprised they hadn't tried to teach fish how to swim yet. Maybe that would be their agenda for the following years!)

Fortunately, though, the girls managed to set their issues aside. Well, for now at the very least. Morgan leaned closer to Guinevere so that she could inspect the sketch, furrowing her brow. "Yes, it looks similar indeed. Since it retains the old injuries, though, I doubt it has shape-shifting abilities, too. Well, that, and I'm sure it would have resorted to body manipulation during one of your encounters." Not that that was new information for any of them, of course, but Morgan simply preferred to think aloud. It helped her to organize her thoughts more quickly.

"How come it always manages to escape? Does it have some trick up its sleeve?"

"You bet," Adrienne nodded and sighed in frustration. "Boosters. When it grabs a girl, it just-- activates them, and whoosh. It's gone. Do you think you could be fast enough to catch it with your magic?"

"No, I'm afraid," Morgan shook her head. "It doesn't work like that."

"-- of course it doesn't," someone remarked, but she ignored it. People expecting miracles from her was neither new nor especially surprising. As much as magic was reviled, those unfamiliar with it also had this... strange tendency to confuse it for a miracle? A universal problem solver of sorts. (Perhaps that was part of the reason they hated witches so much, Morgan supposed. If there was a group of people who could fix everything and chose not to do so, wouldn't you also resent them? And wouldn't you be justified in that, too?)

"But yes, I can track it. I can even disable those boosters if you buy me enough time, I believe. Maybe it would be better to kill it before we go ransack its den," Morgan suggested, playing with her hair absentmindedly as she did so. That, too, helped her to concentrate. "I mean, think about it. This is a large, powerful beast that is apparently intelligent. Not as intelligent as we are, sure, but intelligent enough to execute a simple plan. That's a dangerous combination. Do you truly want to engage it on its home turf?" Morgan looked around, her expression serious. "It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if it laid some rudimentary traps in its lair, too." And really, was that such an absurd idea? This creature seemed to be straight up kidnapping people, for gods' sake. No, expecting the unexpected was only wise in dealing with such a menace.

"So, I propose for you to lay a few traps of your own. Since the monster apparently won't leave you alone, you don't even have to worry about luring it to your camp. It'll come on its own, and when it does, you and the traps will keep it busy long enough for me to take care of those boosters. After that, you'll kill it. And once it's dead? I'll pick up on its emissions and lead you to its den. I am not able to do that without meeting the creature in question first anyway because-- well, I have no way of recognizing the mark it leaves behind as of now," Morgan shrugged. "So? What do you think?" Perhaps it had been shameless of her to start suggesting ideas so boldly, and perhaps it would only fuel their distrust of her, but maybe, maybe it would do the opposite. Maybe it would make them understand how valuable of an ally she could be. Wouldn't that be convenient?
 
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"...It's more than we had before, Morgan." With a small smile, Tamara speaks up among the whispers that Morgan's suggestion stirs. Her input has the ability to pacify most of the girls who seem iffy about relying on magic altogether. There are a handful of girls who seem open to exploring it, because what other choice do they really have? Some have already gone into hushed discussions about trap-making amongst themselves. "Entering the monster's den wasn't an ideal strategy to begin with. But you have to understand-- we'd do anything to find our missing girls. If you can track it's den after we kill it, then that's no longer an issue."

"Right... If it's the safest option for everyone involved, then I say we go for it." Guinevere nods, offering Morgan a concerned glance, as though to say that applies to her, too. To make sure the strain of the magic she'd have to use wouldn't be too hard on her, either. (Because she'd sooner suggest using herself as bait in this situation than put everyone else in harm's way.) Then she bites her lip, squints at the drawing. "With all those long arms, I'd bet we could tangle it up somehow. Keep it still." If they positioned themselves just right and led it around in circles, they just might be able to pull it off. But there's only so much she can infer from a drawing as opposed to seeing it in real life.

"Relying on magic, though? Is that really the 'safest' idea?" Liv crosses her arms, clearly in a foul mood tonight. It's justified, perhaps, but not helpful. A few of the girls are a little more quiet about it, but express the same doubts.

"Didn't you just say you wanted help from Camelot? Because Morgan's offering. I'm on board, too. Rushing it hasn't done us any good so far. I think we'd better change tactics before we lose anyone else." Adrianne can't seem to stop herself from stepping in this time around. "But we should try to keep a safe distance away from camp. I don't want to put the kids at risk. Speaking of which... Gwen, will you step outside with me for a minute?"

"Sure?" Guinevere stands, her expression a mix of reluctance and curiosity. She glances briefly at Morgan on her way out. With Liv acting up, she hopes she'll be all right in there by herself. But, no, she shouldn't doubt her. Morgan can hold her own. She wasn't shy about sharing her plan just now -- and it was a damn good plan, too. And her gang's not going to, well, gang up on her. They're not like those ladies in Camelot. They might be brutally honest about how they're feeling, sometimes, but they're not cruel for no reason. She and Adrianne walk some distance away from the tent in silence. It's... awkward. "Adrianne? What is it?"

"I think you should stay here and watch the kids tomorrow, Gwen. I've... got a bad feeling." Adrianne dives right into the heart of the matter, her eyes serious. "You know, I thought I saw you the other day. But you were in Camelot... so obviously it couldn't have been you."

"Oh. I thought you were acting weird before, but... you saw Jen, didn't you?" Guinevere glares at the ground. Here they go again. Sometimes Adrianne's worry is warranted and sometimes it isn't. Adrianne and Jen were... never friends. More like enemies, really. And she's been in this situation so many times before, stuck between them, being persuaded to draw a line in the sand. "But I don't understand what that has to do with--"

"I think she gave herself a scar. It's like she's trying to look like you." Adrianne's no-nonsense response startles her. Guinevere almost wants to laugh at the concept, because that's ridiculous, right? But the implications keep her from it.

"Okay. First of all, she doesn't have to try. We're twins. And... what if that's just a coincidence? Did you talk to her yourself or are you just assuming --" Guinevere shakes her head, incredulous, not even wanting to consider it, "Why would she do that?"

"To meddle? To fuck you over?" Adrianne rolls her eyes, "Because that's what she does, Gwen. I'm worried."

"Well, don't be. I know Jen's a bit... well, she has an odd way of showing it, but she'd never really hurt me. Not on purpose, anyway." Guinevere wraps her arms around herself. She's especially raw on the subject tonight, considering the fact that she'd told Morgan about the kidnapping earlier. Their sisterly bond rests on that solid foundation, all the times they had to rely on each other to survive. It keeps her from turning on Jen. No matter how many mistakes she might make. "And I still don't understand what this has to do with the mission tomorrow. I mean, she stopped hanging out with those shady guys--"

"You mean the murderers?" Adrianne corrects. Guinevere glares at her... then eases off. Because, okay, fair point. "It's like I said before... I have a bad feeling, okay?"

"Adrianne, I'm not staying behind. I'm going and that's that." Guinevere won't budge, steady as ever, but she eventually softens with a reassuring smile. "Tell everyone I'm going to tuck in early? I'm... kind of tired. Got to rest so I can fight tomorrow."

Adrianne eventually relents. They say their goodnights and part ways from there. Guinevere crawls into her tent, into her sleeping bag, and curls onto her side, frowning at Jen's bear in the dark. Adrianne heads back into the main tent on her own, settles into her seat at the table.

"How'd she take it?" Tamara asks, noticing her.

"You know Gwen. She's stubborn." Adrianne sighs before turning to Morgan. "She headed off to sleep, Morgan. The journey must've made her tired-- so if you want to join her, you can. We won't be too far behind. Big day tomorrow and all."
 
Morgan looked around, surveying everyone's faces. Unsurprisingly, most of them didn't seem too happy with her suggestion. (In this regard, at least, Guinevere's camp wasn't that different from Camelot. The people watching her may have been much less despicable, true, yet that fear in their eyes? It was the same. The same brand of distrust, of creeping suspicion. And hey, were they wrong to feel this way? Morgan didn't think so. It was wise, after all, to be wary of fire, and what was magic if not fire that could burn it all? That could rend the world asunder? If she hadn't known what she did-- well, she would have been wary, too. Seeing that wariness as an insult would have been stupid.)

"You wouldn't be relying on magic," Morgan said. "You would be relying on me." Which... probably wasn't much better, all things considered, but the idea that they were all dependent on some chaotic force of universe had to be crushed. Magic was a tool, not a sentient agent of destruction! Would they also be saying they were relying on, say, spears if she had never gotten involved? Somehow, Morgan doubted that. Double standards, double standards all around.

When Guinevere left, though, all the attention turned to her.

"How can you be so sure it'll work?" Liv asked, poison practically dripping from her words. "Because if we trap the beast near our camp and then you don't manage to pull through, what do we do then? What if it frees itself and goes on a rampage? This is our home. We'll be risking it in the process!"

Okay, that was a... fair point, actually. Not a relatable one since Morgan wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice her own home in a heartbeat, but still.

"Experience," she said, quietly. "I've been doing this since my childhood. I don't know this particular monsters, yes, but the patterns to figuring these things out-- they are always analogous to some extent. I had never seen the monster from the last time before, either, and yet I found a way to destroy it. I'll find it again, that much I can promise."

"Oh, right," Liv rolled her eyes. "Because we have such good experiences with promises from Camelot!"

"Liv," Tamara intervened, her tone gentle but firm. (To Morgan, she seemed like the designated camp mother, and the way everyone looked at her when she spoke only supported that notion. That air of natural authority-- what a rare thing to witness.) "Do you have a better idea? Because I don't. If you have one, then feel free to offer your perspective, but as it is, we don't have much of a choice. And I imagine it won't be easy on Morgan, so let's all be a little kinder to one another, shall we? These are hard times, and squabbles won't get us anywhere."

"Hmpf." Liv looked to be the opposite of convinced, but Tamara's argument at least got her to shut up, which was honestly refreshing. Because the way she kept complaining? Even Morgan's self-control had its limits, and those limits were becoming more and more strained with each acidic remark. Not that she hated debates, but this-- this wasn't even close to one. The girl just wanted to use her as a training dummy, hoping that she'd absorb her anger and resentment like dummies absorbed punches. And Morgan? Morgan had had enough of that. Too many times had she allowed people to walk all over her, to use her as they saw fit, but that had all been in the context of Camelot. With the cursed castle out of the picture, she did not have to be the perfect victim. Allyship, after all, didn't imply blind subservience.

"Will you need anything for your magic, Morgan?" Tamara asked. Finally, a reasonable question.

"No. No, thank you. I brought all the supplies with me," Morgan offered her a shadow of a smile. "I'll just need you to protect me while I cast. Some of the operations I'll need to run can take a while and the monster-- well, it may sense that I am doing something shady to it. What I mean is, it is not unlikely for it to focus on me."

"I see. We'll do our best to assist you, then." Morgan certainly hoped so, but the way some of these girls looked at her-- well, it didn't exactly fill her with confidence. Maybe she was being unfair here, though. Maybe the heat of the battle would convince them to put their doubts aside, if only for a moment. (Risking her life with her only assurance being a flimsy 'maybe,' though-- that didn't exactly make her happy.)

When they offered her to go join Guinevere, Morgan did so without hesitation. A few weeks earlier, the mere idea of sleeping with her in one tent would have been a cause for concern, but now? It felt like retreating to her sanctuary, to a space where she wouldn't be judged for-- for being herself, basically. What a concept, right? A foreign one, too, because Morgan had never been able to do that. Not to such an extent at the very least. And, yeah, she did play a role of sorts for Guinevere as well, except that it wasn't as far from her reality as it probably should have been. Not even remotely so. Any inconsistencies would only make her appear suspicious, though, and so Morgan simply had to stick to it. For safety reasons, course! Right.

"Are you asleep?" Morgan asked, her voice barely louder than whisper, as she prepared her own sleeping bag. "I'm... not sure if they trust me. Which is understandable, but it will be troublesome if they fail to protect me because they're afraid of being tainted by my craft. If at all possible, I'd prefer not to die."
 
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Guinevere rests quietly at first, contented to pretend to sleep to sort through the mess in her head, but when she hears Morgan speak she can't bring herself to ignore her. Especially not after she hears her concerns. Frowning softly, she pushes Jen's bear into the depths of the sleeping back and rolls over onto her back so she can look at her directly.

"They just haven't seen what you're capable of yet. When someone says they can use magic out here, they tend to use it to stab you in the back. Some use it to steer the beasts towards helpless people and make off with their supplies when they're distracted. They threaten you with it, or use it for murder. Everyone's got their own experience... and some are pretty traumatic." Guinevere thinks back on all the different stories she's heard, and her own up until this point. Fighting to get by with every passing day, it makes it difficult to get a proper education about magic in the first place. (You tend to fear what you don't understand, after all.) Some people are better positioned to use it, to understand it than others. And, well, it's not exactly tempting to get too close to yet another unknown force that could get you killed in the wastes. "They fear it, but... not in the same way people in Camelot do. In the wrong hands, magic is a weapon the same way a sword is. And it's a damn powerful weapon, at that. Especially used against people who are already struggling out here. Trying to fight a force like magic when you're running on empty, it's..."

Yeah, it's not easy. She's sure Morgan gets her point.

"But I'm sure they've realized by now that you have nothing to gain by hurting people who are already dying out here. I mean, what are you going to do? Make off with all the supplies we risked our necks traveling here to deliver? That'd be ridiculous." Guinevere manages a small smile in spite of herself. "Liv's in one of her moods tonight. She might not like it, but she'll stick to the plan. A lot of people would say it's silly to keep such a large group out here, with so many mouths to feed but... we take care of each other. You're fighting with us, so we'll take care of you too."

Guinevere breathes out slowly, pushing her fingers back through her hair, closes her eyes. The pressure resting on her chest weighs heavy enough to suffocate. Everything she's trying and failing to accomplish, the losses, the magic -- and news of Jen's reappearance on top of everything else? Making room for so many people in her heart is tough. While they give her the strength and will to keep going, the blow of losing people never gets easier. Her heart breaks constantly and she has to rebuild it every day and it's-- it's so hard to carry sometimes that she could just shatter with it. But Morgan's been cushioning the fall, lately, like a safe place to land. Offering support, giving her the information she needs to get by, to see that she can do things that seemed impossible before. Magic, like she said, is potential, right?

"I'll be there, too. And you're absolutely not dying on my watch, okay? No way in hell."
 
Yeah, Morgan did understand that. Hell, she understood it more intimately than most people would expect; her own experiences, after all, had been nothing short of traumatic. Traumatic in ways vastly different than being threatened by magic users, sure, but life-changing nonetheless. The ease with which others abandoned you the second you didn't fit their arbitraty criteria, for example? Magic had taught her that. It had also taught her just how easily things could crumble around you, and how you could do absolutely nothing to change that. Just like so many things in life, control, too, was an illusion. Morgan felt thankful for that particular lesson, she supposed? At least she had learned that early on instead of clinging to empty hopes. Accepting that so many aspects of your existence relied on a coin toss-- that was freeing, in a way many people would never know. They just kept their precious delusions too close to their hearts.

"I do," Morgan said, a bit hesitantly. "And I don't blame them. I am aware of what magic can do if used for, say, nefarious purposes." Probably more than Guinevere was, honestly, but there was no point in rubbing that in her face. Morgan hadn't come here to flaunt her knowledge in front of her, after all. Moreover, teaching her about all the ways in which magic could make their lives that much more complicated also didn't sound like a good strategy. Potent magical energies slept within Guinevere as well, and making her even more scared of them than she already was-- yeah, that would be a recipe for disaster. Negative emotions only supported magical accidents, kind of like radiation led to cancerous growths. You attracted what you were, and you did not want to attract the spirits who feasted on misery. "I'm merely... apprehensive, I suppose. Their feelings are their own, but if they let them interfere with the mission, we're going to pay for it dearly."

Guinevere's promises, however, made her smile. (Shouldn't she be fed up with that? Fed up with promises, fed up with those who made them? They never seemed to come true, and yet, yet there was something about her that Morgan just trusted instinctively. Her inability to lie, maybe? Despite all of her recent training, this was still Guinevere, after all. Pure, kind Guinevere untainted by Camelot. Guinevere, who had somehow remained this gracious despite surviving on scraps from the wilds for most of her life. Guinevere, who was both elegant and beautiful, and who she would like to kiss again-- damn it. Not this line of thinking again! Gods, just the fact that she had to add that little 'again' was depressing. It never should have happened in the first place, but it had, and on some level, Morgan knew it would lead to her ruin. These things always did.)

Nevertheless, she looked up to Guinevere with eyes that were both soft and thankful. "I... believe you, and I appreciate your dedication. In turn, I promise to get them back. They're, uh, important to you, right?" What a brilliant, brilliant conclusion! Important, right. Gods, Morgan wanted nothing more than to smack herself in the face at the moment. Why could she never find the right words in such situations? Was it the lack of practice or some inherent deficiency? "Kind of like family. Not that I can relate to not hating your family, but yeah," she shrugged. Okay, this wasn't even dancing too close to the truth anymore-- this was taking a torch and setting all of her little deceptions on fire. It was dangerous, undoubtedly, but honestly, fuck danger. In this, at least, Morgan believed she could be one hundred percent honest. Guinevere, after all, didn't hold much love for her brother in her heart. "What is it like?" she asked, led by some strange impulse. There was a fragility not usually present in her voice, and Morgan hated herself for it with passion, but it just couldn't be suppressed. Not right now. "Having people like that, I mean. It's, uh, an interesting social phenomenon."
 
Social phenomenon? Despite the ache spearing through her stomach, hearing Morgan's admission about her family, (Despite all the implications, it must be the first time she's really said it outright like this, huh.) Guinevere can't help smiling softly at the way she phrased that. It's just such a Morgan thing to say. It's... endearing. Almost familiar. She sits upright and draws her knees in towards her chest, as if to give herself something to hold onto. It's rare for the other woman's voice to sound this vulnerable, so she focuses on giving a thoughtful, honest answer in response.

"Well... I guess I never really knew what family was like in the traditional sense." Guinevere bites the inside of her cheek. The memories seem to flood behind her eyes, like the night is inspiring them from her. Considering she opened up about it earlier, it's a little easier to explain. "I spent three years of my childhood waiting for rescue and started to realize... this is it. Dad's not coming. I've barely even lived my life and I'm going to die in this horrible place. No one's going to care. No one's going to remember me. And the world's gonna keep turning like nothing happened, so what's the point of anything?"

Jen was part of the reason she made it, but... that's always a sensitive topic to touch. Especially after tonight. Distractedly, she flexes her toes, then curls them. Her thoughts tend to get locked up the same way she was, when she forces herself to remember it too vividly. Realizing this, she stops herself before she can go too far. "--I'm going somewhere with this, I swear." She smiles apologetically, mustering the courage to look Morgan in the eye.

"--Then I got out. I escaped and realized just how big the world was. Met lots of shitty people... and met some of the good ones too." When Guinevere leans forward against her thighs and closes her eyes, she looks almost peaceful. "I think I saw traces of myself in people who needed help. Always hated standing by and doing nothing, so I'd get myself into all kinds of trouble. My sister chewed me out for being stupid all the time, but... I made a lot of friends that way. There's nothing like a few near-death experiences to bring people closer together. We stayed close and kept each other safe. Over time, I realized that most of them didn't know what a 'family' was in the traditional way, either. At some point, I guess we made our own definition."

"They call it the wastes because there's not a lot out here. So in the end, if all we have is each other, then the best we can do is look after each other." And perhaps she's naive for thinking that way. But when the alternative is sitting cold and alone with blood on your hands, the kind you can never wash clean... well, she'll take her makeshift family over that any day of the week. "I didn't have a place in this world, didn't have a thing to call my own... but somehow I found a way to belong here, with all these people who never felt like they belonged either. Without them, I honestly don't know what I'd be doing with myself." No, yeah, she'd probably be dead. Or she'd still be stuck with Jen and her dangerous schemes. (Okay, no-- she's not going there right now.) But it's also the reason why she's essentially sacrificing her freedom, something she values so greatly, just for the chance that she can make their lives better.

Guinevere hugs her legs tight, pressing her chin to her kneecaps. She's rambling again, isn't she? Maybe she's got too much on her mind. Maybe she's just tired. They didn't have to fight any monsters, but it was a mentally draining day in more ways than one. If she wants to have the strength to fight the monster tomorrow, she'll have to rest soon. Or she'll risk spiraling.

"It's not easy, though. We lose people all the time out here. I'm... not getting my hopes up, about finding those missing girls alive." Guinevere admits, sadness flickering in her eyes. "Our lives can feel so small and insignificant in a world like this. We only really keep each other alive by taking care of each other when we can and remembering when we can't anymore."
 
Once again, Morgan found herself listening. She did that often, actually, because only fools spoke more than they listened, but this was-- well, different. Usually, her perceptiveness served as a survival mechanism, more or less. In order to tread carefully, you had to know where to step, and nobody was kind enough to just tell you outright. No, you had to watch. (Well, that, and you had to avoid being watched. Friends and foes-- that was a dangerous concept. It implied, after all, that there were people you could trust unconditionally. And given the fact that the situation changed faster than wind? Discerning who stood where at any given moment was just a pipe dream. A waste of mental energy, really. Not trusting anyone was the safest route to take, and it was a path Morgan knew intimately.)

Here, though? She listened because she wanted to. Because Guinevere had something intetesting to say, not because of the social credit that could be gained by pretending, or because the information acquired could help her survive for one more miserable day. Quite the contrary, in fact. The question she had asked her, after all, was supremely silly. 'Interesting social phenomenon' her ass, really. There was absolutely no tangible benefit to be gained from Guinevere's answer, and maybe that made it so appealing. It just felt... relaxing? Self-indulgent, in a way? Like treating yourself to a bar of chocolate after an exhausting work day. (Except that, in Morgan's case, the metaphorical work day had lasted for the entirety of her life. Gods, it really did sound terrible when you put it like that.)

It was so, so easy to get lost in the sound of her voice. Had Guinevere not become a leader, perhaps she would have been a songstress? What a nice idea. She would have sung her sweet songs, and maybe, in a world kinder than this, Morgan could have-- Could have done what, exactly? Something sweet, too? Her mind went blank, mostly because it was just so hard to imagine a situation where she didn't have to be-- well, this. Strong and distant and made of iron. If she was anything but that, they would break her, and what was it that happened to broken things? Right, they got discarded. Not before they paraded them around as a warning to others, though.

"I'm... honestly amazed this worked out for you," Morgan chuckled, though there was some amount of bitterness in that sound. They had learned the opposite lessons, it seemed. "I wouldn't count on that being true in Camelot, however. Most people are out for themselves, and those who are quick to trust are also quick to die. You'll have some leeway as a queen, but still."

The way Guinevere spoke next, though, with her usual optimism morphing into grief, broke her heart. Morgan... hadn't seen her act like this before, actually. Guinevere had always been smiles and jokes, a ray of sunshine captured between Camelot's walls, and as much as it had annoyed her back then, she wanted that version of her back. (Morgan had wished for something to open her eyes, but not like this! Or maybe she had wanted exactly that, in a way, and failed to realize how depressing it would be. Who knew? Certainly not her.)

"Guinevere," she said, quiet and contemplative. "The monster didn't kill them when it had the chance to. It seems to me that it-- wanted them for some purpose? That doesn't mean they are still alive, of course, but the chance of it is greater than if they, say, encountered a beast like the one we dealt with a few weeks ago. There's still hope." Never had she thought she would be advocating for hope of all things, but here she was, she supposed. "And even if they are dead, at least we'll honor their memory. We'll slay their killer, and we will get their bodies for proper burial." Which probably wasn't much of a relief, but honestly, what would be a relief in such a crisis? Nothing, that was the answer. Spouting platitudes about things being fine had never helped anyone, after all. Hesitantly, Morgan placed her hand on hers, her touch feather-like. "Maybe we cannot help the ones that have been lost, yes, but it is possible to build a better future for the remaining girls. A future where the resources would be managed by someone-- more responsible, let's say." And, okay, that might have been a bold move, but the those who risked nothing also gained nothing. Right? Gods, her heart beat so fast.
 
"...Me too. Honestly." Guinevere says, in regards to it having worked out. It took time and effort to build this place she's learned to call home. "It cost me, though. And it's not like I've never been burned for trusting the wrong person before. But people out here tend to be a lot more... uh direct, if they want to murder you? You start to get second and third opinions, when you do find your people. They give you red flags to watch out for. Arthur, for instance, was a big red flag-- but, the resources were... we needed them. In Camelot, surviving is all about pretending to be someone you aren't. People are truer to themselves, in the wastes... but a lot of them are motivated by self-interest. It's hard to be a good person when you're hungry." She's still sympathetic to the other side of the issue. Jen was... motivated by survival and survival alone. And that difference of opinion eventually...

Guinevere suddenly wants nothing more than to lean in to Morgan's touch. But she keeps herself level. She's washed over with the desire to hug her instead of her legs, for the warmth and comfort, maybe -- or maybe (and, okay, more accurately) it's because she's Morgan and having her closer would undoubtably make her feel better but-- no. That's too dangerous. So she focuses on the place where her fingers brush, holds onto that little piece of her touch as tightly as she can. Like breadcrumbs, just a small taste of what could be.

What could be? Oh-- oh no. She can't afford to think like that, either! Because it'd be indescribably selfish to encourage something more than friendship between them when her future lies in the shackles of her title as 'Arthur's wife'. Though a secret affair within the walls of Camelot sounds like the plot of a gripping romance novel, their situation is already dangerous enough without adding more kindling onto the fire. (And Camelot is so old fashioned, they'd probably sentence them both to burn in it.) No way is she going to endanger her for the sake of self indulgence. So she pushes down on those urges. Hard.

"I know. It might not make any sense, but... as a personal rule, I always tell myself to expect the worst." She confesses quietly. Morgan's points are all valid and true. She's already brushed the surface level of the possibilities herself when they first found out about the circumstances, but-- "If I accept some of the pain now, it'll prepare me for the blow when we do find out the truth." Because it shatters her every time. She doesn't want to say it out loud, really, but her voice probably says it for her. The torment of not knowing their fate fades, however, when something Morgan says towards the end snatches her undivided attention. Blinking free of her reverie, the clouds of grief in her eyes clear to make room for curiosity.

A future where the resources would be managed by someone more responsible? Did she hear that right? Guinevere releases her hold on her legs, shifts around so she's sitting where she can face Morgan directly. "Hold on-- what do you mean by that?" Her brow furrows, as she contemplates the meaning behind her words. Can she teach her to manipulate herself into that position as queen, or-- is it something else? Another opinion? But what could it be? Whatever it is, she needs to know. "--Morgan?"
 
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