It's been a long few weeks, in truth. There was the dog attack which was, likely as not, something bigger than a dog. There was the nice young lady who turned out to be a witch. There was the ghost who interrupted his coffee in the coffee shop.
Now, just when he thought he was safe on duty, there's the disturbance at number fifty five which has turned out to be a haggle of teenagers, one of which temporarily had the head of a donkey.
Lance has no idea how on earth you write that in an incident report, so he has reported it as a minor disruption which has since been dispersed.
What hasn't been dispersed is the man following him.
It's nearly the end of his shift, small mercy, so he turns in all his things and politely asks the man to wait outside. Which would all be well and good were he not deep in conversation with a raven when Lancelot emerges again from the police building, and the number of things and people he touches only escalates his nerves higher.
He knows, that's the problem. The young man seems to know him, and with the recent spate of headaches connected to supernatural activity and... well, everything about the stranger there's only one conclusion.
His missing memories must be, somehow, related to all these things. This man might be the key.
The gentle yap of a familiar dog behind his front door is followed by scrabbling, then Lily is bouncing the other side to great the two of them as Lancelot ushers his new friend inside.
"This is Lily," he says, nerves somewhat frayed. "She -- well, she's quite shy but I suppose I don't know how she is about..."
About supernatural things. Goodness. He winces and shuts the door behind them, crossing the light wood floor into the kitchen. Lily does a little lap back through to the living area, fetches a suspiciously slobbered on green toy in the shape some sort of muppet and brings it over to Lancelot to drop at his feet.
"Can I get you anything?" Lancelot prompts, rummaging through his fridge already. "I was just going to cook some... pasta I suppose."
He feels dizzy. That's fine. Food will help. When in doubt, deal with awkward or strange scenarios by cooking. That's what his foster parents always did, anyway.
Some silly human girls fancied themselves a witch's coven and had tried to summon a demon to take revenge on an ex-lover of one of theirs, but they'd rather messed up their summoning. It had snagged Merlin instead. But he was amicable, so long as they gave him something sweet to eat. He'd summoned the boy in question into the room and turned his head into that of a donkey's. He thought it was an appropriate prank, and hilarious, since the boy had apparently acted like an ass.
The girls didn't seem to agree, if the screaming had been anything to go by.
The real stroke of luck was when none other than Lancelot, the man he'd been searching for, had walked through the door. Immediately he'd been distracted from his tricks, bombarding Lancelot with questions. That only seemed to overwhelm the man, though eventually he'd asked Merlin to change the boy's head back, which he'd begrudgingly done in exchange for more cookies.
And then he'd followed Lancelot out, determined to not leave his side until the man remembers him again. He must have forgotten, because he looked at Merlin like he didn't recognize him at all. His best friend had forgotten him entirely.
Lancelot has business to finish for his job, so Merlin is left to amuse himself. He falls into discussion of the dangers of cars to flying beings with a nearby raven, unaware of the strange looks he's garnering. As soon as Lancelot leaves the building again, he bids it goodbye and continues following him, his curiosity snagged by various things as they walk.
Finally they arrive to where Lancelot is staying and Merlin gasps in delight at the sound of a dog inside, grinning down at her. "Pleased to meet you as well, Lily. I'm Merlin. What a beautiful lady you are!"
He follows Lancelot in, letting Lily sniff his hands before sinking them into her soft fur, stroking her ears. "Yes, very rude of him to ignore you like that, but I'll throw the toy for you in a minute, alright?"
Rather than answer the question about food, Merlin tries to catch Lancelot's gaze. "You don't remember me at all, do you?"
She is a beautiful lady, yes! Lily bounces, paws only getting a centimetre or two off the ground because she has been told jumping is bad -- just enough motion to show enthusiasm. When Merlin drops to her height, thought, she charges forward into his arms -- tail swishing up over her back excitedly. Yes! It is good when people are at her height! Yes, Lancelot is very rude sometimes but he is also good! He's better than other people! Throwing toys is good too! Will you throw it for her soon?
Lancelot lets out a slow breath, turning sideways from where he's fidgeting with making some pasta. Merlin hasn't said if he wants any. Should he make enough for both of them anyway? He can always save it for tomorrow if he doesn't eat it.
The question makes his head hurt. His thoughts bounce off it, as if avoiding it, and Lancelot wonders if his little flat was always this warm.
"Should I?" he prompts. "Remember you? Forgive me, I meet a lot of people at work."
Even though Lancelot knows, in some unconscious way, this is nothing to do with work.
He gives Lady some more ear scritches, grinning as she sings Lancelot's praises. As any good dog should. As much as Merlin loves food, it can wait-- this is more important. This is why he left.
At Lancelot's answer, he straightens up to his full height again. He steps closer, insistent, and shakes his head. "Not from work. From when we were children. Do you want to remember? I can help you to." He reaches a hand up to touch Lancelot's temple, just the tips of his fingers brushing against the skin. Merlin's magic doesn't touch him yet, but it's there, charged in his fingertips, ready for him to command.
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It's been a long few weeks, in truth. There was the dog attack which was, likely as not, something bigger than a dog. There was the nice young lady who turned out to be a witch. There was the ghost who interrupted his coffee in the coffee shop.
Now, just when he thought he was safe on duty, there's the disturbance at number fifty five which has turned out to be a haggle of teenagers, one of which temporarily had the head of a donkey.
Lance has no idea how on earth you write that in an incident report, so he has reported it as a minor disruption which has since been dispersed.
What hasn't been dispersed is the man following him.
It's nearly the end of his shift, small mercy, so he turns in all his things and politely asks the man to wait outside. Which would all be well and good were he not deep in conversation with a raven when Lancelot emerges again from the police building, and the number of things and people he touches only escalates his nerves higher.
He knows, that's the problem. The young man seems to know him, and with the recent spate of headaches connected to supernatural activity and... well, everything about the stranger there's only one conclusion.
His missing memories must be, somehow, related to all these things. This man might be the key.
The gentle yap of a familiar dog behind his front door is followed by scrabbling, then Lily is bouncing the other side to great the two of them as Lancelot ushers his new friend inside.
"This is Lily," he says, nerves somewhat frayed. "She -- well, she's quite shy but I suppose I don't know how she is about..."
About supernatural things. Goodness. He winces and shuts the door behind them, crossing the light wood floor into the kitchen. Lily does a little lap back through to the living area, fetches a suspiciously slobbered on green toy in the shape some sort of muppet and brings it over to Lancelot to drop at his feet.
"Can I get you anything?" Lancelot prompts, rummaging through his fridge already. "I was just going to cook some... pasta I suppose."
He feels dizzy. That's fine. Food will help. When in doubt, deal with awkward or strange scenarios by cooking. That's what his foster parents always did, anyway.
no subject
Some silly human girls fancied themselves a witch's coven and had tried to summon a demon to take revenge on an ex-lover of one of theirs, but they'd rather messed up their summoning. It had snagged Merlin instead. But he was amicable, so long as they gave him something sweet to eat. He'd summoned the boy in question into the room and turned his head into that of a donkey's. He thought it was an appropriate prank, and hilarious, since the boy had apparently acted like an ass.
The girls didn't seem to agree, if the screaming had been anything to go by.
The real stroke of luck was when none other than Lancelot, the man he'd been searching for, had walked through the door. Immediately he'd been distracted from his tricks, bombarding Lancelot with questions. That only seemed to overwhelm the man, though eventually he'd asked Merlin to change the boy's head back, which he'd begrudgingly done in exchange for more cookies.
And then he'd followed Lancelot out, determined to not leave his side until the man remembers him again. He must have forgotten, because he looked at Merlin like he didn't recognize him at all. His best friend had forgotten him entirely.
Lancelot has business to finish for his job, so Merlin is left to amuse himself. He falls into discussion of the dangers of cars to flying beings with a nearby raven, unaware of the strange looks he's garnering. As soon as Lancelot leaves the building again, he bids it goodbye and continues following him, his curiosity snagged by various things as they walk.
Finally they arrive to where Lancelot is staying and Merlin gasps in delight at the sound of a dog inside, grinning down at her. "Pleased to meet you as well, Lily. I'm Merlin. What a beautiful lady you are!"
He follows Lancelot in, letting Lily sniff his hands before sinking them into her soft fur, stroking her ears. "Yes, very rude of him to ignore you like that, but I'll throw the toy for you in a minute, alright?"
Rather than answer the question about food, Merlin tries to catch Lancelot's gaze. "You don't remember me at all, do you?"
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Lancelot lets out a slow breath, turning sideways from where he's fidgeting with making some pasta. Merlin hasn't said if he wants any. Should he make enough for both of them anyway? He can always save it for tomorrow if he doesn't eat it.
The question makes his head hurt. His thoughts bounce off it, as if avoiding it, and Lancelot wonders if his little flat was always this warm.
"Should I?" he prompts. "Remember you? Forgive me, I meet a lot of people at work."
Even though Lancelot knows, in some unconscious way, this is nothing to do with work.
no subject
At Lancelot's answer, he straightens up to his full height again. He steps closer, insistent, and shakes his head. "Not from work. From when we were children. Do you want to remember? I can help you to." He reaches a hand up to touch Lancelot's temple, just the tips of his fingers brushing against the skin. Merlin's magic doesn't touch him yet, but it's there, charged in his fingertips, ready for him to command.