Some days are magic, and I can do anything.

[bumbles]

Date & Time: Monday 13th, morning.
Location: Palace of CRUSHING EMOTION aka. Morgana and Arya's place
Characters: Donny & imposter-sister Morgana
Summary: oh god personal space and tattoos
Warnings: Donny being agonisingly awkward and Morgana being unapologetically fascinated


( Even before the crash, he'd been evading the Initiative housing. Went in to shower, grab bedding scavenge things from the room that was meant to be his. Not taking a thing from anyone else, but claiming bits and pieces that where he could.

At least he had already known Morgana: when he decided to remove himself from the official housing completely, he'd been able to work up the nerve to ask if he could use her shower, sometimes. After a night of wandering rooftops and trapping petty criminals in stone cages, trading bruises and all the rest, being able to immerse himself in a hot shower was all he wanted. He never appeared as Atlas, though, always as Donny.

It's a day like the other thirteen that have crossed his path, here, letting the water blaze over his skin, and missing the days when water could burn him, just a little bit.

Anyway. He steps out of the shower, and his skin is dry almost immediately, pulling on boxers and jeans, letting his fingers run over the Sphinx on his ribs. It was a ritual, now, more than it had ever been before. Thank God he had that, because it was a way to remind himself that there was a world back home that was real, that Max was real.

He's still staring at the tattoo as he palms the counter for his toothbrush, but-- oh, crap, he left it in his bag. Okay, fine. That's fine. Maybe he can just lean out of the bathroom far enough to grab his backpack, and no one will see.

It's a nice thought, when you forget you are currently invading the personal space of one very intense young sorceress, and that there are tattoos decorating the arm in question: a celtic band across his bicep, the tree of life on the inside of his forearm. )

Comments

[scinlae]

[ A puzzle, she had decided when he first asked (she had smirked despite herself, watching as his reaction when she said yes), he is a puzzle that is missing some of the vital pieces. A mystery that dares not to be solved, it would not be as interesting if she knew all the secrets but she wants to know them. She pokes and watches and hopes they fall into her lap.

They never did.

And she often thinks they never will as she watches him come and go, sometimes moving like a man injured. She does not ask where he got them, she thinks the questions but they never leave her mouth, she only ever asks if there is anything she can do to help.

This night, much like the rest, she sits awake. Listening to the sounds of the shower- the running water makes her think of the forests of Camelot. When it stops her eyes snap open, attention focuses on the bathroom door half hoping to exchange a few broken words before he disappears again.

But he leans out of the bathroom and she stands, eyes widening as her brow furrows. The ink upon his skin-- ]

Wait.

[ A command, one she expects him to listen too. Once close enough she invades his space without missing a beat, taking a hold of his arm to gain a better look. ]

How- [ The tree. ] How did you come to get this?