A Pleasant Fiction

Posted on Thu Jun 13th, 2013 @ 1:32am by Morgo Le'Shaad & Daneel Dreyfus
Edited on on Fri Aug 2nd, 2013 @ 2:10am

5,686 words; about a 28 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IV: Rezer's Edge
Location: A Dromachean research yacht, Korriban
Timeline: Pre-Chapter IV

ON A STARSHIP ORBITING KORRIBAN:


All was quiet.

Save for the distant humming of the yacht and the footsteps of a man in thick rust red robes, nothing
stirred in this part of the ship.

Having just shuttled in from Korriban’s surface for the night, along with 29 others, the Dromachean Count carded a hand through his dusty red hair in an attempt to tame his mop—notably failing.

Sighing, Daneel Dreyfus entered the passcode to his private suite and walked through the sliding doors.

“Welcome back, my Lord Dreyfus.” A mechanical female voice purred as the lights dimmed on, bathing the opulent room in warm light, “Would you like cold refreshments to be sent to your rooms?”

“No, love. Thank you.” He answered, ever polite, a hint of weariness in his velvet voice as he walked into the wide expanse of his bathroom—a room of polished golds and cream colored marble. Stepping over to the sink, he placed his hands under the faucet and watched as a steady stream of lukewarm water washed away the reddish dust and sand of Korriban from his hands, the clear water disappearing down the drain. Taking a small glass bottle of warm, scented oil in one hand, Daneel poured an amount on his hands and got to work scrubbing the dirt and grime from the ridges of his hands and under his square fingernails. Goddess, he was filthy—the wide sleeves of his worn robe leaving streaks of dust and dirt on the gleaming marble surface of the sink counter.

Tired as he was from the dig however, the muscles of his body aching, he had to admit that it was a good kind of ache. For as technologically advanced as they were—droids and machinery doing the dirty work of detecting and uncovering the ruins, fossils and other remnants of history beneath the sands of Korriban—nothing quite compared to getting in those pits and digging out the fossils yourself. As the heir to House Dreyfus, it was Daneel’s duty to cultivate knowledge of the billions of beasts across the galaxy—alive and extinct, natural and unnatural.

Word of Korriban’s fossils from monsters forged from Sith Alchemy, long extinct, had brought the team here in the first place.

Of course, he wasn’t obligated to do anything himself, but Daneel preferred to do things with his own hands. The hard way. And unlike many other nobles of Dromache, he never balked from physical labor. He embraced it. It grounded him, provided a steady backdrop in his mind like a distant hum, allowing his mind to wander freely. Most of his best ideas came when he was excavating with a shovel, or brushing away dirt and sand from petrified bone with a touchless, blow brush.

Besides, it was his opinion as a historian and an archeologist that there were sensitive things that digger droids might damage in their indiscriminate mission to simply dig . Droids were still imperfect, and Daneel didn’t quite trust them to do the job right, with the correct amount of delicate passion. He supposed he was old fashioned that way.

Toweling off his hands (there was an evaporator, but her preferred the plushness of a towel), Daneel allowed himself to glance at the closed door adjoining this bathroom to a second room. Unoccupied now—but it had not always been so. A very close… friend had lived in that room whenever they went on digs together, going from planet to planet, gathering knowledge and discovering things—small and great. They’d intended on excavating Korriban together… along with the 20 odd others aboard the ship now, of course. But it was not to be. Her schedule had changed for the worse.

It was this friend, in fact, that had warned him against staying nights on a planet such as Korriban. It was why he was on a ship right now as night drifted over Korriban, instead of in a tent. For an archeologist such as himself, it was normal practice to camp out on a planet’s surface. But she’d insisted that he not do so this time. Dark and dangerous things dwelled in the sands of Korriban. Things that she’d rather not have to save him from at night, she’d scoffed.

Right before they’d carted her off to Dromache’s maximum prison.

And who was he to argue? She was the foremost expert on all things Force related on his homeworld. And Korriban was nothing if not a world full of the Force’s darkness.

Taking his eyes from the door, Daneel looked into the mirror. Pale green eyes looked back at him, the overhead light highlighting his face in stark relief, all sharp cheekbones and tall nose. His reddish brown hair laid in gentle waves , swept back from his lightly bearded face. Studying his reflection, he silently wondered which sun was responsible for the little fine lines of his skin—all the more distinctive now that dirt had settled into them.

Splashing water onto his face did a little in the ways washing away the dirt, but not much. It seemed a shower was in order, however, when a light beeping came from his bedroom.

It was a pattern of blips that Daneel would recognize anywhere .

The secret knock he and his friend had invented when they were children and thought themselves so clever for it. Sneaking in through each other’s windows. Leaving insults drawn onto the glass, revealed only by the condensation of breath.

Hearing the sequence end before promptly starting again, Daneel’s heart skipped a beat. And he dared hope.

Dashing from the bathroom, almost slipping on the marble floor from the sudden speed, Daneel dug into his leather rucksack and fished out his datapad, the glass and metal scratched and cracked from the last time he’d used it to check Dromachean news seven months ago, on the final day of his friend’s trial—and subsequently thrown the datapad into the wall, in a rage.

Holding the piece of technology to his face, letting a little green laser scan the retina of his eye to identify him, Daneel hurried to answer the call, placing the datapad onto the bed, and watching as an azure laser grid momentarily mapped out half his room from which a panoramic image of the his caller could be projected.

“Morgo!” He breathed urgently when the holocall connected, “ Morgo, is that you?” He asked, voice strained, eyes rapidly searching above his bed’s headboard for an image. The damn thing was still loading, outdated piece of—

“Of course it’s me, Daneel.” Came a smooth, low voice, her image blooming before him, all blue before bleeding into color, making it seem like the woman actually sat on his bed, the image of half the room behind her superimposed onto his own walls. “Who else knows that idiotic secret knock you made up?” She added, the corner of her mouth curling into a knowing smile.

Daneel laughed out loud, a rich and merry sound amidst the quiet of the starship— the man barely even registering that he’d just been insulted. Had he been the type that cared about reining in his feelings, the amount of relief he was feeling at seeing Morgo alive and well would be almost embarrassing. Almost.

A bright toothsome smile graced his handsome face as he spoke, his voice a soothing low rumble, “No one but you.”

For a moment Daneel just let his eyes wash over Morgo, not a hair out of place, her wispy blonde bangs hanging just above clear, steel gray eyes that shone from beneath gently arched brows as she watched him in turn. Clearly life on the run had taken some toll on her, for gone was the extra roundness from her face, leaving her as statuesque as her late father. Her dark gold hair, longer than last he seen it, was carefully woven into a braid that she’d let hang by the side her head, snaking down the swell of her chest to the flat of her abdomen, covered by a thin silk night robe.

“I’d,” Daneel began, his smile taking on slightly sadder tilt, “I’d thought the worst when I’d heard from Janus you’d been taken from the surface of Ossus… when the Mandalorian bounty hunter who’d been sent to catch you returned to Dromache without you. What happened?” he asked, brows furrowing slightly.

“Anja Tesanti happened.” Morgo answered, the minute lift of her lips expressing a dry amusement. To anyone else but Daneel, it would have gone unnoticed—her face ever neutral. But he knew her better than that.

“I’d gathered that.” Daneel chuckled dryly, his expressive brows lifting, expectant.

“If you must know, she tranquilized me on Ossus, dragged me onto her ship, then threatened to stop feeding me tea if I didn’t talk to her.”

Daneel made a face, “You paid her off, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

Morgo looked almost affronted at that, “I did nothing of the sort. What kind of a woman do you take me for?”

“A lying, cheating, bribing, horrid, heartless spawn of a bitch.”

Looking absurdly pleased with him, Morgo’s gray eyes glittered with amusement, “Oh darling, you know me so well.”

Daneel chuckled again, placing his hands on foot of the bed and leaning in conversationally, “So what happened after she cut you off tea?”

“Well…” Morgo shrugged as she stood, Daneel’s view of her room behind her shifting as she stepped around her bed and the holocam followed her. Slipping off the etched metal clasp at the end of her braid and laying it on the simple metal nightstand beside her bed, Morgo began to untie her hair as she sat back down on her bed, the mattress dipping under her weight.

“We became friends and she let me go.” Morgo answered, voice light.

“Friends?” Daneel asked, quirking a brow as green eyes watched her untie her silken hair before him, entirely unself-conscious, the slender white of her fingers sliding gently down its blonde length. Daneel swallowed.

“Of a sort. After she broke my nose.” Morgo replied casually, “An unfortunate accident of our conversation.”

Internally, Daneel grimaced. It still amazed him sometimes, Morgo’s… unique way with people. They’d go from throttling her to doing her pretty favors—then to throttling her again. And deep down, Daneel knew Morgo absolutely loved it.

It was hard to remember sometimes that this woman was the same girl he’d seen sit on her father’s throne in a planet wide crisis, and sent four thousand and forty-seven men to the Zkovos Isle to aid the Grandsire of House Jotunnson—Morgo had insisted on that peculiar number, for whatever reason, and had chosen the last forty-seven by throwing pink grapes off the throne and sending whichever man she hit. Just to show House Jotunnson just how much regard she had for them and their ‘crisises’.

And also, because seeing the faces (and ripe spattering of grape on polished armor)of House Le’Shaad’s best and brightest being assaulted with grapes had been far too deliciously wicked a chance to pass up for one such as Morgo.


She had always delighted in a little chaos.

Yet as Daneel remembered the day that he’d heard about what had happened to Morgo on Ossus, he had to smile to cover up exactly how he’d felt when he’d heard the bounty hunter Anja had returned to Dromache without Morgo, claiming she’d just slipped away. He had been there at the palace that day, uncomfortable in his burgundy and gold finery, both dreading seeing Morgo back in chains but eager to see her face again. Yet when the bounty hunter recounted her tale of what had happened, Daneel had been torn between relief and terror.

Relief that Morgo was still free from the prison cells of Dromache. Terror for the fact that it was possible that Anja had gotten a better offer for Morgo at some Outer Rim pleasure slave market, and sold her there instead.

Deep in his mind, the thought had gnawed at him. It wasn’t a secret that many resented the rich and noble of the Core Worlds. To see their like suffer in utter humiliation and submission was something not a small fraction of the galaxy would pay to see. Daneel was just grateful Morgo had avoided such a fate.

“Don’t you frown at me, Dreyfus.” Morgo’s voice cut across his thoughts like a silver blade, chiding, “I knew what I was doing.”

Feeling petulant, Daneel narrowed his eyes and shot Morgo a look .

“Besides,” Morgo continued tartly, “and pardon me but glaring at me is hardly better, Daneel—I didn’t call you to be lectured. ”

“You need my help.” Daneel declared softly, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at the woman sitting on his bed, her hair now falling freely about her in perfect waves from being braided, cascading down her shoulders—looking just like the classical paintings of those predators of legend on Dromache, half woman and half sea serpent. And Daneel thought it oddly fitting. With Morgo he never did know whether she would sing for him, or drown him.

“Precisely.” She kriffing purred.

Shaking his head lightly, Daneel shrugged off his dirt streaked robe and let it drop to the floor, getting comfortable. Gingerly pushing the soiled robes under the luxuriously arranged bed (predictably burgundy and gold…) with the toe of an equally feculent boot, Daneel sat on the bed, long legs hanging off the side, his body angled towards Morgo.

“Ask, then.”

Morgo, in the meantime, simply looked at the edge of the bed where he sat with disgust—her nose wrinkling. As if the filth of Daneel’s clothes could touch her from where he sat, light years away from each other as they were.

Still looking distractedly at the state of Daneel’s dress, this close, Morgo spoke, “I need information. A rogue Jedi....colleague of mine needs to—”

“Wait.” Daneel interrupted, lifting a hand, “This rogue Jedi doesn’t happen to be Verus, does it? Thane Verus?”

For just a split second, Morgo’s expression changed, something shifting behind her eyes at the mention of Thane’s name. And Daneel knew he was right.

“You knew.” Morgo stated, tilting her head slightly, “How?”

“I guessed.” Daneel corrected, eyes bright with a mischievous twinkle, “Besides, you two were all over the news a while back. How Merik Bettencourt turned you in. How a Jedi Knight rescued you from the law on Coruscant. How both of you disappeared into the night. Quite romantic, actually.” Daneel said, raising a teasing brow.

Morgo rolled her eyes as she sighed irritably, and Daneel could almost believe that he felt her labored exhale, sitting not two feet from her.

“Force, save me from your insufferable fancies, Daneel. Nothing remotely romantic happened. If he lusted after anything it was my mind he was after. Or my skillset. Or power.” She added, voice taking on an edge. When it became clear she was not going to elaborate, Daneel felt his eyes narrow on their own accord.

Watching Morgo cross her long legs, Daneel studied her. She was vaguely uncomfortable. Why?

“That’s not what the galactic press says.” He needled, curious as to her reaction, “They say you probably seduced the man with your feminine charms, so that he’d protect you and whisk you away. They also say that he left the Jedi Order, most likely to be with the woman he loved. I don’t have to be a genius to know they were implying it was you.”

At that Morgo laughed, like the sound of diamonds grinding together, her head tilting back slightly to expose the pale expanse of her throat, “Please Daneel,” she scoffed, any hint of discomfort gone, replaced by the confidence of someone on familiar ground, “As if I’d risk conceiving a Force-sensitive child all for the pleasures of virgin sex. Virgins do make the dullest lovers. ”

Waving a hand in the air, her nails carefully lacquered a kind of red that reminded Daneel of the plumes of some birds of paradise, Morgo smirked, “Besides, Thane seems to be about as sexual as a beached fish. Either that, or he’s repressed. Or both.”

Daneel laughed gamely as he blinked, his reddish lashes fanning his cheeks, flushed with his mirth, “I’d wondered, you know.” He said, glad that she was no longer uneasy, “After you disappeared with him following your too-brief sighting on Coruscant, even the best wondered back on Dromache. Whether or not we should stop calling you the Insurmountable Morgo.”

“Oh, never that.” Morgo replied, gray eyes glittering, “I am quite fond of a good mounting. Once every green moon.” For as much as she disliked physical contact, there was still, occasionally, a biological need. One that she satisfied to keep her mind and body working at optimal efficiency. But Daneel knew that.

“Morgo the Insufferable then.” Daneel muttered dryly. One of Dromache’s two moons, Cepheus, as seen from the surface of Dromache, turned a pale ghostly green every Winter—a result of the gaseous atmospheric changes Dromache always underwent as a result of the cycling of the ancient Celestial technology controlling Dromache’s atmosphere. As it was, a green moon came once every four years. Cheeky bastard.

“Quite.” Morgo smirked, unruffled, “Now if we’re quite done putting down base rumors as simple fantasies of the press, I’d like to get to business.”

Flipping a lock of hair behind her shoulder, Morgo gazed into Daneel like she was contemplating snacking on him, “What do you remember about the Kaiburr crystals?”

Daneel dug into his memory, sorting through files upon files on information he’d stored away, “Only what you told me.” He answered, “That they once belonged to a whole, larger crystal. That once they were brought away from their home planet, their incredible power diminished, but did not dissipate. That the shards were prized and rare as it augmented and amplified the Force powers of its user. They’re scattered now, but still ever sought after by Light and Dark side Force users alike.”

“Good man.” Morgo nodded, pleased that he remembered. His memory and intelligence was one of the reasons she’d befriended him in the first place, so long ago, “I need you to tell me if you’ve heard any rumors about them. Verus is hunting down Axion, a Dark Side cult leader. And Axion is hunting down the Kaiburr shards. Most likely to empower himself and subjugate the galaxy. Dull man.”

“Oh yes. Because taking over the galaxy is so dull, Morgo.”

“Focus, Daneel. I know the urge to sass me is hard to resist, but do try.” Morgo said, her tone suggesting he was nothing more than a simpleton with no control over his impulses. And that she wholly pitied him.

Daneel scowled, “A recent trip to the jewel capital of the galaxy was uneventful. Nothing strange was going on, no rumors of crystals with powers.”

He’d been to the Sorenhan system, known for its incredible gems and the beauty of their crafted jewelry to buy a gift for his betrothed, Lady Junne of House Io. After all, he didn’t want her to feel as if he’d forgotten her in the long months he was gone—even if he did not love her. She still deserved to be honored.

Looking up from the embroidered bedspread to Morgo’s lovely, pale face, his mind wandered. He wondered if Morgo knew he’d gone to Sorenha to choose a ceremony ring for his betrothed, Lady Io.

If Morgo suspected, it did not show on her face.

For once upon a time, Daneel had been betrothed to Morgo as well, a match arranged when they were but babes at their wet nurse’s breasts. As a misguided young boy egged on by his friends’ encouragements, he’d made the mistake of dishonoring Morgo in public, thinking his place above hers as her future husband. She’d dropped her datapad on the cobblestone of the streets and challenged him to a duel, right then and there, fierce and proud. Though of smaller figure and strength, she’d beaten him into the ground that day, his ribs hurting where she’d jabbed the electrostaff end of her cortosis stave in and stunned him—right before she knelt and cut a lock of his coppery hair from his bangs with a blade. So that all might see how he was beaten by his ‘wifey’, and feel shame for him.

Utterly intrigued, Daneel had pursued her companionship for a week, yet growing ever tired of Morgo pretending he didn’t even exist whenever he approached. It wasn’t until he’d: (1) stolen his father’s speeder in the night, (2) flown over to the Abysstone Isle, the archipelago ruled by House Le’Shaad, (3) memorized the palace security long enough to slip past the safeguards and into her room as she slept, (4) And cut a jarringly long silken lock from her blonde head, that Morgo even deigned to acknowledge him. And it was only after he’d worn her stolen hair like a trophy on his breast, the next morning that she looked upon him with something other than disdain—a newfound respect dawning in her eyes as her little lips twitched up into a wicked smile, leaving her friends abandoned in the school courtyard, just to speak with him. And he kept that lock of hair.

They’d been close ever since then. Even when the betrothal fell through and House Dreyfus nearly declared war on House Le’Shaad for their slight. Even when Morgo kidnapped Daneel’s younger brother, Danfin, to stop the war. Even when he was promised to House Io.

“No,” Morgo’s voice shook him from his thoughts, her eyes distant, concentrating, “A Kaiburr crystal wouldn’t be found in the Sorenhan system. It’s too obvious. And they cycle through their jewelry too quickly for something as old as a Kaiburr crystal to settle and be found.” Eyes finding their way back to Daneel’s, Morgo’s expression was one he oft saw when she was dividing her thoughts to multitask, “If it was encrusted in a piece of jewelry, it would be some heirloom by now. Think more obscure, Daneel.”

Racking his brain for any strange pieces of gossip he’d heard flying around of late, Daneel’s brow furrowed in deep thought.

“It could be anything, Daneel. These shards are old—it’s likely that they might’ve been incorporated at some time to something else, no longer shards but weapons or tools.”

A light went off in Daneel’s head, “Or artwork?”

Morgo obviously heard the familiar lilt in his voice because she leaned in, conspiratorial and eager, “What have you got?”

He grinned, her quiet, intense energy contagious, feeling inexplicably giddy. More than a grown man had any business being, “Do you remember Artem? Artem Vul?”

“The lovely beast trainer boy you worked with at some obscure zoo for your research. Of course I remember him. He had the most flawless olive skin.”

“Well I had drinks with him a while back. He told me he’d landed a job at some place that used to be an Imperial penal colony, taking care of some man’s animals—a couple of vicious vornskrs, I believe. Goddess, you’d love the vornskrs, Morgo, they hunt using the Force and they—”

“Yes, Daneel, I know.” Morgo tsked gently, “I’ve been dying to dissect one for ages, yet you’ve still to get me one. Now focus.”

Daneel always had a tendency to ramble about facts when he got excited. Morgo thought it was in equal parts endearing and irksome. They’d known each other long enough for it to cease being a source of embarrassment for him, but at least this time, Daneel had the decency to look sheepish.

“Sorry, um. Well Artem was telling me about how one of the guards had taken a liking to him. Grabbed his ass once. Started boasting about how their big boss liked him so much that he didn’t kill him. You see, this particular guard had been patrolling his boss’ collection one day when he’d accidentally knocked over an obsidian statuette from its stand, shattering it on the ground. It was supposedly ages old, the statuette, and when his boss found out, he was sure he was going to be shot.”

Morgo sniffed when Daneel paused for dramatic effect, brow twitching at the mention of such wanton destruction of history. Morgo would have shot that blundering, blathering, loose handed idiot on the spot. Something—by virtue of this story being retold—his boss had neglected to do.

“Yet,” Daneel continued, “that was when he and his boss noticed that something had been hidden inside the black statue. A stone. He caught a glimpse of crimson before he was immediately dismissed from the room. And ultimately, his boss forgot to kill him for his clumsiness.” He finished, sounding slightly mournful of that fact.

There was a contemplative silence after Daneel recounted the story told to him by Artem. Before him, Morgo blinked, her chest rising and falling like any person breathing. But the carefully blank expression on her face was a tell-tale sign she was somewhere else entirely. Perhaps dissecting every detail just given, or even proposing and dismissing personal theories. Morgo was a skeptical woman by nature. Perhaps she was debating whether or not Artem’s story could be trusted.

“What is the name of the old penal colony?” Morgo finally spoke, at length, most likely deeming this lead worth investigating.

“I’m not sure. Artem never told me. But I do have the coordinates. He gave them to me in case I ever wanted to observe vornskrs with him. The young man said he’d try to arrange it. He was quite adamant that I come, if he got permission.”

Morgo nodded as Daneel sent her the coordinates, tilting her chin slightly, her half-lidded eyes catching the light in the poorly lit room, making them look like the palest shining silver.

“And do you have a name for the one who runs the place?” The woman asked. He was presumably the ‘boss’ in the story.

“I couldn’t say.” Daneel answered, shrugging emptily, “Artem himself doesn’t know. Whenever he comes in to take care of the vornskrs—checking their hide, health and teeth—the man in charge is usually absent…doing who knows what. Perhaps acquiring new objects for his collection.”

“How interesting.” Morgo said softly, almost to herself.

Daneel let her think for a while, as she often did, before he spoke again.

“Will this be enough for you, my Lady?” Daneel smirked, voice tinged with warmth, eyes as pale and green as the jade-noses of the leviathans of Dromache.

“For now, yes.” Morgo replied levelly, “Thank you, darling. You’ve been most helpful.”

And standing slowly, Morgo turned and made a move to end the transmission. Startled, Daneel jumped up from where he sat, hand outstretched as if to stop her.

“W-wait! Morgo?” he called, a myriad of emotions flashing across his face. Surprise, hurt, and confusion among them.

Looking over her white shoulder, Morgo arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him expectantly.

Inwardly, Daneel pinched himself with a wry smile. After all this time he still shouldn’t be surprised how indifferent Morgo could be sometimes.

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye, at least?” he asked, perfectly aware at how pathetic he probably sounded to her, yet not caring.

As expected, Morgo looked at him with a mild expression that seemed to suggest that his sentimentality had picked an inconvenient time to surface.

“This isn’t goodbye, Daneel. We will speak again.” She stated, as if she was still confused as to why he wanted to extract something so simple as one word from her, her voice full of a confidence he, for once, didn’t reciprocate.

Would he speak to her again? Or would some disaster strike and Morgo be lost to him forever?

“Fine.” Daneel conceded, eyes locked with hers. It occurred to him then, that his body had taken the same stance it automatically took when he was dealing with a feral animal that he didn’t want to spook. That he wanted to stay.

Morgo must have noticed this as he watched her eyes roam his body, taking in his slightly hunched back, making himself look smaller by reflex, his outstretched hand that still hung in the air between them, all before her eyes returned to his face, her other eyebrow raising to match the other, looking unimpressed. As if telling him that she was no animal to corral with sentiment or tricks.

“Fine,” Daneel repeated, letting his hand drop, collapsing into a gentle fist by his side, his back straightening, “But allow me one final question.”

“Alright.” Morgo chuckled, a short and throaty sound, humoring a friend.

A million different questions raced through his mind. He knew better than to ask where she was, who she was with, why she was courting danger in hunting the infamous Cult of Axion. He knew better. But oh, he wanted to.

“Are you…”Daneel began before pausing, absently biting his slightly chapped, bottom lip “Are you safe, Morgo?” He finally settled on asking, because when it came down to it, that was the only question that really mattered.

The sheer earnestness of his voice seemed to startle Morgo, and she didn’t answer right away, her eyes darting towards the door for just a moment, before returning to his face.

“Yes, of course. As safe as I can be.”

“Liar.”

And at that, Morgo smiled, sharp as a blade, “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies, darling.”

The red haired man scowled, “Morgo…”he breathed lowly, warning.

“Look, I can’t help it that one man aboard this ship would abandon me to bounty hunters and Republic officials should I displease him while the other man would gladly make me a cold, royal corpse for failing to change his ‘ ad’ika’s ’ diapers.” Morgo replied smoothly, the air quotes apparent in her voice.

A silence reigned after her little outburst, if it could even be called that, his face one of abject horror. Morgo, meanwhile, simply looked amused.

He hadn’t even realized his jaw had dropped before Morgo had extended her arm between them, her middle and index finger outstretched, fingertips resting just beneath his chin, reminding him to close his mouth with a familiarity that made his chest ache. It was an odd sensation, to see Morgo’s very real fingers beneath his chin, yet not feel the warmth of her skin. As if she were a specter from his memories.

“It’s really not so bad.” She reassured him quietly, “Only when they menstruate.”

And despite all the whirling emotions within him, that managed to get a chuckle out of him. Before he could do anything as stupid as try to grasp her nonexistent wrist, Morgo took back her hand.

“Satisfied?” Morgo asked, the noise of the an air circulation vent starting up behind her an atrocious, clunky sound compared to the sleek hum of his yacht, reminding Daneel just how far away she really was.

“Yes.” He eventually said, knowing their conversation was coming to a close.

“Then until next time, Daneel.”

His eyes gazing into hers, Daneel nodded lightly, “Be well, Morgo.”

And the man watched as she and the room behind her blinked out of existence, the grandiosity of his room coming back into view. Daneel frowned as his eyes adjusted to it again. For as grand and comfortable as it was designed to be, behind every fancy lamp or beautifully carved ceiling was a coldness, a sterility that prohibited both touch and comfort. An unapproachable beauty that he had lived with every day of his life.

Daneel detested it with a passion.

Getting up, Daneel stripped from his clothes with weary efficiency, making his way to the washroom once again, thinking of the friend who was flying around somewhere, getting herself into trouble.

He remembered the day that he realized for the first time, that to Morgo, he really was the only friend she trusted.

And as much as he wanted to say it was because he had always been there with her—for her, he knew it wasn’t true. Time and affection counted for nothing to her, only a passing thing that she indulged in because she knew he appreciated it, because charm and affection, for all intents and purposes, helped soften the harder edges of her personality that she knew were too sharp, too cutting to be known on their own without putting her at a disadvantage. And she’d always hated being at a disadvantage.

No. Morgo trusted him, was familiar with him because ultimately, she knew she still had the upper hand. She still had something to hold over his head. His regrettably deep, emotional investment in her.

(Yet, did he regret it? No. Never Morgo. Never truly. )

Morgo trusted him because she knew that he would never betray her. Could never betray her. Not without irreparably destroying something vital in himself at the same time.

Stepping naked into the shower, Daneel stood. With a twist of his hand, the water began to flow. And it was scalding.


Daneel hissed.

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