mycursedface | (no subject)

(no subject)

Medusa has never liked Milliways winters. Cold, snow, ice, cold. With living snakes combining with her mind, she feels herself growing slower, duller; with metal feathers growing out of her skin, it's only her preternatural healing that stops her from getting frostbite every time she goes outside.

It is morning, high mid-morning, with the sun streaming through the window. The very, very shut window - even Medusa's objections to lack of fresh air falter in the face of cold. The Gorgon herself is perched on a chair in front of the glass, staring out across the white landscape as her snakes absorb as much sunlight as possible.

(she is not alone, either; sprawled out in her lap and overcome with the bliss of constant petting is one Master Shreddie. Sun and scritches, nothing better in the whole multiverse)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sam shakes his head, unsure of how to explain.

"He's very young, in some ways. In a lot of ways. It's why the arguments - that, and I'm a stubborn bastard and I put my foot in it more often than I'd like."

And sometimes he consciously decides to.

Curiously, "You're not like that with me."

"You," Sam says firmly, "make far more sense than he does."

Cal, he sometimes feels, has turned incomprehensibility into an art form.

"Oh," she says, her smile oddly shy and pleased. "Well that's something."

He laughs a little, kissing her skin.

"I really do love you, you know."

"Yeah, I do," Medusa says, dipping her head to rest against his. "And I love you, too."

"Mmm, good." He nudges his head against hers, pressing a kiss to the bridge of her nose as her snakes settle back down.

"...You could come and join in with Cal and me sometime, if you wanted. It'd be fun."