Perseverate v. 1: to repeat or recur persistently, 2: to go back over previously covered ground
Morgana took a long pull from her tankard. The ale tasked foul, and she had found years ago that the amount needed for it to take its purported effect was so great that it was easily outweighed by the other side effects: namely, the sour aftertaste that lingered for days. Still, she emptied the vessel and signaled for another.
Across the table, her sister did not drink. When the waitress had approached their table, a single look had been enough to stun the poor girl into silence. Even with her wings folded behind her and without her massive armor, Kayle still cast an imposing figure. Morgana had likely been nicer to the girl than she would have been otherwise. She had been on the receiving end of those looks many times in the past, and was honestly surprised the mortal had the fortitude to bring Morgana her drinks with such efficiency.
Kayle had sat in sanctimonious silence while Morgana emptied three tankards, occasionally turning her disapproval to the target-rich environmental of the rest of the bar. The lighting, of course, was below par, as a pointed glance at the murky magelights informed her, and the thoroughly human smells of grease and cooking meat were so obviously distasteful, as evidenced by the slight wrinkling of her nose. And, heaven forbid, a table by the window actually dared tolaugh in her presence.
Morgana had not chosen this tavern specifically to irk her, but she allowed herself a smirk at the results nonetheless.
"Why have you asked me here, Morgana?" Her sister's voice came out clipped and precise, easily cutting through the noise. "We have little left to talk about, after all these years."
Morgana supposed that was true. She knew her sister better than she knew herself. So she also knew that choosing this setting would only repel her. Perhaps the fallen angel had intended to sabotage this insane attempt to restart some relationship not involving swords and spells.
Still, she had a question that had been bouncing around in her head for the last few months, one she really had no one else she could ask. Perhaps the alcohol had more of an effect on her than she'd imagined, or perhaps it was simply that she had wanted it to that allowed it to loosen her otherwise controlled tongue.
"Do you ever feel like you're trapped in a time loop?" she asked her sister, stretching her wings unconsciously and taking another swig from her cup. "That you rush to each match despite knowing it will be just the same as the one before, and will in reality accomplishing nothing at all?"
Kayle, of course, simply stared at her with that judgmental gaze that had at some point become her resting expression.
Sighing, Morgana emptied this tankard as if she'd not already drank enough to kill an ordinary mortal already and set it down with finality. She waved away the girl when she inquired if the angel would be having another. "Forget I said anything," Morgana mumbled, chair scraping against the floor as she pushed herself up.
Her sister did not look at her, instead signaling their waitress to bring Morgana another mug. Morgana didn't sit, but did raise an eyebrow.
"These mortals do not understand," Kayle stated slowly, "it is as if time is a resource to them, and one always in short supply."
She stopped until Morgana had cautiously retaken her seat and busied herself with yet another ale.
"Just last match, LeBlanc mentioned the span of her plots, and…"
Kayle continued speaking, voice still strictly controlled, but with a note that reminded Morgana of times ages ago. And while she listened raptly, grateful to for once hear her own thoughts on her sister's lips, she also reminisced of times when she thought the angel could not still hurt her so deeply.