A/N: 'Sup dawgs, it's Lacrima again. I would have had this up earlier, but procrastination is a delicious alternative do doing stuff. But it's up now, so you have to enjoy it. Otherwise I will track you down and do something not very nice. D
As per usual, neither me nor my compadre Legs own Merlin or anything of the sort. They usually leave that sort of thing to the professionals.
Party Down [Arthur]
I don't care how sexist and stereotypical it is, women are rabid when it comes to shoes.
"ARTHUR! ARTHURRRRR!" Morgana's voice, unusually shrill, hollered from down the hall. I put down the vegetable peeler and went to see what all the fuss was about. I walked in her room to see about fifty pairs of shoes strewn across her bedroom floor.
"What is it? Did you get lost in your walk-in wardrobe again?" I said dryly, thoroughly expecting the glare she shot me as she walked out of her wardrobe.
"Haha, very funny. You should be on television. Get Daddy to commission you your own show. Anyway, I need your unusually impeccable fashion sense, I'm having a MAJOR CRISIS HERE! So I was thinking this dress," she gestured pointlessly to the cute little black dress she was wearing "But is it a bit too predictable? Because I also have this one…" she held up one of two other dresses draped across her arm, "and this one." She held up the other.
I looked at the three dresses which my dear stepsister's life apparently hinged upon. Three cute little black dresses. Three almost identical cute black dresses. Seeing as this was the sort of decision that is almost impossible to make while still possessing testicles, I mentally removed them and pointed to the one her right hand was holding up.
"That one, definitely."
She smiled. "Yes, I was thinking that one, but wanted a second opinion. Now, the shoes…"
I sighed. The fifty or so pairs currently adorning her carpet were merely her black formal heels; a quarter of her gargantuan walk-in wardrobe was dedicated entirely to shoes, in every colour, style and degree of wear, from well-worn sandals to obscenely expensive pumps worn for about an hour and a half at a function before being pulled off in agony and replaced with a pair of well-worn sandals. There was no way I was going to sift through all of her goddamn shoes. I had carrot sticks to engineer.
"How about you come up with another shortlist, and I'll pick a pair out from them?" I said diplomatically, and returned to the kitchen.
Although Morgana put this much painstaking effort into her appearance when going up the street to buy some bread ("But am I going for the popping-in-on-the-way-home-from-my-successful-job look, or the lazing-around-at-home-so-a-bit-of-fun-with-the-man-behind-me-in-the-queue-wouldn't-hurt-anyone-teehee look? It's a very important distinction!"), and I usually steered well away from her at all costs at times like this, tonight was her very special birthday party and I had been roped into helping her prepare for it. Hence why I was making carrot sticks and waiting for the beetroot to come out of the oven so I could mush them into what has to be the greatest beetroot dip known to mankind.
Thank Christ no-one else was currently around to mock me for the greatest display of being whipped I had ever been sweet-talked into. Might have to leave the testicles off until the party starts…
Suddenly, I heard the front door open and in walked Gwen and Merlin carrying a massive box.
"WE'RE BAAAACK!" Gwen called. "We got the cake! It looks so deliciously ummy-nummy that I had to handcuff Merlin to the glove compartment to stop him sneaking off some of the icing."
Merlin's ears went red. I had no idea if handcuffs were actually involved, and I really didn't want to. I'd long nursed the theory that there was something going on between them, but even if they were secretly having it off I couldn't for the life of me imagine them doing anything kinky with handcuffs and chains and whips and whatever else crazy people liked to use in such bedroom shenanigans.
Either way, it wasn't really my business, and the oven timer had just gone ding! in that very delightfully distracting way.
"Arthur, I had no idea you could cook!" Merlin exclaimed, catching sight of me fussing around with the oven. "I always had you down as the sort of person who wouldn't know one end of a whisk from the other."
The truth is, I am. Morgs had left me incredibly detailed instructions (which included pictures and a reference to a blender as a "food-whizzy-musher", just in case I was a complete blithering idiot) on how to make her fantastic beetroot dip, and I was faithfully following it. The only other thing I could be trusted to do was cut up vegetables into little pieces.
"Oh yes," I said pompously, "Little do you know, dear Merlin, that I am indeed an excellent chef, and will be catering this entire event. On the menu will be gazpatcho soup for starters, followed by a palate-cleansing lavender gelato taster thingy, then duck à l'orange, and then quadruple-layered chocolate and cherry cream mousse for dessert. And an after-dinner mint."
Like anyone with half a brain cell, Merlin was completely not fooled by my attempt to sound like a chef.
"I'm impressed," he replied. "Not that you will be cooking that because it's frightfully obvious that you have no idea what you're on about, but that you can actually make up a menu like that off the top of your head."
"It was an amalgamation of what I had the last few times I went out to dinner," I admitted lamely.
"Well good job on the recall. You deserve a smiley-face sticker."
"But I want the one with the puppy dog!"
He laughed at my distressed pout and went off to help Gwen with the decorations.
xxx
Three hours later, the party was in full swing. I poured myself another glass of expensive French champagne and helped myself to one of the little mini-quiches one of Morgana's friends had brought. And another. And another. Then made it my life goal to track down this woman and give her a hug.
They were some amazing little quiches.
"Arthurrrr!" Morgana cried, sidling up beside me with a pretty young woman in tow. "I've been looking for you. This is Minnie. She thinks you're cute but doesn't have the balls to introduce herself, so I'm doing it for her."
Minnie blushed furiously and looked like she wanted to stab Morgana with a toothpick. I smiled.
"Hello Minnie. Have you tried one of these quiches? They're amazing."
She shook her head, still blushing. I placed the quiche I was about to eat in her hand, and I could have sworn she shivered when my hand brushed hers.
"Thanks…" she mumbled in reply. There was an awkward silence, and my small-talk instinct kicked in.
"So, how do you know my sister?"
"We, uh, we're both involved in Women's House Of Respect and Equality. It's a feminist group at our uni."
So this girl who seems to have turned to a bowl of giggling jelly in the presence of a man she finds attractive is apparently a feminist? Interesting.
"That's interesting. So do you do psychology as well?"
"No, I'm doing international studies."
"Oh really? I have a friend who does that. He's really into it. So this Women's House Of Respect and Equality sounds interesting, what does it involve?"
"Well, at the Women's House Of Respect and Equality, we meet up once a fortnight and just, y'know, talk about stuff. Like rights and relevant topical issues and stuff. It's really good."
"Well this Women's Hous—can I turn that into an acronym? It's really cumbersome to say every time. So this W.H.O.R.E…"
Wow, that is a terribly inappropriate acronym.
"We usually call it W.H.R.E. 'Cause the O is for 'of' it's usually a little letter and so not really in the acronym…" she replied, looking somewhat sheepish and weary. I couldn't shake the feeling that that acronym got pointed out on a regular basis. Still, it was rather amusing in a juvenile sort of way.
"Right. Makes sense. So, changing the subject rapidly to stop it getting awkward…" I smiled at her, but she still looked tense and uncomfortable. Resuscitating this conversation would take a lot of effort.
So, long story short, after about a minute of uncomfortable silence, I walked away. Yes, it was a dick move, but it was just way too awkward.
Waaaaaaay too awkward.
I took a sip of my neglected champagne and horseshoed myself into a nearby discussion about the recent economical downturn.
After a while, my craving for those amazing little quiches, as well maybe some cheese and biscuits and a little more champagne (nothing makes me want to quaff expensive alcohol more than a group of pseudo-intellectual psych students pretending they understand economics). I spied Morgana loitering next to a plate of camembert, and once she noticed me she came scurrying over.
"So apparently you royally cocked it up with Minnie," she said accusingly.
I raised my hands in apology. "Sorry. It got awkward."
"Apparently you subjected her to a short but very tedious and pointless conversation about her extra-curricular activities. And then you walked off."
"I agree. It was a horrible conversation, which wasn't improved by the fact that she seemed incapable of responding properly."
"She likes you, that's why. Did my declaration of this fact when I introduced you somehow go over that big head of yours? So obviously she's going to be a little shy around you; she's usually a lot of fun, really. So if you'd made a bit of an effort…"
"I did!"
"A proper one!"
I shrugged. "I find it annoying when girls get all flustered and shy around me. The giggling schoolgirl thing isn't attractive anymore. I prefer the more confident women. You know, the ones that can actually be interesting when making their first impression."
Morgana rolled her eyes.
"I'll keep that in mind for next time. Anyway, can you please help Merlin in the kitchen? Gwen is being viciously chatted up by this bloke and he needs an extra set of hands before he drops something again."
Not wanting to be held slightly responsible for the destruction of Morgs' stuff, I headed off to the kitchen to help.
"Arthur! Thank god!" Merlin exclaimed as I entered the chaotic kitchen. He scurried over and pushed a bowl and a spatula into my hands. "Can you mix this? I have to ice these cupcakes… thanks. No, be more gentle with it, you want to keep as much of the air in the mixture as possible."
Apparently, air was a main ingredient in whatever the hell I was mixing. I shrugged and slowed down.
"Sorry to pull you away from the party and all, but everything just got crazy the second Gwen went off with that guy. Bad timing, really. Oh well, I've got you now to keep me company." He looked up from the cupcake he was frosting the bujeesus out of and grinned.
I found his flippancy towards Gwen being hauled away from him somewhat surprising. And hadn't Morgs said that she was being chatted up? So either I have entirely the wrong end of the stick, or they had one weird-ass relationship.
Oh god, maybe they were swingers or polygamists or something.
I shook my head frantically to try and dislodge the bizarre mental image of Merlin involved in some sort of kinky bondage orgy. He must have noticed, for when I stopped he was looking at me curiously… and not noticing that he was inadvertently pouring chocolate syrupy stuff all over the kitchen bench.
"Um, the chocolate is going everywhere," I said, gesturing to the growing lake of brown goo that was just starting to waterfall over the side of the bench and onto the floor below.
"Oh shitty bollocks pants in a hat!" he exclaimed, and started mopping up the spill with a nearby teatowel.
I raised in an eyebrow. "Did you just say 'oh shitty bollocks pants in a hat'? Was that really the expletive you chose to use?"
"Uh, yes. I did. Shut up. I'm a little stressed out here." Merlin did indeed look a bit more than a little stressed out. He's been couped up in this kitchen for far too long.
"You know what? Forget the cupcakes. You go out there and have some fun. I'll finish them up."
He cocked his head to the side and looked at me. "Are you sure? I don't want you to miss out on the fun."
"I'll be fine, I've been out there too long. And am getting a bit tired of all those twatty psychology friends of Morgana's, to tell you the truth. They can be incredibly boring."
"Y'know, usually when you're trying to convince someone to do something, telling them why it sucks so much isn't a smart move."
"Oh shut up, Merlin and go have some fun. And try those little quichey things, they're bloody orgasmic."
"You like them? I made them. Mum's old recipe. They tend to go down really well."
Merlin made them? "What, really? But I thought that blonde girl brought them."
"No, she was just carrying them for me. I sure hope she isn't getting false accolades for it!" He gasped in mock indignation, then grinned his silly grin and went to go mingle with the other party-goers.
A life goal is a life goal, and just because it was Merlin and not some attractive blonde woman didn't mean I wasn't going to fulfil my promise.
By the time I caught up with him Merlin was engaged in what appeared to be a somewhat disinteresting conversation with a guy in a fedora. I went up behind him and wrapped my arms around him in a big hug.
"… Uh, Arthur? What are you doing?"
"I am quite obviously hugging you, you blithering idiot."
"No shit. Why?"
The tool in the fedora was staring at me weirdly.
"Because you made the awesome quiches, that's why."
"Aw, shucks."
Letting go, I sauntered back to the kitchen. I had cupcakes to decorate.
Aww~
See you kiddies next time!
- Lacrima.