I casually passed by the large, sliding-glass doors to my backyard for the umpteenth time in an hour. As every time before, a teenage figure sat criss-crossed on the grass, facing away from the house. I was honestly still shocked over how affected he was by the events just a few hours prior. He didn't seem like the type to be able to walk all the way home in silence even if he wanted to, much less walk home in silence and then sit still for an hour doing seemingly nothing to entertain himself.
"Leave him be, Dr. Julien. He needs time to reflect."
I turned around to face Garmadon and sighed, knowing he was probably right. I just couldn't stop myself from worrying for Morro, despite the fact it was he to blame for almost crashing into me. (Well, mostly— a nagging voice in the back of my mind couldn't help but remember that Garmadon's plan had been involved, too, but I chose not to think about that at the moment.) I shuffled my feet nervously and cleared my throat, deciding for some reason to change the subject from Morro to one that made me almost as uncomfortable.
"Right. Um, if you don't mind me asking…" I fidgeted with the sleeves on my lab coat. Gosh darnit, even back in Ninjago I didn't remember having this much trouble talking to other adults. Perhaps it was different one-on-one: though I'd spent at least a little quality time with the ninja, I'd never really had a heart-to-heart with Wu or Misako, or Garmadon for that matter. Adults were just more difficult to talk to, for some reason.
My companion raised an eyebrow at me and I realized I hadn't finished speaking. I cleared my throat again.
"If you don't mind me asking… why is it that you always address me by title? That is, you don't need to call me 'doctor' every time, but I'm also not sure— er, well, if you'd prefer for me to address you as Sensei, which I haven't been doing. I don't wish to be disrespectful, and I'm sorry if I have been unintentionally."
Garmadon blinked in confusion, then gave a confused half-smile.
"My apologies if I made you think something like that. It hadn't even crossed my mind. I do usually refer to others by their formal titles in the presence of children—" he hesitated, clearly deciding whether or not to make a remark about Morro— "but given the circumstances, I don't mind informality." On second thought, he laughed and added, "If you're wondering why I go by my last name as opposed to my first, it's because I thought it might get confusing having two Lloyds around."
I felt my own eyes light up in delighted surprise. "Lloyd is named after you?! I had no idea! And to think that all those years, I never even considered… hah!" I trailed off, amused by my own thoughts.
Garmadon looked a little lost in thought himself; he grinned and said in something of a wistful voice, "Indeed… it was Misako's idea. To name him after me, that is."
I grinned. I recognized his sense of nostalgia. The time of year was definitely influencing it, but it felt good to see him happy all the same. I suddenly remembered my reason for bringing up the topic in the first place and cleared my throat.
"Right, well, I'm glad we could clear this up. It really is quite charming that Lloyd is your namesake… anyhow, if you wish, just Julien is fine from now on," I said with a hopeful smile.
Garmadon hesitated, then moved backwards a few paces and sat down on the couch, moving aside the blanket Morro had been using. "Actually," he said, "I was wondering… It's completely understandable if you don't wish to share, but I don't believe I ever actually learned your first name."
"Oh!" I exclaimed in surprise, and then sat down on the couch myself, habitually lowering my own height to match that of my companion's. "Actually," I said sheepishly, "that's not a fact anybody knows, except for Zane."
"If you'd rather not tell—" he said quickly, but I cut him off.
"No, no, it's not that it's a secret. Just, erm… well, nobody's ever asked, actually. I guess I was always something of a loner back in Ninjago." I chuckled, embarrassed— goodness, my self-confidence had apparently gone on vacation— and looked down at my feet.
"It's Sanjay," I said, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. It had been a long time since I said my name out loud. Even when I was a child, I hardly ever introduced myself to people. There simply hadn't been many occasions where I met strangers— which I had been perfectly content with. "Sanjay Aran Julien."
"Sanjay," he mused. "It fits you. Although it does make me think of Jay."
I grinned at his comment. "Well, I always liked Jay, so I'll take that as a compliment."
"Yes, he's got quite the inventive mind. I can see why you two got along," he said. Suddenly, he was interrupted by a quiet tapping noise. I turned around to see Morro standing outside, knocking uneasily on the glass doors to get our attention. I walked over, realized they were locked, and undid the latches to let him in.
"Couldn't he have phased through?" Garmadon asked, for some reason to me instead of to Morro himself.
"Everything here is as non-solid as us, which is why we still interact with things as if they are physical. In other words, no phasing," I replied, glancing over at Morro and deciding not to add on "otherwise I would've just phased through that grocery cart."
"So…" Morro said, probably never having had an emotional breakdown before and not knowing how exactly to bounce back from it. Luckily, Garmadon spoke up.
"I'm going to start cooking dinner with all that delicious food we got… I could use a hand with the preparation, though."
"Just tell me what to do," I said eagerly, accompanying him to the kitchen.
"I'm bored and want the food to be ready sooner, so I guess I'll join," Morro said, following me with feigned boredom. He still looked a little uneasy.
"Yeah, right. You just want to learn the sacred arts of cooking so you can use them against me," Garmadon commented teasingly. Morro's face contorted into a much more casual state in response to the joking.
And this is the man who said Kite Duels were silly, I thought to myself with glee. I grabbed a purifying towel from the countertop and wiped my hands off; afterwards, Morro and Garmadon did the same.
"So what are we making?" I asked, finding some amusement in how small the kitchen was for three people to be cooking at once.
Well, looking at the things you bought," Garmadon said, browsing the now-full cupboards and fridge, "I'm seeing all the ingredients for Chicken Pot Pie here, so I'm going to take that as a cue."
Morro smirked. "Uh-huh. Chicken Pot Pie. That's real sacred, Sensei. Careful or I might steal your magic chicken skills," he said, holding up his hands to imitate claws. Garmadon waved him off.
"Even the simplest dishes can be turned into something marvelous if you know the secrets to enhance them," he said, pulling out a pre-made pie crust from the pantry.
"That sounds like something your brother would say," the teen scoffed.
"No, my brother would sound more like…" Garmadon said, then turned around and pretended to stroke a beard. In a rather mocking Wu voice, he said, "The dishes of the strong are the same as the dishes of the weak. The only difference between them is the amount of wisdom cooked in. And butter. Hoo-wah!" He then struck a fake fighting pose.
Morro doubled over laughing, and I tried not to snicker. "That's rather harsh," I said, opening the package of crust while Garmadon went and turned on the oven.
"Ah, we're brothers. Trust me, his impression of me is no better." He paused, his expression unreadable, and then asked Morro (who was clutching his sides in a giggle fit) to fetch him a stick of butter. Then he turned to me.
"And Dr. Jul—" He stopped himself and smiled. "Sanjay, if you could start chopping vegetables, that would be very helpful."
Morro spun around from the fridge. "Wait, is his name not Julien?!"
"W-well, Sanjay is my first name," I laughed, walking over and grabbing some celery stalks and a knife.
Morro grinned evilly. "You fool," he said to Garmadon, "You've just given me so many new nicknames to work with."
Garmadon slapped his forehead as Morro gleefully set down the butter and pulled out a block of cheese from the fridge.
"Ooh, can we put cheese in this thing? I bet it'd taste awesome," he said. I never quite got over the contrast of his childlike speech and his raspy voice. Forget about the fact that he was nearly a century old— when he wasn't stealing ancient scrolls or trying to kidnap my roommate's son, he acted like a child trapped in a teenager's body.
"We shouldn't mess with the recipe," Garmadon responded as he got out a bag of carrots and a chicken breast. "But if you want to slice up some cheese to put on the side, that would probably be fine." He looked at me questioningly.
"I don't see why not. Cheese makes everything better," I said with a smile.
"All right!" Morro said, walking over to grab a knife from the drawer.
"Um, no," Garmadon said, plucking the knife out of his hand as he picked it up. "Something tells me you and sharp objects are a bad combination." Morro pouted but stepped aside and let his elder do the cutting. I resisted making a childish joke and instead focused on my work, finding the repetitive motions of slicing and chopping rather calming. When I was finished with my task, I was handed the bag of carrots to start on.
We worked for a while longer, with Garmadon instructing our every move ("Melt the butter into a bowl—" "Morro, stop stealing bites of food, you'll ruin your appetite—" "For goodness' sake, cut away from you, you're going to hurt yourself") and Morro occasionally making a snarky comment or suggestion for another ingredient. Slowly, the dish and several probably unnecessary side-dishes started coming together. It was no mechanical invention, but the process was still rather satisfying. I could see why Garmadon enjoyed it so much, although I had little hope that I would ever catch up to his skill.
Finally, the pie was in the oven, and all that was left to do was wait. Everyone was fairly hungry; between all of us waking up even later than usual, and how long everything else had taken, we hadn't ended up eating lunch.
"I hate being a ghost," Morro muttered as he sauntered into the living room, looking for something to occupy his mind with other than hunger. I shrugged.
"There are good sides to it. By the way, you can borrow any of my books, if you want," I said, watching him browse the large shelves that were scattered along the walls.
"Books are for old people," he said, but he stopped to look at the cover of one called The Cerberus Dragons.
"So borrow the book, old man," Garmadon teased, coming out of the kitchen and joining us in the living room. Morro hesitated, then took the book over to the glass doors.
"Where are you going?" Garmadon asked.
"Outside. To read in the tree. Like a not old person. Because old people can't climb trees. And I'm going to. So I'm not old," Morro said, and did exactly that, shutting the glass doors behind him.
I chuckled. "I hope he likes the book. That's one of my favorites— of the fictional genre, that is."
"You read a lot," Garmadon said, whether as a question, comment, or teasing insult I couldn't quite tell. So I quietly walked over to the shelf Morro had been browsing and grabbed Rubber Bands and Paper Clips: Repurposing Simple Inventions, thinking highly of his idea to distract himself.
"Would you mind if I took a look at one of these?" Garmadon asked, clearly interested in one of the books in the section.
"Of course!" I exclaimed, a little giddy that I was going to have someone to talk to about all the literature which I'd read and reread so many times over. I tried to follow his line of sight to figure out which book he was looking at. "What's caught your eye?"
He walked over and pushed aside an old copy of Moby Brick, then held out the object of interest. It was a large, red volume with gold letters reading The Art of Peace.
"Ah, one of the classics," I said. "I'll admit, I never did get around to finishing that one. Not really my area of expertise, I suppose."
"I always wanted to read it. Never had the time," he responded, and settled down on the couch with the tome clutched to his chest like a treasure. I sat beside him, making a mental note to possibly invest in another couch or chair for the room— although admittedly, I didn't mind the current situation— and started reading through my book.
Absorbed in our thoughts, all three members of our odd little clan sat in silence for the next forty minutes as the warm aroma of dinner starting wafting through the house.
—
(A/N: Fun fact about the book Morro picks up: it's the same book that's referenced in another one of my [non-Ninjago] fanfictions, which I wrote MONTHS ago but haven't posted yet [though I'm almost done editing it, so fingers crossed]! Also, self-projecting onto fictional characters is therapeutic. As always, reviews are food for my muse. :D)