"Where's Morro?"
I looked up from my drawings and scanned the horizon, then shrugged nonchalantly to Garmadon, who was sitting on the bench beside me. Both of us looked like we'd come straight out of a marathon or a boxing match— while we weren't physically harmed in any way, our appearances could really only be summed up on one word: tattered. And tired. And taxed. Okay, I suppose was more than one applicable word, as long as it started with the letter T. Regardless, Garmadon and I had smiles on our faces, relieved to at last be sitting in peace after the long and brutal walk to the park. My poor blueprints (which I was currently transferring onto proper blue gridded paper) would probably have been torn to shreds, had I not kept them safely tucked underneath my lab coat.
Suddenly, a blur of green streaked past, followed several seconds afterward by a hoard of smiling, sweating children of varying heights and speeds. One or two dropped behind the pack, letting their fatigue take over, but a raspy teenage voice taunted them onwards.
"YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME, YOU SCURVY COWARDS! YE BE DEALING WITH TH' MOST FEARED PIRATE IN THE LAND, CAPTAIN MORRO, THE SAILER OF THE SKY! GIVE UP NOW BEFORE I CAUSE A HURRICANE!" The dialogue was followed by mimic-pirate laughter and a few defiant shouts from the oddly assembled band of children. Garmadon glanced over at me.
"Found him," he commented casually, and returned to his book, which he was making surprisingly fast progress on. I tucked my blueprints inside my coat and chose to watch the passing spectacle.
"You'll never get away with this, Captain Morro!" shouted one brave lad at the front of the pack. Sweat ran down his brow so heavily that even I could see it from my resting spot several yards away, but he didn't seem out of energy in the slightest. "Give back the treasure or we'll have to fight you!"
"Yeah!" shouted another girl, catching up from the back of the crowd. She was another one of the taller kids who had an advantage in the game due to their age. She tossed a broken branch to the boy, which he brandished at Morro confidently. The Master of Wind laughed and shook his head, still flying out of reach of the children.
"I warned ye not to mess with me! Now ye shall face the consequences! THE WRATH OF THE SEA IS UPON YOU!" He raised his hands dramatically and starting swirling them around. The gang of children shrieked as a small tornado formed in front of them— small being about the size of a tree. "Captain Morro" laughed and zoomed through the air as the kids tried to dodge the harmless gusts of wind, which occasionally focused on one victim and messed up their hair or clothes. I felt a small twang of empathy for all those who would need to restyle their hair later, although it was nice knowing that in the Departed Realm, none could fall out.
"Get him, Captain Twain!" I caught a shyer voice nervously exclaim to the leader of the kids. I glanced upward, then did a double-take upon seeing that the voice came from a young boy with short black hair and rectangular glasses. It was the child that I'd caught spying on me two days ago. I watched him intently: he seemed to be highly enjoying the game, and wishing to vocalize his excitement, but his shyness mostly overrode his youthful energy. While he ran about aimlessly to dodge one of the mini-tornados (of which there were now many), I tried to estimate his age. He appeared to be about seven years old, but from the way his eyes pierced through everything around them, I thought it highly probable that he was an old soul. Whether figuratively or literally or both, I couldn't yet determine.
The noises faded as Morro and the children moved on to another section of the park, which was by now a perfectly normal occurrence. They'd been running in circles for… well, long enough that the original number of children he'd rounded up had grown considerably, and that was despite the number of kids that had to leave for one reason or another. I wondered if the game might not go on all day— though, looking down at my blueprints and then at my peacefully relaxing companion, I decided that might not be the worst case scenario. As temporary silence fell upon us once again, I took my white pencil back up and continued to transfer designs over to the still-crisp blue paper. The texture of that paper was etched into my memory permanently, to the point where the nostalgia of it had almost faded into meaninglessness because there were too many memories and too many emotions associated with it for any particular one to stand out. However, I still didn't catch myself in time before I slipped off into a short spell of reminiscing.
That paper was what had first caught my attention as a young child, when the thin white papers of my books had been already been read over and over again and I sought out something else to do. That paper was what had occupied me for hours on end after tiresome five-hour classes which could have easily been taught in two, and during the parties and awards ceremonies I'd been forced to attend, which had been few and far between. That paper was what drew me away from my home and into the forest where I was to spend the majority of my life, during which that specific shade of blue had been almost all that I saw. That paper was the birthplace of my greatest invention— my son, Zane, who was associated with almost every single positive memory in my lifetime. That paper was the spawning point of the falcon, which served both personal and practical uses and still continued to do so back in Ninjago. That paper had been my only company while I was stranded as a prisoner in the lighthouse, and the tool which for over a decade spawned only two types of projects: evil or failed. That paper had accompanied me even into my dying days, when I would frequently glance up from it and open my mouth to try to enter conversation with one or more of the others, only to bail and retreat quickly back into the safety of my work.
I shook my head, reprimanding myself gently for dozing off into my memories when it wasn't necessary— but then a thought struck me. Might my spell of daydreaming not be finished quite yet? After all, that blue paper had been the mark of my lifetime— the texture had accompanied me as frequently as the sound of the ticking clock— but it was now resting in my lap, with fresh pencil marks and ideas brandishing its surface. I slowly took in this fact, then started to smile to myself. This paper did not have the symbol of my past. True, the memories of the past would remain linked to those blue grids forever, but I would make new memories to go with them. Soon, the excitement of Tiya's birth would be added to the melting pot of emotions— and who was to know what might come next? Departed folk may not have had any apparent need for inventions, but I still had within me the need to invent. And whether that was a good or a bad thing was entirely up to me. The thought may have been simple, but it astounded me to actually dwell on— as one of my more favored college professors had once said, "What is obvious to the average person is often a shocking discovery to the genius."
"Something bothering you?"
I looked up, startled out of my thoughts. Garmadon's voice had always sounded gruff to me, despite most of his words being peaceful and his tone gentle as a lamb.
"No, not at all. I suppose I just drifted off," I said, reassuring him with a smile that I was all right. He nodded and stretched.
"Fair enough. I caught myself losing focus a couple times, as well," he responded, and settled back into his original position. He seemed very content with sitting in silence, and after the racket that it had taken to drag Morro away from the house and to the park, I didn't blame him. That boy had enough energy to fuel a modern, power-draining, inefficient nindroid for days. I had almost considered purchasing a leash to present to him as a joke, but decided against it as I couldn't be sure that Garmadon wouldn't take the idea seriously.
I turned back to my precious blueprints and continued transferring things proportionally to the paper. Until the next round of children yelling faintly in the distance, the only sounds to be heard were the brittle pencil against its paper, the rhythmic flipping of pages, and the occasional rustling of the leaves as Morro's faraway game caused a butterfly effect of wind to pass through our area.
—
(A/N: HI first off I'm super sorry if it feels like I've been emphasizing Dr. Julien's past too much, I swear that was not my intention and if things go according to plan, soon the focus will shift to Garmadon and Morro X"D Uhhh hope you enjoyed the chapter, reviews are great, seriously I can't express how much they help my stress levels when I'm freaking out over my writing... Like I am now, which is why I might seem a little off. Fun fun. l'D See you guys next chapter, until then I'll be crying in the corner over plastic bricks, colorful toy horses, and fully grown lawyers. Peace out.)