fandomhighdorms | The Deck, Saturday Late Afternoon

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The Deck, Saturday Late Afternoon

Last night had been distinctly odd, but how it ended had taken some of the edge off, at least. If Arthur didn't know better, he'd almost even be able to convince himself the day was going to be sort of all right. Or, at least, not completely insane.

Instead, he was going to take a seat on the deck with a bowl of fruit and some bread for a late breakfast. Uther Pendragon taught great lessons about paranoia.

He was just going to be pleased that at least he hadn't wound up sleeping in the preserve last night.

[[ open, especially to any blonde spawn that might want to assault him ]]

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Katchoo was a little less succinct, even if you discounted the coughing and swearing fit that came when she choked on her cigarette smoke.

"What. The. Frikkin'. HELL."

"I don't think I've ever even met you," he informed Katchoo, mostly because he had to voice his complete confusion at someone who might get it.

"Yeah, and you're male," Katchoo said, gawking at Morgana. Then at Arthur. Then at Morgana, who was smirking. Hush, the logic worked out just fine to her. "So there's no frikkin' way."

"..."

Arthur attempted to make sense of all of that, and found there was a rather sensible logical flaw in all of it. "It would be hard," he said, "To produce a child with you if I wasn't male."

Morgana rolled her eyes. "Oh, great, here we go again. Blah blah blah, impossible, blah blah how the hell, blah blah . . ."

"Well, it is impossible," Arthur told the child, who was by far the most frustrating he'd encountered to date. "Considering that we've never met. But that appears to be the word of the day."

Katchoo was white-knuckle gripping the armrest of her lounge chair with the hand that wasn't threatening to break her cigarette.

"This island hates me," she griped. "Whose sick joke is this, and can I rip their face off?"

"Trust me, if I find out, I'll be more than pleased to help you," Arthur said, with a sort of infinite patience lite. "Can you please sit down?" The child was very, very loud.

"Don't wanna," Morgana grumbled. "I wanna help Mom rip faces off!"

"First, we'll eat," Arthur started. Patience. Patience. "Then, we'll see about-- arrangements. Then," he continued, "The three of us can all go and rip faces off."

". . . three of us?" Katchoo asked, sitting up and shooting both of them a Look. "Excuse me? Who's dragging me into this?"

God help them. He was going to kill every single person on this island for making him deal with this.

"Apparently," Arthur started, "She's your child, too. What, were you planning to leave her out in the cold?"

"She's not gonna do it," Morgana interjected, nonplussed. "She always says she will but she's not as mean as you guys like to let 'em think."

Arthur blew out a breath of air. He supposed there was some use to having a child translator on your hand. "We'll leave that up to her, shall we?" he said, in some attempt at tact.

He did have it, you know.

Interestingly, it was that comment that did it for Katchoo. People weren't supposed to know that, dammit.

"Hey, keep it down, will ya?" she asked when she came stalking over. "Geez! Nobody needs to know that part!"

"Don't worry," Arthur said, dryly (and, really, a little nasally), "Your secret's safe with us."

He had an interesting way of straddling the fence between really camp and really serious.

"Yeah, well, as long as I don't hear it on the --"

Katchoo paused and looked at him, now, kind of horrified.

"Aw, hell. You're on radio on Wednesdays. You're -- oh, SONOFABITCH."

"...What?" he asked, pointedly. Very pointedly. "I'm Prince Arthur of Camelot, and if that's an insult to my late mother, I'd like you to take it back."

"No, she's just complaining again." Morgana huffed a disgusted sigh at them both. "She wasn't kidding about not liking you, huh?"

"She's never met me," Arthur argued back with the child.

At which point he realised he was arguing with a six-year-old. (Okay, Arthur knew very little about kids and ages. Could you blame him?)

With the kids he seemed to have? Not really, no.

"Yeah, well, that's not gonna change after she does." Morgana perched herself on the edge of a nearby lounge chair and affected a knowledgeable air. "She said somethin' 'bout squirrels and rum having to do with it though."

It wasn't his fault he was exceptionally clever and his children matched that.

"Of course they did," he said. "We'll have to see about feeding you. And finding you somewhere to spend the night..."

He cast a look at Katina, clearly asking for some kind of assistance. Not that he needed it.

"Aw, geez, no," Katchoo yelped. "You've gotta be kidding me, right? I'm not babysitting material!"

"I have another one," Arthur pointed out, "Who's quite competitive." Actually, he had two other ones, but let's not mince words. "I'll be happy to take her again tomorrow, and provide any assistance you might need."

Including stabbing himself in the head to get away from all of this. His life was easier back when he was too irresponsible to have a conscience.

"I don't need your help," Katchoo grumbled, one hand going to her head in a futile attempt to stave off the oncoming headache. "Even if I had a kid, which I don't --" this, despite Morgana's growl and surprisingly formidable little glare -- "it wouldn't need a guy around, thanks."

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