‘Dearest rabbit’, Gaster smiled at the human’s term of ‘endearment’. How interesting. The very notion of a predator chasing his prey with no intention of devouring them, with only the wiles of a beast content to watch the rabbit dart across the unforgiving tundra was one he’d some difficulty comprehending. Gaster wondered, given Merlin’s history, just how forthcoming those sentiments were, he wondered if Merlin chased his heels for the thrill? He wondered how much of those kind, welcoming smiles were genuine. The skeleton monster eased back against the post which had afforded the pair such an optimal view of the sky before he took another long, savoring sip of his tea.
* “I am a rabbit?” He queried aloud, nursing the rim of his cup and the sweet, lingering tang of warm honey. It was a pleasant change from black coffee, very much akin to the hopeful rays of the sun as it broke against his tongue in small, pleasant increments. The skeleton’s gaze traveled along the verdant landscape, and followed the withering brambles and falling apple blossoms. Spring was a many splendored thing; born and gone in the very same breath, and all the made all the more beautiful for its fleeting nature.
It was only with Merlin’s fussing (too preoccupied threading flowers into his duster’s lapel) that Gaster found his attention drawn back, immersed in a rippling warmth, to the unkempt mess of hair and finely sewn robes that had settled at his side. It was easy enough for the human to write himself off as some dreg, it was preferable to the gilded privilege he’d surely come from.
* “If you are a wolf, should the Rabbit not be fearful?”
His voice carried a touch of amusement, of that honey which lingered along the immaculate rim of his tea cup. It was an honest enough question. The young Skeleton knew better than most other monsters that Merlin, while a hurricane of misdirection and mystery, meant only to do good.
Ah, but the path to hell was paved in good intentions–
The touch of death lingered on the tips of his finger bones. His was a kind,
a merciful bringer of D E A T H.
* “The wolf is, more often than not
hungry for much more than just T I M E.”
-The wolf’s tireless pursuit of its prey was just one of many thematic threads his lord, smirking as though he held every answer to the universe in a hoity-toity handbook held under his arm, would weave to packs of acolytes that wandered too near to his courtyard lectures. “This world of ours belongs to the strong, my friends!” Memory could not curdle the contempt with which the strategist, hardened by his share of past conflicts throughout the history of their gutless kingdom, spoke to the easily impressed, but directed towards royal-blooded pupil from all the way across the plaza where Merlin spent most of his brief rendezvous with the sunlight--playing monkey in the middle with a couple of dunderheads who always left their lunch stains on his tomes. “To become stronger, we devour the weak. That--is the ritual of our existence.” Even if the ritual required a recently stolen tome? He’d thought at the time while playing tug of war with Oleander’s sunburnt ears. “Will you be a rabbit or a wolf in this ritual? Only time will tell.” But not enough time for Merlin to stifle a snort and an inquiry aimed for that complete cup, Oleander, about if he thought Lord Leo was always on about rabbits because they must have stored a few carrots up his ass--contrary to his prior headcanon involving his lord and a lancing accident. At least the thought tickled his tormentors enough to fumble his tome enough for him to reclaim it from the boughs of a cherry sapling, anyway.
-It’s difficult to drown a wolfish grin when watching a skeleton sup from a cup. No lips certainly make an amusing sight out of the mundane activity of warming one’s guts in the coolness of a freshly sprung Spring morning. Then again, skeletons don’t exactly have those either.- You--are adorable. -Aiding the correction of his company’s curiosity with the clink of a small spoon against the side of his teacup as a judge might hammer out a decree, Merlin slides amused fingers along the side of his face as if he could wipe away the pleasant tingle of secondhand embarrassment. Truly there are times when the skeleton does seem a tad lagamorpha for his own good, Those teeth though--he can’t hardly disentangle the sight from those buck-toothed brownies lounging in the fields he’d passed by many a time on a horse bound for the countryside. Whenever he stopped to stare too long, they’d give a sharp leap up into the air, legs nearly tagging themselves along the spine before they’d zigzag through the tall grass and disappear underground. Just the thought of Gaster doing the same nearly has him in stitches. Still, if he did spook so easily, Merlin supposes he’d be down a tea partner. Ah--sacrifices. At least this brave bunny lets him close enough to litter its fur with sweet blossoms.
Resisting a pressing urge to gnaw on the edge of glass himself just to clue his clueless companion in on the source of his mirth, Merlin manages to smooth the fraying edges of his composure long enough to allude.- Well, are you afraid, Prince of a Thousand Enemies~? -A hawk’s distant cry shrills faintly, and the thicket quiets down--small creatures going still, becoming one with the landscape.- When they catch you, they’ll kill you. But first, they must catch you. -With a smile like thinly spread honey, he places his fingers at the cuff of the skeleton’s sleeve before tugging a sparkling handkerchief free from the opening.- So be cunning, and full of tricks ~ -Chuckle chiming, he dabs at a golden dribble before it can drip off the skeleton’s jaw and spoil his coat.- Well, you’re not wrong, friend. Between you and me, I could really wolf down a pastry right about now’o’clock.
You certainly make that glass look delicious though. Consider my breakfast options--reconsidered.
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