if it's not a bother, can we know Morgan's reaction to us saying:
to me, your eyes are beautiful! I like to look at them and laugh if you want, but they give me a comfortable feeling, even when you act crazy, they shine in a way that takes my breath away, beautiful like jewels..
Let's say Morgan did something good that deserves praise and we being nice to them, R would probably never say such praise but humor me pls lol
You're never bothering me, and sorry I'm so away lately 💙
Careful hitting them with sentences like that, they might just return the favor. If this came out of nowhere they'll probably wonder if you've eaten too many fermented berries, but realizing you mean it would leave them wordless for a second. Then they'll tease the hell out of you, lmao. Is that so? Maybe I should act 'crazy' more often.
Thanks for the inspo, I did a lil thing below the cut. In which Morgan for once does a good thing on your request, despite being a red-eyed menace.
"It sure is going fast," you comment, arms out to help you keep balance.
Morgan hums in agreement. "It's been raining a lot more than usual lately. The rivers here tend to overflow."
As proof of the statement, the dense forest you're currently passing through offers no easy routes to follow. It's spring. Presumably a combination of rain and melting of snow has been a contributing factor to the abundance of inaccessible flowing water.
You've braved the weather so far, both you and Morgan's clothes still damp from your last exposure to the elements. You follow the river as best as you can, but presumably you'd be unable to cross the deeper waters without being swept up by the current.
Instead, you cross over the outsprings from said river. Though even here it's not easy to stay partially dry when wading through. It has evolved from discarding your boots, to discarding your pants, to considering simply giving up - but that would mean an even longer trek back, and Morgan loathes staying in one place for longer than absolutely necessary.
You look back at your companion once you've reached somewhat dry land again. Morgan wades through the same area you passed easily enough, reaching shore just after you. Their eight long legs gives them an annoying, and very much unfair advantage in this terrain.
"Would you please just let me carry you?" Morgan complains once again, impatiently watching you dry off and pull on your pants. "My legs are long enough, and your added weight will keep me better grounded here."
You start putting your boots back on and glance up at them. Red eyes are staring into you, and you can feel their gentle pull writhing under your skin, trying to encourage you to change your mind. You quickly shake off the sensation to shut them out.
"And your legs will continue to do just fine without me," you retort, ignoring the exasperated sigh Morgan heaves. You finish up and get to your feet. "Let's just move aroun-"
A loud yell from further up the river interrupts you. Morgan steps close to you instantly and looks around, disregarding the argument in favor of locating the threat. Another yell follows, but this time it's high-pitched, not unlike the yell of a child. Looking up, you find the source of the sound.
Rapidly flowing downstream, swept by the river, you see a pair of feather-clad arms waving around in the air, desperately trying to break the surface to breathe. The strong current is flowing over the small body of the child, forcing them along.
Further up the river you see a bigger bird-person giving chase, yelling in distress.
Morgan chitters and squints at the display, curling a pedipalp around your shoulder. "We should move."
You stare up at them, incredulous. "We should help!"
Morgan continues staring dead ahead a while, analyzing the pair. Then, their stoic expression cracks in a vicious smile.
"Well. We shouldn't get in the way of a hunter's noble quest, should we?" Morgan mocks and laughs lowly.
You look at the adult again and, true enough, a spear is firmly attached to his back, jumping around along his movements. If he's a hunter, you'd do well to be out of the way.
But, hunter or not, there is a child in danger. And he's rapidly approaching where you're standing. Morgan might be contend to let him float you by, but you're certainly not.
You think it through. You're no help going in after the kid yourself, you'll be swept under just the same. But if you want Morgan to do anything, you'll have to do so fast. You grit your teeth, prepared to strike a quick bargain.
"Get the kid safely out of the water, and I'll let you carry me until we're out of the forest," you state, glaring up at them.
Morgan cogs their head at you, and smiles wickedly. "I do adore your proposals. Hm. Make it until we reach the mountain."
"That's a day more away!" you protest.
Morgan casually glances up the river, watching the kid's fast approach. "So it is. And it's my final offer. The wet bird has almost landed."
You pinch the bridge of you nose and groan. Of course they'd take advantage of this. "Fine! Until the mountain. Just do something!"
Morgan eyes you again. Purposely drawing out their response. "Do you promise?"
The kid's almost there. You pull at Morgan's pedipalp in urgency, dragging them toward the river. "Yeah, sure, whatever, just grab him now!"
Morgan sweeps past you and strikes their legs into the water, barely making the split second the kid would have passed you by. Thankfully, their aim is true, and they have the kid securely grasped by the collar of his shirt. Morgan hisses, grips the ground beneath them for better purchase, and pulls.
In one smooth curve, the kid is hauled out of the water, and dragged onto the bank of the river. Morgan leaves him lying there, flat on the ground, and steps back over to you.
"Can we please go now?" They ask impatiently, shaking off the excess water. For good measure, they also wipe off their claws in the wet grass.
You ignore them, and quickly kneel by the child's side to check on him. It's a little hard to tell his specific age, but with his small size you presume he's very young, not even close to adolescent. He's not moving, so you put your head to his chest to listen for his breath. Though, a second later, he starts coughing roughly, and you move back to give him some space.
Another shrill yell follows, and you look up to see an adult male bird, presumably the kid's father, rushing towards you. His eyes are trained on his lost child gasping for air. Morgan instinctively hisses at his rapid approach. With practiced ease, you put a hand out in front of them, before they can make the situation worse.
The man falls on his knees next to his child, palming over his face, cooing and babbling apologies. Completely disregarding the potential enemy in the face of crisis. Reassured his son is alright, he holds him tight, and stares at you with beady eyes. "I - I told him to be careful and - blue moons. I'm so relieved. Thank you."
Morgan's hands find your shoulders shortly thereafter, a soft but firm grip. They're not keen to hang around too much longer. But this might just be an opportunity. Maybe Morgan should have a taste of what happens when you try to do good.
"Don't thank me, I didn't do anything," you explain, pointing over your shoulder at your arachnid companion, hovering inches behind you. "They got your kid out of the water."
The parent frowns and looks up at Morgan then, visibly struggling to meet whatever facial expression Morgan has decided is appropriate to wear. You don't blame him. Taking their agitated stare head-on is not for those faint of heart.
The parent subtly leans his child behind him as this goes on, while his son grips his shirt tightly. Nevertheless, the parent nods in acknowledgement, and when he speaks it almost sounds sincere. "Thank you, then."
Morgan sneers at his gratitude. "You're fortunate my sentry still has a soft heart."
With that, they promptly lift you off the ground, and sets you on their back, quickly moving away from the couple remaining on the bank of the river. Your protest is ignored, and you're have to hold on to Morgan's torso for balance as they rapidly leave the scene. Suppose that's all the interaction you'll get out of them.
"That was good," you say after a bit, watching the forest slowly pass you by. Morgan remains quiet, wading through the deep, overflown waters with relative ease. You keep your feet resting high on their sides to keep dry. "Hey. You did a good thing."
"You made me save the child of a hunter. He'll grow up learning the best ways to kill me," Morgan chuckles darkly. "I only made sure we'll have another enemy to worry about."
"So, what, you would have just let a kid drown?" you challenge.
Morgan shrugs. "They would have done the same to me."
"You don't know that."
"I do, actually. My eyes are red, sentry," Morgan counters. "Generally my kind's not someone they wish to save. But especially not someone like me."
"And why does 'red' have to mean anything in this?" you ask. "It's just a darn color."
Morgans hand's absentmindedly trace over your arms around their torso as they think for a beat. You've half a mind to move them, but the warmth of their hands are strangely soothing.
"Truthfully, it makes no difference. You're right. It's just a color. But common-folk seem to believe that it makes me exceptionally nasty," Morgan explains. Then they chuckle. "Well, they're right, of course. So maybe there's some logic to it."
"No logic, except whatever's been cooked up in that frazzled mind of yours," you argue. "I don't think your eyes do that."
Morgan chitters. "Then I'm eager to hear; what do you think?"
"I think your eyes are great, actually," you state. "Pretty when you're calm, pretty fucking scary when you need them to be."
Morgan turns their head to stare at you for a second. Then they splutter, falling into genuine laughter. Their laugh is raspy and low, causing the hairs on the back of you neck to stand on end. "My dearest. You think my eyes are pretty?"
You groan and tug at their hair. "Not what I meant. Don't let it get to your head."
"Oh, it's already deep, deep in there. This will be with us forever," Morgan purrs, leaning back into your hand. Then they focus on you, a more calm look in their eye. You find the red shining there again, obnoxiously alluring as always. "But just so I know for sure. Could you come a little closer and tell me again?"
You grab their chin and forcibly turn their face away from you. "Focus on the road, you weirdo. You're driving."
"And I think your eyes are pretty, too," Morgan teases, and resumes your journey through the wet forest.
