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Strokes of Genius, Wednesday (October 28)

No, sleep had not happened last night. Katchoo hadn't expected it to.

You'd think she'd be in a worse mood today because of that, rather than just a subdued one, but she seemed to be tapped out on anger for the time being and yes, that was weird.

So, quiet today, the slumped-behind-the-counter variety, and staring at the blank page of the sketchbook in front of her, waiting for her hand to want to guide the pencil across the paper. And waiting.

. . . damn.

[OOC: Don't need money, don't need fame, don't need no OCD to ride this train. Open and all that, though I flee for work right now.]

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In his busy schedule of haunting the common room and torturing the magic users with his presence, there was always at least a small gap for the specific personal service of making Katchoo's life hell, regardless of circumstances.

Arthur ducked his head into the store. "Afternoon."

Karla--wasn't entirely sure why she was here. Outside of a few classes, Katina was practically a complete stranger. But she had helped Karla out and suffered through Briarwood and then stuck up for her on the radio. So, maybe, as Karla's half-formed, overtired thoughts went, they shouldn't be strangers any more. Or something like that.

All she really knew was she was armed with leftover cupcakes and cider, and was going to stop by and say hello (and maybe thank you) to Katina. Anything after that, well, was all up in the air.

"Ummm, hello?"

Katchoo looked up from the still-blank sketchbook page and got caught in a brief if spectacular moment of mental whiplash -- men in general were not her favorite people in the world right now, but on the other hand this was, specifically, the biggest royal prat of an Exception To The Rule she knew.

Ow.

And it was so nice of him to go out of his way to pester her regularly.

"Arthur. Where've you been?"

"Karla." Yeah, Katchoo recognized her now. Kind of hard not to. She shoved the sketchbook aside and looked up, propping her head on one hand. Caught halfway between wanting to express concern and erring on the side of wariness now that half a dozen people had gotten a good glimpse at way more of her than she cared to share, she cleared her throat and gave Karla a (subtle, she hoped) assessing look. "The store is not actually a front for a drug operation. You can come in."

"Merlin and I went to Alb-- England for a few days," he said, neatly sidestepping actually mentioning the clear undercurrent of before the both of us went insane and possibly because I was worried about him.

He shut the door behind him.

"It isn't?" Karla asked with a hint of her old wry humor. "Then I'm actually in the wrong spot. Sorry."

Still, she went inside, ignoring (or possibly not even noticing) Katchoo's look. "I, uh, brought some cupcakes," she said, getting all nice and awkward. "And some mulled cider. It was going to be my bribe to get into the operation, but since I'm in the wrong place, wanna share?"

See? She was totally all right! That was a joke! People couldn't make ~~lame-ass~~ jokes if they weren't okay, right?

Katchoo was worried too, as it turned out, but what she asked instead as soon as the door clicked shut was "How'd it hold up over the centuries, d'you think?"

"It hasn't changed as much as I thought it would," Arthur admitted. If anything, the line of his shoulders seemed slightly more carefree for it.

"Yeah, sure." If anyone had asked Katchoo how she was doing the day after -- well, pick one of those times, really, back when she was fifteen, she'd have shut down, or hit them, or something. And if radio notes were even a fraction of an indication, enough people had asked Karla yesterday. So this was Katchoo not asking, even though she wanted to know, how Karla was doing today.

Just "No need to thank me," quiet and gruff, but not hostile in the least.

"Always kinda wanted to visit myself," Katchoo mused, taking in his posture. "Musta done you good. Careful there, Pendragon, you might actually unclench and people'll think you got gremlin-bit."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I'm always perfectly unclenched," he said. No matter what Morgana - or Katchoo, now, it seemed - had to say about it. "We might go back there again if we get the chance."

She said things like this to get the eyeroll! The eyeroll was amusing. Okay, and being a pain right back at him was therapeutic.

"Uh huh. What'd you do? Play tourist? Because if there's a cheesy picture of you two posing with a Beefeater I'm demanding a copy."

Arthur's eyeroll was rather epic and practiced, at that.

"We took a trip down through Northern Wales," he said, "Or southern in the vernacular now, I suppose. Stopped by Abergavenny," which was totally planned, "Made our way down to Pembroke, saw a few of the old lands."

"Who said anything about thanking you," Karla said, appreciating the not-asking. And she'd answer...soon-ish. "I brought the cupcakes."

Not that she actually wanted to eat anything yet.

"Still, though, I want to," she added quietly, pouring herself some more cider. "You went through the closest approximation of Hell that I can think of to help me out--" though Karla was not naive enough to think that Katchoo had any reason for going in there besides Francine "--and that means a lot to me. No one should ever have to see that, especially not someone who barely knows me. If I'd known I was going to have visitors, I'd've tried to clean up a bit."

And since sleep likely wouldn't be happening again tonight, Katchoo appreciated the several hours' worth of distraction she'd get out of wondering if that epic and practiced eyeroll could possibly be captured in two-dimensional still form. Maybe in acrylics? Hmm.

"Yeah, somehow I ~~so totally could~~ couldn't see you two hitting up musicals in the West End." God, but she'd pay good money to see Arthur's face if he had to deal with ticket-takers at the Old Vic. "How's Merlin doing?"

"Better," Arthur said, after giving it a moment's thought, and came up on the counter at last. "Ridiculously overexcited to see Eire at last like the bloody child he is."

"Never said you were. Just wanted to clear that up for the squirrels," Katchoo retorted, a halfhearted attempt at a joke of her own.

"No one," she added vehemently, "should ever have to go through that. Not your friend, not . . ."

"Eire . . . ?" Katchoo frowned. Someone had blown off geography classes. And history classes. A lot of classes.

Arthur exhaled a breath, his next eyeroll dedicated to the topic of Katchoo's obvious and utter lack of knowledge on anything ever. "Ireland," he specified.

". . . shut up," she told him. Oh, she'd so seen that eyeroll. "Sounds like it was good for both of you."

"It was pleasant enough."

Which she couldn't tell by the fact you were radiating well-rested and not completely upset with the world, Arthur.

"What did I miss?" he asked, leaning onto his usual spot on the counter.

"I'm gonna get a sunburn from your good mood here," she jibed lightly, and shook her head. "Not much, really."

Understatement of the millennium, possibly, but it wasn't her story to tell, and talking about it on the radio had been uncomfortable enough.

"I consider every break taken without an invasion a decisive victory," Arthur decided, taking that as a given.

Dense was not just a lifestyle choice. "What, having trouble feeling cheery?"

"What if there'd been one, and you missed it?" she asked.

And then just looked at him.

"Since when do me and cheery even belong in the same universe?"

"Then I would be checking on the wounded," Arthur said, like that was the most natural thing in the world. "Come on, a smile. I know you're capable of it."

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Strokes of Genius, Wednesday (October 28)

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