While Imogen isn't always direct about what she's feeling, she isn't the type to sugarcoat and spare feelings either, so this is all Merlin needs to hear. He nods and reaches out to meet her hand with his, fingers interlacing. "What a pain..." he complains without a single ounce of conviction and smiles at her.
Imogen looks pleased, in the midst of everything else. The longer they sit here, maybe, the more bittersweet it starts to feel. She can kind of see what the others mean when they say they'll miss the place.
One hand occupied, the other fishes through the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie.
"Here," she says, offering Merlin a black Sharpie. Specifically, the same one that traveled through so many memories in the pocket of her destroyed dress. It still writes. It's very dark.
For a moment, Merlin doesn't understand what's being offered to him and he just looks between the girl and the Sharpie. Then he remembers watching her shuffle her meager supplies as they prepared to head off into another unknown dreamscape, arranging her wand and her phone and the rest so she could easily get to what she might need to get to. She'd had the Sharpie there too. He nods and silently reaches for it, plucking it out of her fingers with more care than a marker actually needs. It's strange how precious the object seems now.
He stays silent, not knowing what to say. Should he thank her? Should he ask her why? Should he promise to hang onto it?
In the end, he offers her a small, devious grin. "...Might make you regret this, you know?"
Encouraged, Merlin's smile widens and becomes more devious still, "Oh, definitely." He doesn't wait for the girl to challenge him further. Instead he uncaps the Sharpie, glances around to confirm that they aren't being observed, and leans forward to begin writing something on the edge of the bench between her sneaker and his bruised knee.
It doesn't take long and when he straightens, the characters become visible: MP+IR. He looks at her defiantly, expecting her to push him off the bench or make a face or just make fun of him. If she goes for the Sharpie, though, he's definitely turning that + into a ♥. Do your worst, Imogen.
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
She is quiet for a long moment, considering. Her eyes pass from Merlin to the sky and back again, and her fingers spider out toward Merlin's.
"No," she restates, firmly and brattily. "I wanna bother you."
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
Imogen looks pleased, in the midst of everything else. The longer they sit here, maybe, the more bittersweet it starts to feel. She can kind of see what the others mean when they say they'll miss the place.
One hand occupied, the other fishes through the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie.
"Here," she says, offering Merlin a black Sharpie. Specifically, the same one that traveled through so many memories in the pocket of her destroyed dress. It still writes. It's very dark.
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
He stays silent, not knowing what to say. Should he thank her? Should he ask her why? Should he promise to hang onto it?
In the end, he offers her a small, devious grin. "...Might make you regret this, you know?"
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
It doesn't take long and when he straightens, the characters become visible: MP+IR. He looks at her defiantly, expecting her to push him off the bench or make a face or just make fun of him. If she goes for the Sharpie, though, he's definitely turning that + into a ♥. Do your worst, Imogen.