carpe_demon | Office Hours

... Arthur had gotten stuck around 'Morgaine', here. "You mean Morgana," he said, blinking. "She'a student as well. Why do eyes need to be kept?"

Pause. "Barring the usual, which I'm sure is to be blamed on her being a girl."

"I don't think we could manage the plumbing without sorcery," Merlin added, carefully ignoring the Morgana part. Because he already knew, thanks.

"Morgan le Fay is here too? Then I have got to meet her and find out the true story," Drake said. He snapped his fingers, and a pile of books fell out of, well, nowhere, really, dropping down on his desk. They ranged from worn leather-bound books to garish paperbacks. (And Merlin really wouldn't want to look too closely at the cover of Merlin's Legacy: Daughter of Fire romance novel, or any of the other five books in the series for that matter. Drake proudly owned them all.)

Drake patted the stack. "This isn't even my entire collection," he said. "Whatever world you two are from, whatever you're going to do with your lives, you've left an impact on the world. But you know how stories get changed when they get passed down through the generations. Poor Morgaine, Morgan, Morgana...she gets a bad rap in a lot of 'em. Probably because a lot of these books were written by men who were afraid of babes with brains."

... Oh, Arthur had so many scathing remarks here to be given on the subject of Morgana's brains, but for the sake of propriety... "Right. I will make sure she hears about it. As it stands, would you please not worry our friends?"

A pause. "That's a lot of books."

He shot Merlin a look that was half um and half I-- okay, we are totally awesome.

He could multi-task like that. Rock.

Merlin had some very definite thoughts about the difference between intelligent women and women willing to murder for their goals.

...what, in defense, it was okay.

"But that's not us," Merlin insisted, looking a touch freaked out by all them.

Drake leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "No worries, kiddo," he said. "I thought Francine and Karla were going to vanquish my butt last week, and during class yesterday I clarified that my class is all about works of fiction. Some of 'em might be based on truth, but the authors are going for drama here, and they're going to leave out stuff they think is boring and embellish or make up other things just to keep the reader's attention. The job of a fiction writer is to sell books or movies, not get all the facts straight. That's how you end up with Guinevere painted blue and wearing just a couple strips or leather, or Arthur and Lancelot doing some special sword work, if you know what I mean."

OK, he might have said that last bit to make one or both of them flail. He thought it was cute.

...

This was Arthur, blinking. "What?"

Yes, nowadays, people really did need to pay him whenever they said that little word just like that.

Merlin clenched his jaw for a moment before remembering to breathe again. "Quite the imaginations people have."

"Exactly," Drake said. He patted the pile of books, snapped his fingers, and made them vanish. "It's all about imagination. And I hope I've made it clear to my class, but if any of them are still confused, you can tell them to come talk to me. At any rate, we just had the one class on Arthurian legend, and now we've moved on to swashbuckling musketeers and pirates."

"Not ever," Arthur had to add, just to make that clear. "Er. I believe pirates are acceptable." Pause. "If we're talking the defeat of."

"What are musketeers?"

"Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers," Drake said. Like he would pass up a chance to plug a book. "Great book; the library has copies, you should give it a read. The musketeers were the personal guard of the 17th century French kings. They used swords your sire here would probably laugh at, but they had early guns, too." He looked over to Arthur and grinned. "Sorry, the pirates are the good guys in the book we're going over. Unjustly imprisoned, revenge on the tyrant who sits on the English throne...er, way after your time, of course."

"It would have to be," Arthur said, dryly, "Considering that there is no English throne."

Anything that might be mentioned about him achieving such a goal was going to be passed off as bloody well insane. He couldn't picture himself being that stupid.

Merlin nodded as if that made complete sense. "Ah, French," He said dismissively.

...he was such and Englishman.

"Don't let Good Queen Bess the Second heard you say that," Drake directed at Arthur, "or she'll come over here and whack you with her scepter. Or sic her dogs on you."

Then he snapped his fingers and conjured up a piece of parchment and a pair of feathery quills. "Can I ask you two one favor?" he said. "Can I get your autographs? I am such a fanboy, I'm telling you. The other demons will be so jealous."

There was a very long pause.

Arthur shot Merlin a sideways glance.

Merlin shot him a look right on back. "...I suppose?"

Drake pushed the paper across his desk. "You're like medieval rock stars," he said, beaming.

Despite his best efforts, and his general mixed feelings about the legends, Arthur's ego did perk up a bit. "I suppose we are," he said, loftily, casting Merlin another look, and reached for the quill.

...because that is just what Arthur needed. More of an ego. The look he shot Arthur said as much.

"I think I'm fine without being that."

Arthur shot him a look back that was about six layers of ego painted over excessive discomfort, but signed his own name on the parchment.

Drake squeed. "I am so having this framed," he said.

... The squeeing was leading Arthur to believe that Professor Drake was, perhaps, actually a woman.

"Glad to be of service."

About two layers of ego came off in his next look towards Merlin, and offered the quill. Yes, even if there was another one sitting right there.

A fanboy was... certainly new.

Or would be if he knew what a fanboy was. Merlin squinted at it before scrawling something like a signature in his usual chicken scratch. "As long as other people don't ask for this."

"Stay away from historians and folklore fans then," Drake advised. "They'd be all over you two like white on rice." He picked up the parchment and snapped his fingers so that it was, indeed, now framed as he had promised.

[*kicks LJ for lack of comment notification!*]

Office Hours - Thursday 9/24

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