Mukki! (mukki) wrote in missions, @ 2012-08-28 00:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! thread, edgar figaro, mukki comeau-collins |
WHO: Edgar Figaro and Mukki.
WHAT: Mukki approaches Edgar about the note. It doesn't go well.
WHEN: Monday Afternoon.
WHERE: In Garden's Machina workshop? Idk what kind of workshops this school has.
RATING: Light innuendo and public embarassment.
NOTES: This was fairly public, so feel free to say your character witnessed it or has heard about it.
Mukki was in high spirits today. Granted, Mukki tended to be in high spirits everyday; always smiling, ever-happy, and a content, constant source of serenity amidst the drama and hurt feelings that so often flew around the Garden. Still, even for Mukki today was something of an exception. There was a spring in his step, an enthusiastic flourish every time he shot his hand up to answer a question in class and a dreamy grin that looked as though it would break his face in two if it grew any wider.
He was being wooed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been wooed. Hell, he didn’t think he’d ever been. He’d had more than his fair share of dalliances and torrid hookups, but romance? Roses and artfully-written love notes left waiting at his door? He’d never gotten to experience anything like that. And now he had a Hyne-damned King plying him with it.
And so, books clasped lightly in one hand and the rose Edgar had given him clutched in the other, Mukki lingered in the doorway of the school’s machina workshop, working up the nerve to approach the figure hunched over one of the workbenches. His usual self-assured swagger gone now that he found himself venturing into new territory. Clearing his throat, he took a few tentative steps into the room, “Hey there!”
The king had been fully absorbed in his work, head bent over the workbench. His long hair was tied back into a ponytail -- less for fashion, more for protection against getting caught in some spinning gears. Some blond wisps still escaped from the blue ribbons, however, so he ended up pushing the dangling hair out of his eyes and straightening as Mukki called out. Edgar peered across the room at the enormous wrestler. They were roughly the same height, but the dark-haired boy was older, more well-built, and broader in the shoulders -- reminded him of Sabin, actually.
“Hello! May I help you?” Edgar’s voice was polite and genteel, without a trace of recognition. Ever since the tabloid, more and more cadets had started recognising him in the hallways; he was well-accustomed to having others know his name but not vice versa.
They were between classes, but the workshop was far from empty during its free period -- the room still contained a scattering of industrious students tinkering away at their personal projects. Gutted equipment was scattered across clean, well-dusted tables and benches. Buckets of gears and wires sat next to the machinist-king, with his hands smeared with black grease and knuckles raw against the socket wrench he carried. Some sort of invention was taking shape in front of him, looking like a partly-disassembled engine so far.
Mukki’s grin grew just a little more as he heard the other boy’s response. Playing hard to get, that was fun. Holding his rose briefly aloft, he made his way across to Edgar, practically bouncing with every step he took, “I just thought I should introduce myself properly, bubby.”
Setting his books down next to Edgar’s machina in the making, he held out a hand to shake, “You’re Edgar, right?”
The rose drew Edgar’s eye and his curiosity -- was this some sort of magic thing? He knew materia could be junctioned to pretty much anything, but had never paid attention to its relationship with flora.
But he nodded, wiping his hand on the thigh of his workman’s trousers (expensive as always; even his crummy workshop outfit looked tailored) before reaching out for the handshake with a strong and firm grip. The etiquette tutor had emphasised this point years ago: a good handshake projected honesty and trustworthiness, rather than a limp and wilting demeanour.
“Indeed I am!” The king delivered a smile of his own, broad and welcoming. That was the point, wasn’t it? Foster connections. Ingratiate himself with the Balamb public. Extend Figaro’s good reputation. (Prove Cendrillion wrong.) His gaze flitted, unconsciously, to the other man’s muscles and he looked thoughtful for a moment. One of the martial artists’ group, perhaps?
“Did Sabin send you?” Edgar asked. An astonishing percentage of the school still hadn’t put two-and-two together that they were identical twins, but he asked anyway.
“Sabin?” Mukki frowned, matching Edgar’s grip with an equally strong, firm grasp and a brief brush of fingers across the other boy’s palm as he pulled his hand away. “Nah, I tracked you down all on my own.”
Smiling, he leaned in and affected a dramatically conspiratorial tone as he went on, “My sources told me that you’re in here a lot,” granted, those ‘sources’ had mostly just consisted of the random classmates he’d pestered that day, but Edgar didn’t need to know that, “I guess you’re good with your hands, huh, Bubby?”
Grinning slyly, he bent over the workbench before them and braced both hands against its surface, making sure to flex every ‘magnificent’ muscle in his arms as he did. He’d pulled his tightest tank top out of his closet for Edgar’s benefit, after all. “This all looks... impressive.”
Tracked me down? That merited a brief widening of Edgar’s eyes, a sudden and suspicious leap to thinking of assassins, of Galbadia and poison, of the impending mission, of plots and schemes and Returners --
But no, this seemed like a perfectly harmless (albeit overly-familiar) cadet. The conversation seemed to be diverging in a path he hadn’t anticipated, floundering him in unfamiliar waters. Wasn’t Edgar normally the one schmoozing and laying on the flattery?
“Um,” he said. It was the first time in his weeks here at Balamb that he’d publicly stumbled over his words; the usual glib, silver-tongued responses weren’t as accessible as before. “Some say I am, yes,” Edgar continued, waffling for time. “I’m currently working on an engine-powered velocipede? So I don’t have to rent a chocobo to visit the nearby towns. Uh. Are you... very interested in machinery?”
The question sounded feeble and a little lost, even to him, but the king struggled to regain his composure. Where was this conversation going? He still didn’t even know the cadet’s name.
“Some machinery’s fun, yeah,” Mukki responded with a casual nod, eyes sparkling with a hint of innuendo as he glanced across at Edgar, “And I’d love to take a ride on this thing when you’re done, but...”
Pushing back away from the bench, he lifted up one arm and flexed it, every muscle going taut in a show meant just for Edgar, “I’m really more of a physical guy, bubby. Working out, wrestling. It’s what got me these,” he said, voice awash with pride as he nodded to his bulging bicep.
“They’re very... nice.” The glistening muscles were practically right in his face, so he couldn’t help but look, even as he felt his etiquette lessons disappear in a puff of smoke. Edgar’s court-driven politesse was being tested to its very limit. What was he supposed to say in this situation? It seemed like this other man was was hitting on--
But no, that was surely impossible. People knew that Edgar Figaro was either a) a playboy, or b) supposedly engaged.
“My brother’s a physical guy, like you,” he said, voice a little strangled. In his attempt to find some nice deflecting common ground, he let that biographical factoid slip.
Mukki frowned briefly, wondering why Edgar felt the urge to bring his brother up. Deciding it was best not to ask, he leaned in closer, still holding his arm aloft and flexed. “You can touch if you want, bubby.”
Holding his free hand out, ready to take Edgar’s and place it against his bicep, he grinned, “Come on, I don’t mind...”
Finally, the blond jerked backwards, arms practically windmilling as he stepped into the workbench and accidentally knocked a basket of cogs over. They spilled out across the floor, and a few curious students glanced up from their work to watch the unfolding scene.
“Apologies! I’m sure there must be... some sort of misunderstanding, my good sir! I’m not, erm, particularly inclined in that direction, if you know what I mean-- you’re a perfectly handsome gentleman but I just don’t, well... I’m flattered, but--”
Chuckling softly, Mukki reached out with both hands to try and help steady Edgar as he stumbled backwards, still oh-so eager and easy-going, “It’s okay, Bubby, it’s okay... I know you’re shy, like you said.” Reaching back to pick up the rose, Mukki smiled serenely as he caught a whiff of its aroma and then held it between them, thinking it might jog Edgar’s memory. For all he knew, Edgar had written the note weeks ago, and had only found the courage to deliver it now.
“I can be discreet, don’t you worry your pretty little head about that,” he murmured, quiet and reassuring.
A deep, horrified mortification had settled in Edgar’s gut as the rose waggled back and forth between them. Discreet?! He was the king. Royalty often had their canoodling and indiscretions on the side, but Edgar wasn’t this particular kind of--
“Like I said?” he parroted, and this time, he couldn’t help but hide the confusion dogging his tone. More cadets had craned their heads to turn and watch. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve ever spoken before, mister...?”
“Mukki, bubby, it’s Mukki...” A matching tinge of confusion crept its way into Mukki’s tone as he glanced around at their growing audience, but he pressed on regardless, “Like you said in your note.”
“My ‘inspiring vigor’?” He asked, keeping his voice pitched low for Edgar’s sake, “My ‘graceful strength’?” Hints of desperation worked their way into his voice as he went on, hoping that each prompt would somehow jog Edgar’s memory, “How you long to be ‘encircled by my magnificent arms’?” For good measure, he flexed both arms this time.
The wide-eyed look of panic -- and complete non-recognition -- on Edgar’s face said all that it needed to. “They’re quite magnificent, Mukki, but I’ve never longed to be encircled by them. I’m fully, absolutely, one hundred percent devoted to the ladies of Gaia.” Pause. “Sorry. If I weren’t, you seem like a wonderful fellow! But... well. I am.”
“But--” Mukki frowned again, gaze darting wildly back and forth between Edgar and the cadets now turning in their seats to catch some of the show, “The note you left me. With the rose?” He held it up towards the other boy one last time, trying to ignore the snickering he heard a few benches over.
“Sorry,” he said again, now shaking his head. “That wasn’t me.”
“Oh.” Putting two and two together, Mukki nodded quickly and took a step backwards, forcing out a strained laugh, “Ha, I think someone’s pranked me, Bubby.” Setting the rose down, he quickly gathered his books up and kept backing away from Edgar, unwittingly upending a chair in his hurry. “A good one, too!”
Edgar took his own step backwards too, automatically widening the distance between them as his mind raced. Trying to put two-and-two together and decipher who might have been behind it. Why would someone prank this Mukki? And more importantly, who would dare involve a king in a mere gag like this? Who could be bone-headed enough to sic someone on a royal, risking all the embarrassment that might result from--
Cendrillion.
The machinist’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “I have a feeling I may know who caused this. No hard feelings, Mukki -- we’re simply the butt of a terrible joke, it seems!”
Shaking his head, Mukki pushed out another of those forced, false laughs, “It’s alright, bubby. It’s funny. Really.” Backing even further away from the workbench, he nodded briefly to Edgar, “I’ll, uh--” At a loss for words, he turned on his heels and made to exit the room with quick, determined strides, plastering the best grin he could muster onto his face as he went.
There was, apparently, a reason why he didn’t do romance.