ᴡᴇ ᴘɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ, ᴡᴇ (plunder) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-10-21 06:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, killian jones (captain hook), megara |
Who: Killian & Megara
What: Underworld buddies meeting, and Killian gives Meg some information
When: Today!
Where: Haus of Disney Villains
Rating/Warnings: Mostly low
Status: Complete
Any potential concern for awkwardness was non-existent with this visit - she’d arrived at a massive, pristine white house with flawless landscaping and large windows, home of people she’d never even met but people she had heard of. People that knew Hazel, people that knew Hades, the latter not on the best terms in regards to the dreams but that was the sole purpose of her arrival. Hades. Megara’s dreams had ended on a happy note; Hercules had brought back her soul in the same spirit Hades had here, and the threat that faced Mount Olympus had been handled. Wonder Boy decided to live a mortal life with her instead of maintaining his well-earned godhood, and he was a hero hung among the stars for eternity. Poetic, wasn’t it? If she’d have any dreams after that set she’d be more than happy to eat a pistol, but her actual boyfriend - Hades, not the nephew he wanted to kill so bad, life was such a har-har - seemed to get pummeled by a new set. A villain again, things probably wouldn’t end all that well, but - Thing was, regardless, he was a god. It was a status that brought power. Immortality. Yet whatever had happened rendered him into a vegetable hooked up to beeping machines where his vitals were monitored and things weren’t looking up, and the thought of losing him had crossed her mind more than once. Gods lived forever, but they didn’t seem invincible. And even though she didn’t share the burden of this version of dreams, she could get answers. In person. This didn’t seem like a ‘network’ situation. It was an unannounced, desperate visit and the distress was present in her eyes. Every muscle was knotted and tense, her posture was a constant back-and-forth between crossed arms and hands on the hips, but she managed to break the cycle to ring the doorbell. Once, twice, three times. Someone had to be home. Indeed, Killian was home - the lone pirate, minding the baby, since the other ladies of the house were out, though Regina was likely due back soon. She’d just run to the store, and Killian took the time to crack open his laptop and attempt to get some work done while Meara was sleeping. Cutting back on his caseload was necessary, of course, since they were all still adjusting to having a baby in the house but things like cleaning and PI research could be done while she was sweetly dreaming of sugar plums dancing in that fuzzy head of hers. Of course, noises sort of disturbed that. He was an advocate of getting Meara used to all sorts of normal sounds, things in the house and outside, because having a baby who woke up with the slightest of pin drops would no doubt be taxing. But they weren’t quite there yet, and while he meant to cover the doorbell to sort of discourage ringing it just hadn’t happened. Alas. The wee babe began wailing, crankily, little arms flailing and little legs kicking. Into the carrier (with padded headrest - the poor thing couldn’t exactly hold her own head up well enough yet) she went, Killian wearing a baby accessory when he went to answer the door. He gave Meara her dummy (or pacifier, as the Yanks called it), hoping that the sucking would quiet and calm her a little, and then was face-to-face with whomever was on the front porch. Someone he knew vaguely, but certainly was not expecting? Or perhaps he should have. Had he missed something? “Ah - “ Nope, nothing was coming to mind. “Can I help you, love?” Maybe she here for interior design chit-chat, a client of Regina’s. That could be possible. But forgive him, he was a little flustered at the moment - normally he didn’t answer the door wearing a sniffling sprog. A baby’s wailing wasn’t something she’d expected to hear from the other side of the door, and Meg internally cursed. As if making someone’s kid burst into tears by the sound of her very abrupt arrival wouldn’t make things awkward (maybe she shouldn’t have rung the doorbell so much, but y’know, dire times and all). Her visible cringe seemed apologetic, but she refocused - she didn’t care who answered the door as long as it was someone who could give her some insight in what was going on with her snarky comatose death god. “I’m guessing you’re Killian,” she assumed, especially when her sight fell on what seemed to be like a prosthetic hand. Captain Hook, but without the steel curved weapon for an appendage. Didn’t seem like the kind of thing you’d want to use when taking care of a crotchling in retrospect. “Name’s Megara - sorry for the sudden barge, sorry about making your baby cry, but this is about Hades?” Oh, she was restless. Itching about something, clearly, with the way her sandals tapped and her fingers drummed along the strap of her purse. Megara. Well, that did trip a few memories - this version was obviously quite different than the young lass he met during a bout of torture courtesy of Cerberus. But he had seen her about on the network of dreamer ‘kinfolk,’ and of course Regina had already spoken to this particular Hades in question. Wasn’t the same fellow in terms of appearance that he remembered, but Killian well knew that multiple versions could very well seep into one’s unconsciousness and disturb their sleep. He had a feeling that’s what happened now. “Of course - come in,” he stepped back to grant Megara access. “Have a seat.” The sitting room was where he led them, pristine and polished - for the most part. But the home had slowly morphed from ‘show piece’ to ‘people actually do live here’ over time. There was a basket of clean laundry that still needed to be sorted, a bassinet near the window, even a couple cat toys here and there if one were to look hard enough. Killian at least remembered his manners, even if he had no idea what the bloody hell was going on. “Would you like a drink or something? And what’s this about Hades?” Sitting meant sitting still. Meg wasn’t even sure she could do that, so while the offer was appreciated, standing she remained. It’d make the whole ‘pacing back and forth’ routine that much easier, although she doubted the owners of the house were interested in having their living room remodeled in the form of a woman-made trench at the center of it. “Only if alcohol applies to that offer,” she said with an exhale, and it was a shame the exercise of deep breaths was doing nothing to keep her completely calm - hence the new habit of wringing her fingers as if that’d help in expelling the nervous energy. “Look, I know you and some others are on the same dreamscape wagon as Hades is, and I don’t doubt he’s one of your least favorite characters in the entire show but - does something happen to him that leaves him comatose? Literally comatose. Unresponsive and hooked up to medical machinery, and to the point where professional haven’t a damn clue what’s wrong with him.” At least his insurance was absolute killer. And lucky her, she knew all about any persnickety details - allergies, social security number, if he was on any current medications and so forth by the time the ambulance showed up and she was showered with questions. As his very personal assistant (that also assisted on getting him off, for one thing), she learned some very personal things about him as time went by. Killian’s eyebrows lifted - of all the things he was expecting to hear, that wasn’t one of them. But he made a contemplative sound, a hmmmm and a “hold that thought” came from him as he got Meara settled in her bassinet. Now having let the sucking of her most favourite dummy lull her back into drowsiness, she was getting heavy-lidded and was also, thankfully, not very fussy. Then he went to the kitchen to put the kettle on, since all that nervous energy the girl was expelling could be felt from likely miles away - there was perhaps some chamomile, or something fragrant that would soothe nerves a little. A splash of bourbon would help with that too. “Well, first off, none of us have got any room to judge about being the least favourite,” he spoke as he opened the cupboard doors. “Suppose he’s just the villain of the week - “ And Killian had been there, no doubt, “...but, ah. No? Not that I know of, in regards to the comatose aspect. That’s what happened here?” Christ, that sounded bad. Not the answer she wanted - or even expected - to hear. Meg’s arms crossed, hips cocked as she did so, and hazel eyes watched him maneuver around the kitchen. Unamused was the best described expression she been wearing with a slanted stare. “Comatose,” she assured him. “They’ve run tests, drawn blood, poked and prodded and have found nothing. He’s a full-blown god, and maybe this is how a god pansies up and handles the flu, or maybe that wicked witch woman he’s supposed to be drilling into on the other side gave him a mega STD?” It wasn’t until that slew of words with such attitude spilled from her mouth that she realized she sounded ultimately rude - show up unannounced at someone’s home, demand answers, sass because it’s not what she wanted to hear? “I’m sorry,” she then said, and she meant it. Megara was just tired, and worried, and how the hell was she supposed to do anything? Especially in her very mortal form, where she was all flesh and bone and blood; no magic gene like her cousin, no dash of godhood like Hercules. “It’s just - something had to happen for this to happen. There’s no curse he’s under? He didn’t eat a poisoned apple or anything?” Killian paused, pouring tea after the kettle whistled at him - he wasn’t particularly perturbed, more like, he was simply trying to remember what had been the story with the Lord of the Dead. Much had happened, that he had dreamed of - but it was perhaps a good thing Meg had run into him today, because out of all the occupants of this house, the one who had spent the most time in the Underworld was indeed this pirate, with ice in his eyes and a prickle of five o’clock shadow more pronounced than usual, because caring for a baby meant he hadn’t gotten a chance to shave yet. “Alright, now just sit, for the love of the gods - “ Oh, wait, that was it, wasn’t it? Coming back into the living room, Killian carried mugs of tea. And a slender bottle of bourbon procured from seemingly magic (his pocket, really), drops splashed into the chamomile. “In the Underworld, where I was trapped, there was this book we were trying to get our hands on, because it’d aid in our escape - it was kind of a carbon copy of the one in Storybrooke, but in it, there were pages pertaining to Hades. Pages missing, you know? That filled in his story, described his weakness.” He settled on the sofa, cups on the coffee table. One was picked up in his good hand, and he blew a little on the liquid to cool it. “They spoke of the Olympian crystal - it’s a weapon meant for the King of Mount Olympus. It can do...essentially anything. Hades used it to kill his father and tried to kill his brother with it, but Zeus broke it - and then stopped Hades’ heart. Only he wasn’t exactly comatose when I met him.” Ugh, fine. Megara would sit. It wouldn’t be for long, either, but for a couple of minutes she’d heed the advice of a pirate captain (this must be what going to Disney felt like). A small ‘thank you’ was mumbled before she sipped the spiked tea, appreciative of the bite it came with - oh thank the gods, she needed that, even if the heat burned her tongue a little. But the beverage kept her occupied to listen. Olympian crystal. Right, yeah, the sex toy that penetrated his father - what a really Greek way to handle family matters. Then, the next words are what gave her a pause. And then stopped Hades’ heart. “Hold on,” Meg cleared her throat. “His heart stopped?” His didn’t stop here, not literally, but she thought that maybe he’d hit on something pretty important there. “If he’s not comatose there but his heart stopped, and he’s comatose here? Do you think that maybe has something to do with it?” Did he need a magical defibrillator to get it back going? If such a thing even existed, but then again look at where they lived and the current state of things. “It’s a curse, I presume - like so much what constitutes that dreamspace,” Killian rolled his eyes. He supposed he shouldn’t expect anything less though, in a world where fairytales were real - and apparently that world was just down the block from a whole ‘Land of Untold Stories’ who were disgruntled about being untold. And now seeking justice or something, how convenient. He balanced the mug of tea in his good hand, sci-fi index finger tapping on the edge of the ceramic as he considered. “The curse prevented him from leaving the Underworld for good, but it was broken eventually. His heart restarted once more - after True Love’s Kiss.” Sounded ridiculous, didn’t it? Killian wouldn’t tell Meg that then Hades had been impaled with a crude lightning bolt a day or so after that - it’d kill the one sliver of hope that had presented itself. “Given that those in my dreamworld who did end up cursed and comatose, I would say it’s all connected. True Love’s Kiss broke it for them. It should work here too.” Wait. Seriously? It wasn’t entirely inaccurate to say she looked like a deer caught in headlights at what he was proposing. “True love’s kiss,” Megara repeated, halting herself from the next sip of bourbon tea - it almost sounded like she didn’t believe him but, no, that wasn’t it. More like she had a cynical doubt that something so simple could work? “You’re telling me that the most cliche staple in fairytales is going to wake Hades up from whatever…curse this is.” Right. Of course he was. Brows furrowed in thought, she set the cup down (on a coaster, she figured those weren’t just there for decoration) and slowly crossed her legs. True love, now that was one hell of a concept - and she felt something lodged in her throat, an entire onslaught of emotions hitting her like heavy bricks to the face. “Is it a one-way street with that sort of thing? Does it only work if it’s mutual? You’d think there’d be a catch with it, a ‘fine print’ stipulation of some kind.” Killian was well aware how odd it sounded, believe him. He also didn’t want to put 100% stock in this being the magical cure-all, but given the parallels and the fact that it was really difficult to knock a godly being unconscious (and there was absolutely no other explanation), then make of it what you will. He just sort of put two and two together there. “Very powerful, very simple,” he nodded. “It’s meant to reverse the effects of essentially any negative magic at all. The only catch I personally experienced is that - well, say you’re trying to remove something like the Dark One’s curse. It saddles that person with incredible power, and immortality - but apparently it is no longer technically a curse if they want the power, and thus it can’t be removed.” Nothing seemed to work for him and Emma, when it came to the infamous True Love’s Kiss - the gods knew they tried it plenty of times (or rather, Hook had tried planting one on her, because Heaven forbid she try it on him). Even after their supposed love was weighed on a scale in the Underworld, shoving it into the true category, it bloody well didn’t seem like it. Sharing a heart with his sister - the love was indeed true and pure, that was why it had worked. He believed that, not so much the other thing. But anyway. “It should do the trick otherwise. You’ll know because you’ll see this shimmering light for a second, and then he’ll wake up. Provided, of course, that it is you who kisses him.” Hook wouldn’t make assumptions. “I can’t say I can complain about the method,” Megara remarked, leaning against the sofa with an elbow propped up on the cushion. There wasn’t a witchy concoction that needed brewing, no grand adventure or seemingly impossible task to complete (like become a hero in the eyes of gods), but the ‘true love’ part - in its own simplistic way it was daunting, and nerve-wracking, but… There wasn’t a doubt in her mind or even a second thought. She would do it. It was an answer. A direction to go to, maybe an end to this hell of a week. Meg didn’t look so frazzled now, but she wasn’t going to completely settle until Hades woke up and said something annoying. “Thank you,” she sighed. “I know I came in like a raging bull, so props for not kicking me out flat on my ass and giving me the intel anyway. Is there anything else I need to know? Anything?” “Nothing that I’m aware of. But if it doesn’t work for some reason then give me a poke,” he said, as the wee pirate princess began to stir in her bassinet. Didn’t smell like shit was involved in this equation, and nor was it a wet nappy. He just interpreted it as her being fussy, and went to go soothe her. There was a baby cradled in his arms when he returned to the sofa, a baby busy curling and uncurling her fingers, fists opening and closing - she must be so proud she could do such a thing, you see. “Suppose I ought to introduce myself properly, no? Killian Jones - Hook, if you’d rather. This is Meara.” All the potential Disney jokes aside, there was a ghost of a smile on Megara’s face - something small, a little akin to a smirk if the eyes squint but nonetheless, genuine. “Pleasure to formally meet you, Jones. And sorry, kid,” she sighed, the apologetic breath directed to the disturbed baby in his arms. It’d been awhile since she’d seen a human in its practically larval state of development; she didn’t have much of a maternal bone but she also wasn’t heartless, and she waved her fingers a little at Meara. “Didn’t mean you wake you from your snoozes and sheeps. She’s cute. Yours?” Unless he went from pirate to glorified babysitter, but she thought there was a network announcement somewhere amongst the unfiltered nonsense of posts announcing an adoption. Meg went on to finish her tea, quickly, because like hell that little bit of liquid courage mixed with a calming herbal remedy was about to get wasted - her stomach was still in knots about it all, and she hoped to whatever deity or cosmic force out there that his proposed solution would actually, you know, work? Meara didn’t seem to mind, she was sweet as can be - for the moment anyway, snug in her skull and crossbones onesie (the skull part had a pink bow on one side, and there was also a pink rattle to match the decoration - on the back, right on the bum, the printed words poop deck were there. What, Killian was easily amused). She cooed and gurgled, the tiny mass active in her papa’s arms. “Aye, she’s mine - ours, I should say,” he chuckled. “But thank you - perhaps next time you can drop by under better circumstances.” Regina wouldn’t mind, he was sure - it might take some discussion about her almost brother-in-law Hades, but they weren’t always who they dreamed. Not to mention it was a little weird to dream of becoming roommates with the sister who raped your now-dead love. Killian would also like to think they were all a little more reasonable here. And now, Meg seemed in a hurry to deliver a certain curse-breaking kiss, so he’d let her do that. “Anything else you need, love?” Bones and a pink bow accent - at least the kid’s fashion was likeable, and Megara let her finger get captured for a second during Meara’s ‘clench and unclench’ hand movements. “I know Hazel stops by here every now and again, so that’ll be a definite. Hades has the overprotective dad thing going on,” she chuckled, huskily. And these people also shared a version of dreams she didn’t have with him; maybe they could do the whole thing where they were, you know, friends and dinner was involved. Regular social activities that kept the bullshit at the doorstep where it belonged. But she had smooching to do, the kind that would determine if what she felt was actually ‘true’ (no pressure, right? uhhh?), and she rose from the couch with her purse strap back on her shoulder. “You’ll know if it doesn’t work when you see me riiiiiiiiiight back here, but if it does…” Well, give her a couple hours before there’s contact - maybe they’d discharge him right then and there if his recovery was immediate? His kids missed him, his zoo missed him, and so did she; more than she ever even thought possible. There wasn’t anymore time to waste - she’d wake up her troll of a god, and get him back to his normal infuriating self with her mortal prowess of a simple kiss. |