#stubbleandeyebrows

[quicksilverfast]

☏ :D

[txt to: lapdog] you know, sometimes you’re not the worst werewolf I’ve met

[txt to: lapdog] most of the time it’s you tho

[thedarksideofthecoin-blog]

What Bright Eyes You Have

As soon as he'd learned of Arthur's return, Merlin had grabbed his meager belongings - the cash box, a change of clothes (of a more suitable taste for someone twenty years old instead of eighty), and the tome underneath his bed. He struggled about bringing the staff, but in the end had left it, tucked in the dark, dusty corner beneath his floorboards.

For centuries, his entertainment had consisted of reading novels and newspapers (and doing the crossword), so he did have a fairly good grasp of how the modern world worked - but knowing how it worked and actually being immersed in it with no training wheels were two completely different things. For the first time in a very long time, he used magic regularly, just to stay afloat, and to get himself across the ocean - ID and plane tickets didn't just materialize out of thin air for most people, but luckily, they did for him.

The plane had been utter hell. Flying dragon-back was bad enough - this was torture. After the eight hour flight, he had to keep himself from trying to hug the ground.

At the airport he'd gone into a bathroom stall with his spare outfit, set down his bags, and opened up the tome. He'd done the spell many times before, but it was best to be sure with magic this complicated. He emerged from the stall a twenty-year-old young man (severely confusing several of the other restroom patrons), face beaming and hardly able to contain his overwhelming joy and excitement. Not to mention nervousness. Quite a bit of that, too. But mostly, he was ecstatic. He felt lightheaded as he sauntered from the airport, plunging into the busy, alien world of New York City. He hailed a taxi and filled the short ride into the city with upbeat, one-side chatter, cheerfully paying the cabby and waving as the car drove off. He looked around.

He had no idea where to go.

He had the name of the college town, yes, but maps these days boggled his mind. He hadn't given it to the cabby because he wanted to walk there to give himself time to prepare. He supposed he would just have to ask people.

Apparently, asking people didn't work these days either.

After approaching six different people, all of whom either totally ignored him or gave him strange looks and then ignored him, he quit that tactic, feeling thoroughly put-off, and just wandered. Maybe he'd catch another cab. For now, though - and maybe he was trying to delay out of anxiety - he would explore the city a bit.

[quicksilverfast]

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[txt to: lapdog] do u tihnk flea collars work for werewolfs 2?