happilyeverbeginning | Blessed be the meadow, blessed be the forest (magica x scrooge)

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Blessed be the meadow, blessed be the forest (magica x scrooge)

As far as Magica was concerned, change only came in two ways - huge, overpowering impacts, and then things so subtle you didn't notice until it was pointed out. Her farmhand had a bit of both - his arrival was the former, and him staying was the latter. At first she had expected him to leave once the weather was warmer, yet now they were in the fresh brush of spring and there were no signs of him moving on. With every passing day, it was if he became more attached to her life, and it was getting harder to think of life without him. She wasn't sure what to make of that.

With his help, the farm house that was once falling apart was regaining life, with the holes patched the animals taking shelter longer than usual. The land itself was thriving more than ever, with her harvests bringing in more than their usual share of food. There had even been changes to Magica herself, though she had yet to notice - fuller meals meant a fuller body, and nights without worry of survival removed the darkness underneath her eyes. But there would always be things that could not change - the mask covering the right side of her face was proof of that.

Scrooge hadn't been able to pry what happened underneath there just yet, but there were little hints here and there - whatever had happened might have happened to her entire right side of her body, as there were days she was so full of pain she needed a thick wooden cane to make it to the nearby village to sell her wares. She was the Witch of the Woods, known to the village as a heretic for going outside the laws of the gods - so the villagers saw. Little did they know she was more of a purist than they'd ever be.

The day had been growing dark, and Magica headed to the farmlands, calling out to Scrooge as kindly and cordial as ever.

"Get inside, rags for brains, it's about to rain. If you catch a cold, I'm not going to be your nursemaid."

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"It has," he agreed. "Not that I'm complaining."

He said it casually and a tad fondly, wondering how she'd respond to it.

The noise in her throat could have meant anything, but the blush on the visible side of her face was a big hint. She then quickly cleared her throat. "W-well... of course! You have a roof over your head, food in your belly, a roaring fire, and a job to sustain you! Many the world over would beg for what you have."

She then downed her (hot, burnt tongue) stew in one bowl gulp just to avoid looking at him any further.

"You know, most would think they need more than that, but you understand it perfectly," Scrooge said, taking a calm bite of his own stew. Really, she was just too easy to tease.

She suffered for her fluster, smacking her chest a few times and biting her burnt tongue. Eventually she choked out, "Of course I long for more, but I'm not going to get it."

She then moved to place her bowl away, fetching a hairbrush for her long locks. One could guess she initially grew her hair out to hide her face before she had the mask, but at some point decided to just let it keep growing.

Scrooge finished his own bowl of stew, picking up her empty bowl to clean them both.

"What makes you so sure of that?" he asked.

"I learned that lesson a long time ago." She sat on her bed, beginning to slowly brush her hair. "There are things we can pray and wish and beg for, but no matter what, it will never happen. Acceptance is a bitter pill, but I've swallowed it down."

The damage done to her face and body was proof of that, so she told herself. Society wouldn't accept her, nor would any man, and it was anybody's guess whether this wrecked body of hers could even feel pleasure or give birth. So instead of even bothering to try, she'd shut herself away from the world before it could hurt her further.

Scrooge finished washing the bowls, setting them aside to air dry. He walked over to her.

He said nothing, carefully plucking the brush from her grip and starting to sweep it through her hair.

Magica stopped, startled. "What are you...?" It wasn't exactly a mystery, it was obvious what he was doing - "why" was the real question.

"Hush. Just enjoy it," he told her.

He didn't put any power behind his words even though he could've easily. He didn't want to be like them and manipulate mortals for his own amusement.

"... I didn't ask for your pity." She huffed, though she was making no clear effort to stop him. She hadn't been cared for like this since she was a very young duckling... she wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

Well, she enjoyed it, but she wasn't going to admit it, even to herself.

"I'm not doing this out of pity," he told her. "Whenever my sisters had a bad day, I used to brush their hair to help them feel better."

...Oh. He hadn't mentioned his sisters before. Oops. Oh well.

Now that made her glance back again, blinking - it certainly put a hold on whatever flustered feelings he was giving her.

"Your sisters?"

He hummed and nodded but didn't offer up anything else, instead focusing on carefully picking apart a tangle that had formed near the edge of her mask. He was especially cautious not to accidentally remove the mask.

Of course she was curious, and of course she wanted to know - but he'd been as silent about his past as she'd been about her own. If she poked and prodded, it only risked revealing her own scars, both emotional and physical.

Speaking of which - when she felt him near the mask, her entire body froze up. She knew he wouldn't remove it - but even the idea of him doing it by accident made her unable to breathe.

"Relax. I've almost got the last of the hairs out," he soothed. "There. All better."

And with that, he went back to brushing her hair, the offending tangle gone and the hairs that had made up it no longer putting her mask at risk.

What right did he have to be so gentle and good? It was cruel, she thought, to make her long for things that wouldn't last and that didn't belong to her.

If he had sisters, he had a family, one he surely wanted to return to at some point. If those sisters were dead, she didn't want to be seen as a replacement for them. Her mind was so terrified at the sheer concept of kindness she kept trying to find all the holes and excuses in them she could.

She steadied her breathing in an attempt to calm down. "You won't earn any favors out of this."

"That's fine. The only thing I could think to ask for would be a hot bath," he told her honestly.

He'd had a family once. One day he'd find them. If he kept wandering, he'd find some evidence of where they'd gone. (Time in the realm of the gods didn't work the same way as on the mortal plane. By the time he'd gone home, they were long gone...)

For a half second, Magica thought Scrooge was saying he wanted a hot bath with her - and appropriately choked. She cleared her throat again, hoping he couldn't see her blush from his position.

"I suppose," she finally said, "If we have spare wood, you may have one."

She was red. Why was she red?

"I think we do but I can check once I'm finished here," he told her. "You sure you don't mind?"

Undo the mental image, undo the mental image...

"If you smell that much and find yourself that disgusting, I certainly won't stop you." As always, she was immediately on the defensive.

"Thank you. I won't take too long, so the water should still be hot for you."

NOT WHAT HE MEANT! NOT WHAT HE MEANT! ABSOLUTELY TOTALLY NOT WHAT HE MEANT!

Her voice hitched up an octave. "I DON'T NEED YOU - IT - WHATEVER!" Her fingers clenched up in her dress, her face getting so red it now began to reach to her neck.

Was there a way to pray to the Wandering God to make these stupid thoughts stop?!

"...Are you all right?" Scrooge asked, very unsettled.

Had he done something wrong? He was usually better at blending in with mortals...

"Just hurry up and take your stupid bath!" He needed to stop speaking so closely to her too, she could feel his breath on her neck, and that was most unwelcome of all!

"Yes, ma'am."

Honestly, sometimes that was the only thing he could say or do: Just shut up and get the job done.

He'd missed brushing his sisters' hair. He hadn't realized it until this moment. By the time he was done with Magica's, it'd be silky soft from all the attention he'd given it.

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