Magi: The Goddess of Hope [DISCONTINUED]

💮 Scene Seven: Homecoming

Sinbad was enjoying a nice afternoon with a pretty Balbadd servant, and no, he was not seducing the girl--that was not what he was doing!

...Well, actually he was until Ja'far sent the adorable maid off with a kind smile and a glare directed at him. Gods, he missed Ja'far when he was still a kid...he was way cuter back then, running after Rurumu and Hinahoho's children and ordering people with that kiddy-voice---

Ugh. He was reminiscing again. He wasn't beginning to grow old, was he? He hoped not.

"--Sin, are you even listening?!" Ja'far hissed at the purple-haired king who jolted out of his trance and smiled sheepishly. Ja'far sighed in exasperation.

"Sorry, sorry! So what were you talking about again?"

Ja'far hedged. "That girl Sin. The one with the pink hair. She feels...strange." the white-haired advisor scowled. "And scrub that smug smirk off your face, it's not what you think."

Sinbad's smirk only widened, as if to spite Ja'far. "Aww, are you falling for Sleeping Beauty?"

Ja'far looked like he could murder Sinbad on the spot right now. Instead, the white-haired advisor sighed in exasperation and dragged a pale hand across his face, gray eyes blinking up tiredly at his charge. "She--That girl-- has no scent."

Sinbad raised an eyebrow. He knew Ja'far's refined senses as an ex-child assassin often hid under that polite and matronly face, only popping out like a pouncing cat when something was amiss.

The purple-haired king felt that strange sense of foreboding again; much like the time when Elder David's consciousness had started taking over him and was thankfully prevented by Ja'far and...

His honey-gold eyes widened in surprise and Sinbad groaned at his stupidity, gently hitting himself in the head with a fist.

Ja'far looked up at Sinbad as if the King of the Seven Seas had gone insane.

"We could ask Homura." Sinbad grinned with giddy joy, and an expression that Ja'far had come to associate with the way he once looked at Serendine-- the face of pure, unadulterated adoration: a very different look from the one he wore when charming pretty women into his room. Or anywhere, really.

Sometimes he wondered if Sinbad knew just how much he looked like a child in their first Maharajan dance whenever that person's name was mentioned.

Ja'far sighed. "Sin, you're thinking of calling the specter of a fallen warrior--one that almost effortlessly broke your arm and bypassed my attacks when you tried to talk to her while she was incapacitated."

Sinbad nodded, his smile brighter than the Sindrian sun.

Ja'far wanted to scream in frustration. Surely Solomon had some rule that summoning a millennia-old child soldier to the present had to be a felony in the present--

Ja'far startled out of his musings when he realized the idiot king had escaped (again) and was probably trying to contact that certain person.

Ja'far wanted to curl up in a bed of fluffy papagoras feathers. He wasn't getting enough sleep, thank you very much. Departing and trying to curb the impulse of suddenly wanting to smash the nearest wall (he knew Alibaba wouldn't appreciate that), the white-haired advisor set off in search of the kitchen.