Wundrous Times: A Nevermoor Fanfiction

Summer Holidays Part 3

Morrigan woke to the distant calls of sweet morning birdsong, the loud caw of a crow overhead, and a note beside her, laying on soft dewy grass. Her bed had become a field of flowers overnight - all tulips, roses and peonies, so soft and springy she needed an extra burst of energy to climb out of it. She picked the note up and read it.

Dear Mog, 

Won't be back for the start of Frank's party - Elder Quinn needed me to deal with something-or-other somewhere in Wunsoc. I'm really sorry that you'll be suffering, I mean listening, to Frank's ranting about the Aurianna without me. Have a good one!

Love,

Jupiter

PS Please make sure you and Hawthorne don't burn the hotel down. Too much paperwork, and you know how I hate that.

Still smirking at the contents of the note, Morrigan was just about to go downstairs to grab breakfast (she was absolutely famished after the excitement of the mattress-sliding race the night before), when a loud knock on her station door caught her attention.

She cautiously moved to open her wardrobe door, the W imprint on her finger pulsing gently in time with the one on her doorknob. 

"It's me!" came a familiar, muffled voice, cheery even through the two doors and her walk-in Wunsoc wardrobe.

Morrigan grinned; she thought she might have an idea about who was at the other side. "Me who?" she asked, opening the door for - sure enough, her best friend, arriving in his usual morning state of unbrushed brown curls, a trace of bedtime candy at the side of his mouth, and a huge grin on his face.

"Me, the vanquisher of imaginary wolf-shadows. Remember that? Mwahahahah," cackled Hawthorne, stepping into her room with his arms full of heavy-looking carrier bags. "Mwahahahahahhahahhah -"

"Please stop," groaned Morrigan as she took half the load off of him and dumped it on her bed-turned-flower-field. "We don't want to wake up Fen, she's already threatened to find a creative way to sneak sardines into my - Hawthorne, what is in these?" She held up a bag, overflowing with coloured fabric and sequins. 

"What? Oh, our costumes, duh!" Hawthorne sat beside her on the damp soft grass. "Mind you, Mum did want to buy some, but it's impossible to find a shop selling good giant fruit costumes these days." He caught sight of Morrigan's expression and made a face. "I know, ridiculous isn't it! Anyway, I got some bits and pieces from around the house, and we can make them together." He gestured vaguely to the pile of fabric now sitting on Morrigan's bed. 

"Um. Yeah." Morrigan blinked. "Wait, what do you mean, our costumes?"

"Me and you! We can be watermelon slices at the party today. There wasn't enough fabric for the whole unit, otherwise we could have made a whole watermelon. But I asked Homer, and he wrote 'Morrigan would LOVE to be a watermelon slice!' on his blackboard. Then again, I wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic. But nobody really knows if Homer's being sarcastic or not, so." Hawthorne paused for breath, absent-mindedly fiddling with a blade of grass in his fingers.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, Morrigan tucking a daisy behind her ear (she thought it might distract the guests from her messy bedhead hair). "D'you want to have breakfast?" she asked, turning to face him. 

He lit up. "Sure! Ooh - anything special today?"

Morrigan counted on her fingers. "Let's see. Aside from the normal breakfast menu, we've got pita bread sandwiches with cheese and grilled steak, and Frank's summer smoothie - his own special recipe, apparently. Or coconut croissants with strawberries-and-cream ice cream, and strawberries on top of cream on top of cream on top of cream."