1965-05-02 - The Morning After
Summary: Adam and Morbius greet the alter-ego of a recent acquaintance.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
morbius adam halgrim 

It's somewhere around the next morning, although not much changes here in the underground city. Maybe it's a little warmer. Maybe. Adam is sitting next to the sleeping form of Halgrim/Fjornskar, writing in a journal. He hasn't slept. He doesn't need to, much, and keeping an eye on the newest monster seems more important.

Fjorskar fell asleep on a futon someone scrounged up for the corner of the modest lean-to he and Adam squeezed into. It's more cloth-over-lumps than cushion, but it's a couple of inches of material off the ground, which was enough to allow the beast to sleep, apparently. There was a scratchy, threadbare, wool blanket as well, and while at first it was barely enough to cover the creature from shoulders to hips, gradually the form underneath it shrank and changed.

The resulting man isn't particularly short or slim, so the blanket doesn't cover him entirely, but there's enough for modesty's sake (not that monsters are very modest). And now that man grunts, groans, rolls over under the blanket…and goes very still. He sighs, and mutters under his breath in Swedish. "Gods damn it, you mangy bastard…what have you gotten us into this time." He doesn't seem inclined to look out from under the blanket just yet.

There is a shift in activity at least as the day rolls over. Some inhabitants are nocturnal, some are diurnal, some are vespertine—it all depends and it all signals a changing of the guard because even though they are under ground, the light that glows over head seems to have some kind of very crude shifting that someone probably has to change over manually or something. When they came in, the light was dim. Now, it's brighter, but certainly not sunlight. No, no, no.

Morbius left with Constantine at some point, presumably to bed, leaving Adam with Halgrim in the modest dwelling that was currently up for grabs. It's back to this dwelling that Michael returns to in the morning, dressed down in a pair of slacks, dress shirt and suspenders, the vampire knocks gently on the, uh, doorway, politely. Then waits.

Adam nods to Morbius. Then the blanket stirs, and his mouth tightens. Now here's the part he hasn't been looking forward to. Also in Swedish — old fashioned Swedish, with a few modern words here and there — he addresses the blanket. "You will find me alarming. Do not fear. I will not harm you. Your other self has brought you here." It probably won't help, but he gives 'er the old college try.

The man under the blanket shifts. "Are you…" He pauses, heaves another sigh. "If you saw my, ah, unfortunate tenant, and didn't promptly hand me over to the authorities, I suppose your claim to be alarming must be something to take seriously. But why," and now he starts to pull the blanket off his head, "is your accent so—" He eyes land on Adam, and he starts. "Ah," he manages to say. "I…don't suppose you know, if I…" His gaze drifts to Morbius, then back to Adam. "…killed anyone."

Morbius speaks numerous languages…but Swedish is not one of them. Instead, he waits nearby patiently, a blithe smile appearing across his bulging lips while he waits for the man to get his bearings. Pupils dance between the two while they speak, but he says nothing because, well, he isn't about to admit he doesn't understand what they're saying. It's all the same when you're waking up surrounded by monsters, isn't it?

"Forgive my discourtesy," Adam says in English, to Morbius. "I wished to prevent difficulty as best I could." He looks back down at Halgrim. He's huge. Absolutely huge. He's terrifyingly inhuman, a member of some other race that can only live once humans have died for it. In his way, just as much a parasite as any vampire. But his contrabass voice is civil, even pleasant. "You did not kill," he tells Halgrim. "We discovered you when you were assaulted, and you transformed."

Halgrim huffs a breath in obvious relief. Still speaking Swedish, he says, "Thank the gods. That's something at least." He seems to realize that Adam has switched to English and looks at Morbius. "Apologies, I—" And gets a better look at him, most notably his eyes, and swallows. "Well." He looks down at himself, making a show of taking in his current state so he doesn't have to look at either of them and thus think much about how he's not dreaming (or if he is how he can't seem to wake up). "Thank you for your assistance in that matter." His accent in English is light and attenuated in the manner of someone who's spoken with various English speakers for a long time. "I don't suppose either of you have some clothing I might borrow."

"I understand," Morbius forgives Adam with a small flick of his elongated fingers. No, he's not American, British or Australian by that accent, but it seems to be the cross-over they've established. Morbius has a hard time clocking for human, but compared to Adam, he is fantastically normal. But for the deathly pale skin, elongated ears, unnervingly entire red eyes, bulging lips which move as little as possible when he speaks, so on and so forth. He practically screams 'here be vampire'! He's aware of it as well and therefore keeps his distance out of respect and does what he can to not make direct eye contact with Halgrim. "You are most welcome, and yes. I believe I have a few things that may fit you. I didn't want to be presumptuous, but…" Stepping back outside of the lean-to, he reaches out to hook his fingers into a wrapped package wound with cord that looks fresh from the laundromat on the surface. Leaning in rather than stepping into Halgrim's space, Michael reaches out and neatly drops the package, giving him a rather clear look of the wicked looking talons inset into each finger, mor like a cat's claw than a fingernail. "I had just had those laundered the day before. I can likely find you a pair of shoes as well," he squints. "But I'm not sure if mine will do."

It's a full set of singular clothes: underclothes, slacks, dress socks, under shirt, shirt and tie. It screams 'academic nerd'. Morbius is a little shorter than Halgrim, but they'll do.

Adam studies Halgrim without any apparent embarrassment or need to pretend that he isn't. He's clinical, as if Halgrim is an interesting insect to be catalogued. "I am called Adam, despite what others often call me." The dreaded F-word. "You have an inconvenient houseguest, Professor. What do you wish to be called?" He closes the journal and tucks it away.

Halgrim openly stares at Morbius' hands as he offers over the clothing, fascinated, and so it takes a moment for him to respond when Adam addresses him. "Thank you," he tells Morbius. "I don't mind a bearfoot walk home. It wouldn't be the first one." He finally takes a proper look at Adam. Instead of the series of on-going hesitant expressions from before, now he's curious, and it shows in how he examines Adam's mismatched and varied featrures. "Halgrim is my name. Though, if you know my profession, I imagine that's not a surprise. I see my bag here," he shoves it with a naked leg, "and unless those unfortunate young men stole my passport it and my university ID would have told you enough." He tilts his head, thoughtful. "Is what they call you something I would have heard?"

"He is making reference to the monster in the book 'Frankenstein'," Michael ever so helpfully supplies. "Though the misnomer is double since the monster is indeed 'Frankenstein's Monster' and the scientist was Victor Frankenstein. It's embarrassing on two fronts when one makes that mistake." Morbius pairs his hands at the small of his back, articulating his words with a delicate, almost nasal accent which screams 'Greek' from the mountaintops. "I am Doctor Michael Morbius. Also, while we are exchanging information, you are in a subterranean city beneath New York, populated by creatures such as ourselves. So you're not shocked when you look outside."

Adam bows his head, a mighty frown settling in on his face. "All the world makes that mistake. It …distresses one, over time." But he nods to Halgrim. "I am Dr. Frankenstein's child, much as I would rather not. Dr. Morbius has created a place here for those like us."

"Oh," Halgrim says, faintly. Trying to decide which part of all that to respond to first, he settles on, "Really, you're *the* one he made? And this sort of thing isn't…uncommon?" He's torn between concerned and glad to hear this, perhaps understandably; it's nice not to be struggling with something alone, but not precisely kind to wish it on others so you can have some company in your misery. Probably in an attempt to feel less awkward about it all, he starts unwrapping the clothes. He lets the blanket drop down so he can pull on the under- and overshirts (they're snug but work, if in a 'I'm wearing a size too small so you can all see how built I am' sort of way), then get sup, holding the blanket around his waist deftly, to do the rest. This is a man plainly used to dressing himself in moxed company, because he manages to get the underwear and pants on without bearing much more than his thighs, and doesn't seem the least bit reluctant to do so.

Morbius inclines his head with modesty when Adam credits him for the Metropolis' existence, but does not get in the way of the blatant curiosity of Adam's origins. It's somewhat like meeting a monster celebrity, honestly. He gets it. "Some of our ranks were somehow made or augmented in some fashion to be as they were, but we have a large population who were simply born as they are. There /are/ monsters of myth and legend who are perfectly natural and exist on this plane. Who need somewhere safe to live."

Like Robert the Minotaur!

Politely, Michael turns and averts his eyes while Halgrim gets changed, continuing to speak at the wall. "Common and uncommon is somewhat difficult to discern, as I know nothing about /your/ situation, Professor." He prompts.

"The very one," Adam says, with a reasonable amount of tolerance. "He made me too well. Neither age nor illness touches me." He agrees with Morbius, saying, "I believe we are both most curious about your circumstances. Your other self showed us your documents. He has difficulty communicating, that one." Somewhat understating the matter.

Fully dressed (minus shoes), Halgrim folds up the blanket and contemplates Adam again. He considers numerous things to say and discards them, to go by the expressions flicking over his features. He eventually says, "I suppose it can't be too surprising that the story wasn't merely a story." He reaches down and trades the blanket for his bag, and fishes around inside of it, producing a small comb and a leather thong; these he uses to minimally tame his hair and tie it back. "*Difficulty*, now that's an overly generous way to put it." This leaves him looking like an academic who had a long night, which is very much the case. At least he shouldn't get harassed before he can make it back to his apartment. "It's a curse, or so I've assumed. Stemming from—" he tugs the pendant out from under the shirt so it's plain to see, "this. I found it on a dig, in Norway." He seems about to go on, stops, and looks away. "The rest you can probably fill in for yourselves." It's clearly a suggestion they should do so, because he doesn't particularly care to detail it. At least not at the moment.

"Yes, well, Adam is rather skilled in the art of delicate conversational cues, despite his appearance," Morbius states factually, though it's clearly a compliment. He turns back from his polite glance away once Halgrim directs attention back to himself, the pendant is given another long look now that he's drawn attention to it — yet another THING he was politely ignoring for a while. "Oh yes, curses aren't as unusual as you might believe. Totums, objects, pendants," he gestures with an unfurling of his fingers toward the pendant. "I knew a woman who was trapped in a tomb for three thousand years, alive — relatively speaking — because of a pendant. It was quite obnoxious from what I understand." He turns his attention on Adam, his brows arching mildly. "Perhaps if it is something along those lines, there may be something that John could at least help with. If not eradicate them somehow make more bearable."

"You are possessed," Adam says, interested. "You cannot rid yourself of—" he gestures to the pendant, "or you would have. Yes, it was the first thing he did, was reclaim it." He has no pity, but a light drizzle of sympathy. "Cursing you to our company." Those strange white eyes of his go to Morbius, and he frowns again. It makes his already awful features into something no special effects artist could ever dream of recreating. "You know the man, so I submit to your judgement. I have heard it said his excorcisms are effective. I have heard much else, but I should be the last to give rumor overmuch weight."

"Oh yes," Halgrim says, making a face, "ridding myself of it was the first thing I tried. But after I woke up in the mess I'd made of someone's barn I ceased those attempts entirely, and started…trying to live with it." He fiddles with the pendant, brows furrowed. "Though bearable would be an improvment, at least." He looks at Morbius, hopeful and wary. "Is that something you…could arrange? I'll admit I'm not wealthy, but I could afford payment of some sort I'm sure."

"Yes, well, with John the rumors themselves are somewhat backwards as I find that the more ridiculous and stupid they seem, the more likely they're threaded with more truth than fiction," Morbius tells Adam of Constantine, but does so with a small, wry angled smile on his face. Turning back to Halgrim, he clicks his tongue, high and sharp three times against the backs of his front teeth; it seems like a dismissive gesture. "Payment is flexible for not finding bodies of the unfortunate who are foolish enough to attack you, Professor. I cannot make promises on results, but I can make promise to efforts. I know a man, a mage, who is well-versed in a number of these types of things. Well. I know a few, but specifically there is one currently asleep in my abode. He saw you and your friend last night and for the sheer curiosity of speaking to you, I'm sure he'd be interested."

Adam considers that. "I have heard some excessively stupid and ridiculous rumors." But he doesn't go into them. "We must protect ourselves," he says to Halgrim, "and that includes protecting those above to a significant degree. If your other self was discovered, it might bring danger on us all. Such are the exchanges we make." He's saying 'we' a lot. A loner who's decided to join the herd. For now.

Halgrim nods at them, and shuts his eyes for a moment, then opens them and stuffs the pendant back under his shirt. "Ridiculous and stupid might be all that's left to try on me. And results would be too much to hope for. Even the willingness to help is more than I've any right to expect." He includes both of them in that statement by looking between them, vampire and stitched man. "Though, I do have office hours today — this evening, I mean. If I want to avoid suspicion I should go home and change and get to that. I could come back here, though, as soon as I'm able."

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