<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">An integral component of the 'Morgen Magic' consisted of half-jests that veered a little close for comfort. He liked to keep people 'on their toes' with edgy assertions, though others (sometimes) found his daring, almost intrepid lines of inquiry borderline nosy. It was his way of entering and navigating into the territory of the social frontier of the people around him. Morgen knew both Jourdan and Freya, but it had been years ... and they had experienced a world of novelty without him affecting their decision one iota. They had to have changed to some degree, and Morgen found himself curious as to how and in what way. Marriage and the vicissitudes of being legally bonded must have created situations that he could only fathom; they had to have overcome them and been better for it as they both seemed (by the look of it) keenly happy and emotionally-cogruent after several years of matrimony. </span><br/><br/><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">At this point of his reflection, Morgen would be quelling a wave of bitterness, but the shots of Lambfell Moar had eradicated his ire into a placid sea of tolerant bliss. "No, not predictable at all," he answered Jourdan's question with a smile. "Life can be ironic and funny sometimes." Morgen wanted to say 'darkly' ironic, but that would have cast their chipper reunion in a dour shadow of the past. <i>Morgen </i>had been the one that wanted marriage, kids, an established life with all the trappings of normative accomplishment; Freya had been an edgy artist with contempt for the establishment and Jourdan was still finding her way in this world. A tabulated checklist would have indicted them as seemingly conventional, not on the specifics but the general trend of consumerist accumulation; it would have been unfair to suggest that they both had stolen his vision of what defined happiness, however, their embracing of marital status made him wonder how conventional they truly had become -- the idea of Freya, at least, being monogomous could scarcely be imagined. <br/>
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Morgen sat in his stool and they sat in theirs together ... <i>what did it matter? </i>his alcohol-addled mind asked. His eyes veered when the girl's answered his question over toward the ginger princess at the neighboring table that was fast becoming his private obsession. Jourdan mentioned lightning striking twice ... then felt her knee stroke against his own. Morgen gave them -- especially <i>HER </i>-- his full focus as Freya rattled off a list components that made up their little life together. The smallest fire sputtered into existence deep within his core; the furnace of his lust had been stoked to life as Jourdan seemed to be making secret contact. Could have been a mistake, or it could have been Morgen's virile masculinity reading intention where none existed. If it was deliberate, it had better be followed through -- to refuse him would have been a doubly-cruel gesture to crown his misfortune. <br/>
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<i>"No kids, yet," </i>Freya had said. <br/>
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Yet? What did <i>that </i>mean? Ruminating for a moment -- the sudden and intense scrutiny on his companions causing the redhead a bout of dismay as the architectural professor (surrounded by his <i>partis</i>) ignored her -- Morgen could only conclude that the couple intended to adopt. However much he supported LBGT rights, that did not change biology and sperm was a necessary component. <i>In vitro. then? </i>How <span style="font-size: 12px">PRECISELY </span>did they intend to become parents? Adoption must have been the answer, though the process took years of background checks. Naturally, Morgen could have just asked them there in the pub, but he felt self-conscious about inquiring about a topic so personal wrought with potential unsuccessful. Besides, why would they include or indulge him in a conversation of that nature? He'd been gone for several years ...<br/>
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A spark of inquiry sprouted in this mind, evincing an awareness that the three would shift into a different demeanor after their impromptu soiree -- one that asked the question 'what now?' Oh, the medicinal power of Lambfell Moar. What would he be to them? Would they all depart from the basement drinking hole and shrug off the awkward specters of the past but lead their live apart as before? It seemed that Jourdan had other ideas as she invited Morgen to their place, her knee still stroking his under the table. <br/>
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Morgen decided to follow his intuition and see where this led. <br/>
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"I'd love to see your loft sometime," Morgen said. He began to collect his tiny drawings into a stack as best an inebriated man would -- though drunk he remained a staunchly Type-A architect. "If it's not too late ... I'd be happy to see it this evening," he suggested. "Unless, of course, you prefer me to stop by another time?" When he asked, he met both of their gazes directly though lingered on Jourdan's chocolate eyes. <i>SHE </i>was the one he wanted to connect with, as a growing need within him inspired a minor display of audacity. Would the 'Morgen Magic' still work after all these years?</span>