#wr bex chatzy

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Hit Or Miss || Morgan & Bex

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @inbextween & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan tries to get to know Bex over a game of Battleship. Explosions may or may not ensue.

CONTAINS: brief references to transphobia

There were a few things that death couldn’t take away from Morgan: love, the view of a January day, and board games. She had never been much of a fan as a kid, they were bulky, hard to pack in a hurry, and as soon as you lost a couple pieces, all that mess became worthless. But at Karen’s house a lifetime ago, the novelty special editions of Monopoly and Life and the varnished wood sets of checkers and parcheesi had seemed like treasures from another world; one where the ground was steady beneath your feet and it never occurred to you that the nice things you loved would fall apart. Today, she ran her fingers over a battered edition of Battleship: Classic (was there a Battleship: passé somewhere?) and brought it down to the table by the window she was bogarting at Board to Death, grinning affectionately at the scuffed pegs and stained ships hiding under the lid. It was the only coffee shop in town that anything to offer besides food she couldn’t taste. Her triple espresso had a soothing bitter taste, but all the icing in the world on the danishes or dipped vegan scones couldn’t bring back her old sense of taste.

She sipped the just-below-boiling mixture and watched the living world shuffle by in their puffy coats and bright scarves. When she saw a nervous looking girl approach the window she smiled, nodding in case it was her. When she entered the cafe, Morgan held out her hand. “Hey, you’re Bex, right?”

The strangest part about being back in White Crest was that it felt so nice. There was something about this place that felt enough like home that Bex almost didn’t altogether mind her overbearing parents controlling her every move. Almost. They’d delighted in the fact that she was being scouted by a professor already, and she’d opted to not mention the part where said professor was gay and also recommended by someone who thought they were a witch. For some reason, Bex trusted Nell’s judgement, and Professor Beck seemed really nice. And, well, Bex couldn’t help but leap at the idea of meeting a real life queer person. Especially a woman. Who was out! And open! Even if she couldn’t really ask her about it today. The concept was novel. And so Bex really wanted this meeting to be good.

Therefore, she kept an excited demeanor about herself as she made her way to Board to Death, trying to push the anxiety away. Put on a smile when she opened the door, and glanced around for Professor Beck, seeing her through the window. She scooted herself over, taking her hand. “Hey! Hi, yes! That’s me! I’m Bex! That makes you Professor Beck, then! Unless you’re not, which would make this very awkward,” she chuckled, then stopped, clearing her throat. “S-sorry. Um, hi, thanks for meeting with me!” Glanced down to look at her refreshments on the table, then back up. “I never really knew Board to Death had food! I’ve only been here a few times. Do you come here a lot?”

“I am Professor Beck, yes, but you can just call me Morgan. Pretty much everyone does.” Morgan took another sip of her espresso and gestured for the girl to sit. It wasn’t every day she could tell someone she’d spoken with online just from their demeanor, but Bex was nearly vibrating out of her skin with anxiety. It was an excited kind of anxious, like her face might hurt from smiling so much, but it still gave Morgan some pause. This was a girl who had wrecked a whole computer lab with just the force of her emotions. Even if she couldn’t accept magic yet, some kind emotional release would probably be good for her. “I don’t come here much, no. Coffee tastes pretty much the same to me anywhere, and at least here it comes with something fun to do. You’ve played Battleship before, right? It’s only one of a couple of two player games I’m familiar with that doesn’t make you think too much.” Grinning at her, Morgan lifted the top from the game and started assembling her board.

“Oh, um--” Bex started, feeling that anxiousness already bubbling in her throat again, “-- I’ll try, but no promises. My parents sort of drilled it into me that it’s ‘Mister’ and ‘Misses’, or ‘Doctor’ and ‘Professor’ only!” Her face scrunched, as if she were trying to be angry and she lifted a finger to waggle. A poor imitation of her father. “You are a child, Odelia, and you will address your elders properly!” Not realizing she’d let slip her real name, she looked back across the table at Professor Be-- er, Morgan. “Oh, yeah, I’m much more of a tea person, myself. Coffee makes me jittery and anxious and I think I’m plenty of that all on my own, you know?” She watched as Morgan began assembling the game, not saying too much. Her father had made her play old strategy games like Risk and Chess for hours on end as a child, but Battleship had never seemed to reach their table. “Um, once, at school. You just kinda guess coordinates, right?”

Morgan couldn’t hide the arch in her brow as Bex gave a different name as she impersonated her parents. Did they not address her the way she asked to be? Did she keep the name she gave out to acquaintances as a secret? Still, she snorted kindly and finished setting up her board. “It’s good that you know yourself at least. I’m not sure if the world is ready for a caffeinated Bex just yet.” She finished setting up her board and started on her ships, keeping them mostly spread out from each other. “And yeah, it’s just a fun guessing game! If you know your opponent well, you can try and guess their methodology, but it’s, you know--” She held up the box lid, “Ages 6 and up.” With everything set aside on her end, she could lean back and relax. “So, I do hope you’ll take one of my seminars. My syllabus is way more fun than the other professors’, not to knock my colleagues, because they’re amazing, but I hand out movies and, occasionally, video games too. We look at what speculative and fantastical stories tell us about humanity, how we see ourselves and each other and why changes in those perceptions matter. And, you know, with all the writing homework, you’ll probably get a leg up on your fellow pre-law students. Anyone can have an idea or a feeling, but it takes work to give voice to it. But, that’s my one and only pitch. I’d much rather get to know you. Sometimes strangers can be easier to open up to than others.”

“Oh, it’s definitely not,” Bex agreed with a chuckle. She watched Morgan set up her side-- without peeking, of course!-- before working to set her own side up. She didn’t entirely know the best strategy for Battleship, but she decided she wanted to go for an out there one, sticking all of her ships right in a square in the middle of the map. “Well, I’m definitely six and up, so, I think we’re all good. Who goes first?” She looked across the table to Morgan as she continued to fuss with her pieces, wondering which formation was better, listening to her description of her course. “It sounds like a great class,” she said when the older woman was done speaking, but there was something vibrating inside of her. Something about the description, something about how free and open the course sounded, made her realize something else was going on here. Bex might have been closed off and insecure, but she was observant as well. It was one of the qualities that made her an actual decent law student. Her gaze dropped to her board and she pulled her hands away. “I’m ready to start, then,” she said, lifting her eyes just enough to gaze over the top of the board, the double meaning of her sentence not lost on either of them.

Morgan watched Bex thoughtfully, from the tightness in her shoulders to the shrill chirp of her voice. She was trying, eagerly, desperately, but for what? Morgan wanted to tell her to relax, there were no quizzes or grades handed out at the end of this meet-up. But having been that anxious herself more than once, she knew drawing attention directly didn’t always have the desired effect. “A-10?” She called. “Why don’t you tell me about why you like it here? I thought I saw you mention something about ‘coming back’ on main and I gotta say, I haven’t heard of too many people returning after they’d left. Well, not often by choice anyway.”

“Miss,” Bex said quietly, sticking a peg into A-10. “E-6?” she tried, waiting for the response. She chewed on her lip at the question, thinking a moment. It wasn’t that she really liked it here, but White Crest was home and she knew she had a place here. And even if she hadn’t gone to school here, or grown up with the other kids, or become a regular at all the diners-- she still felt like she fit in here. More so than at Penn State, where the kids looked at her with those eyes, and whispered behind their hands, and posted her private life online. “It just...feels like home, I guess. I went to private school as a kid, so it’s not like I really have any sort of connection to the town, but I just feel right here,” she explained softly, neither smiling nor frowning. She stuck a peg into the missed slot. “I came back because I had to.” Where she really wanted to be was far away from the East coast, maybe in Oregon or Washington or California. Somewhere she could start over brand new and be whoever she wanted to be. She cleared her throat. “How um-- how long have you been in White Crest?”

“Miss,” Morgan called. She let a round pass unremarked, taking in as much as she could. She was just bundled up so tight, it was no wonder she’d exploded in front of Nell. That much repression might do the same even to someone without magic. “Private school, huh? Like boarding school? I didn’t realize those were still a thing in this country.” She made another call, D-6, and took another sip of espresso. “I’ve been here for a year now. I’m starting to see how somebody could feel like they belonged here, even with all the terribleness. It’s not an easy fit, but I don’t think I could leave on a dime, not by myself anyway. But what--is it okay if I ask what made you have to come back? Or if not, maybe tell me about someplace else you dream of being. Those are good ideas to hold onto. The future, I mean.”

“Yep,” Bex said dismissively, “I went to a private boarding school. And they definitely still exist here.” And they suck, she wanted to add, but held her tongue. Uniforms and strict schedules and forced rules. Secrets and hush money and skirting around the fact that Bex was not born a girl. “My parents paid good money for it, it was a Jewish Orthodox school, a really good one, too,” she went on, swallowing down the hard feelings. They didn’t matter anymore. “The town certainly has a charm to it, doesn’t it?” She stuck a peg right between two of her ships as a miss. “Miss. Um...H-7?” She looked up again, contemplating which question she wanted to answer. They both would give away too much, and she was bad at lying. “There was an incident at my old school,” she finally said, the waver in her voice coming through, “my parents thought it best I come back home.”

“It’s okay, Bex,” Morgan said softly. “I want to know you, but you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t really want to. But I am sorry about whatever happened to you over there. It doesn’t seem like something easy.” She tilted her head, trying to meet the girl’s eyes. There was something there, something awful. Bullies, maybe? Did kids chase Bex and lock her in storage cabinets and call her names like they had Morgan? Or was there some kind of accident with her magic? “What do you want, Bex? However important your parents are to your life, however close you might be, your life is still yours. Your future should look like what you hope for. Why don’t you tell me more about that, huh? Or how the law firm fits into that idea.” Another sip of espresso. “Miss, by the way.” She scanned her grid and made a guess toward the middle. “F-6?”

Bexley swallowed hard, trying to make the worble that was building in her throat go away. “It’s okay, it’s kind of public information, anyway,” she stated matter of factly, moving away from the topic enough to not feel too overwhelmed, and thankful for Morgan’s offer. But the next question felt even harder, and Bex could feel the anxiety building in her stomach again. Her hand shook as she went to plug in the peg next to her ship, one hole away and she had to grip it with her other to make it stop. “I want to make my parents proud,” she stated, as if reading from a script, “I’m the sole heir to our business and fortune. That’s all there is to it. M-my future. That’s all I want. To be the perfect daughter for them.” And stop messing up. Since she couldn’t be their son. Since she couldn’t be the best. “Miss,” she said and her voice cracked. “F-5?”

“Miss,” Morgan replied. “And you don’t have to be perfect. No one is perfect. Perfect in terms of being flawless and incapable of improvement isn’t even a real thing. And your parents--” Morgan frowned. She had a lot of fairy tales about what parents should be like, but the more people she met, the more she wondered where she had cooked that one up. “The best way to love someone is to enable them to be the most themselves. The best, freest version of themself. And asking yourself those questions is the best way to find yourself loved better. I don’t know what your situation is, Bex, but you shouldn’t live to be an object in someone else’s story. You’re more than that. What is it that really excites you? What do you hope for?” Morgan waited, peering at this small glimpse of Bex’s pain with growing concern. Then, suddenly remembering that she had yet to call a move, she distractedly mumbled something a few spaces out from her last one. “E-5?”

Bex didn’t like this anymore. Morgan was saying things she already knew, but she also already knew that they were things she couldn’t have, so what was the point in thinking about them? In talking about them? She didn’t even bother putting a peg in this time. This was supposed to be a fun, easy meeting, not a deep dive into her extremely painful situation. “Please stop,” was all she said, hands folded tightly into her lap, “just...please?” Fingers began to pick at nail beds, still red and raw from every other time she’d done it. “All I hope for right now is to make it through each day without messing up or embarrassing someone,” she admitted quietly, but her voice was stern, an anger stewing inside of her that she rarely let to the surface, “And I just hope that I can make it through the week without some shit happening. And I hope that one day I’ll be able to look back on all this and put it behind me, but that’s not feasible right now so I really need to just not think about it and keep trying my best for my parents because they’re all I have.” And she owed them everything. Shakily, she lifted the peg and placed it on one of her ships. “Hit.” A loud whistle behind the cafe counter signaled steaming water and Bex startled. She let out a long sigh. “A-2.”

“I’m sorry,” Morgan said quickly. “I don’t mean to-- I am being sincere in what I am saying and whatever me or my life looks like to you or anyone else peeking on main apparently, it’s-- I do know what it’s like to feel like your life isn’t yours and what you want doesn’t matter and keeping your head down and being small and left alone is the best you’re gonna get. I am deeply, intimately familiar with that feeling. I can only imagine what kind of suffering you’ve been through, but you were meant for more than that, and I’m sorry. I’ll stop, okay? Do you--” Morgan stopped as another kettle trilled, glowing with sudden heat. She made a note of the hit, but didn’t put the red peg on the board. Flustered and desperate to recover the afternoon, she pawed her pockets for her phone. “I have cats. Three of them. Do you want to see pictures of the cats? Or ask me something? This isn’t an interview. If there’s something you want to know you can--” The phone clattered onto the table. Deirdre and Anya’s faces bloomed on the lock screen. “You can do whatever you want, Bex, you don’t even have to stay.”

Everything Morgan was saying just made Bex tense up more and more. Kettle’s started shouting, left and right, even the baristas were beginning to panic, running around and removing them, but finding them still screaming, louder and louder, despite the lack of heat. A crack formed in the window next to Bex as she screwed her eyes shut and clenched her entire body. She didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her or tell her how much they understood or tell her how sad it was-- she wanted to pretend like how she was living was okay and fine and that one day she’d make it through and suddenly everything would feel okay. And just be okay. She unclenched and the whistles seemed to die down. Looked at the phone that had fallen to the table and saw the happy woman on it, smiling and beautiful. And the cat, so peaceful looking. Tears welled in her eyes. “I have to go,” she said suddenly, standing up. The chair scooted back and toppled over. People turned around to look at them. Her heart seemed to leap into her throat and the mug on the table shattered. “I’m sorry! I have to--” took a step back and all the teapots wailed again. Bex looked around frantically. “It-- It was nice to meet you, Professor Beck, but I--” she didn’t get to finish her sentence as one of the pistons on the espresso machine shot off and shattered a nearby tower of cups. Bex turned and ran before anyone had a chance to ask her anything.

“Bex, wait! You need to--!” Whatever half-assed plea Morgan was working on fizzled out under the crash of falling furniture and screaming machinery. Someone’s baby started wailing, the window buckled like it had been gut-punched, and the steam whirred louder. Morgan grabbed her coat and bag and phone. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen to downtown with Bex like this, if she could talk her down or if following would only make things worse. Shit, probably worse, right? But by the time she stumbled out the door, the girl was long gone and all Morgan had left were more questions. At least she would be able to tell Nell one thing for certain: Bexley was not okay, and under her nerves lay a sadness too deep for her to contain, especially in White Crest.