[Open post] ..life's a hall of mirrors..

[lanselos_du_lac]

It's been an exhausting few days. While the zombie siege was dangerous, Lancelot is proud of how they handled things, together -- even though not everyone is friends. He was also, he must admit, grateful for the diversion. There is too much on his mind, after the truth-telling spell, and most of it sits like a stone in him... making his sleep even worse, weighing on his heart.

Still, all of that is strangely intermixed with hope. He has a few new friendships that feel like how he remembers friendship feeling -- pleasure in each other's company, time well spent, connection. There's a little piece of him that feels as if he gave that up with youth. (He was always glad to be in Arthur's company, or Guinevere's, he misses them in a way that's sometimes physically painful now that they're away from him. But all of that feels shored up by duty, devotion, love -- nothing simple.) He is glad he could speak plainly with Galahad, glad for all of these new possibilities. Glad of Susan, Laertes, Grantaire -- even Sagramore, whom only months ago he would have given little notice.

So he's reverted to keeping to himself, a little, while he thinks things through. He keeps his schedule: sleep (or not sleeping), drills in the morning, finding something to eat after that, wandering the mansion or the grounds. He's not as adrift as he was, and he is sober most of the time now, but it's an adjustment.

This afternoon he's determined that it's been too long since he took proper care of his sword. He's found a bench and has set himself up there to clean, hone, and oil the blade.

Comments

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan, meanwhile, has been making a concerted effort to find small things to do, since tasks were... helpful, during the attack. It occurs to her that she's spent even less time outside than normal, since arriving, as she's no longer walking to work or the bars or classes every day.

She slips a book of Freud's writings (Not the essays on homosexuality; those are still burning a hole under her pillow) in her pocket and goes outside to find a place to read, and that's where she finds Lancelot.

"Have you eaten today, sir?" she asks, remembering their last conversation as she approaches.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He looks up at her voice, and his whole expression lights. He answers easily, "Some while ago, very early, lady."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"But that's hours ago!" Susan crosses her arms, mock-stern as she steps closer still. She is glad to see Lancelot, and takes a moment to marvel inwardly at that gladness.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot laughs a little at her sternness, "Aye, that's so. I could be made to eat another meal."

[stayafloat]

Annie has crept out of the house for -- perhaps the first time since the zombie attack the other day. Normally, she would be in her small tent near the lake and the boat Laertes had built for her, but it is getting too cold, and then the sudden appearance of these -- creatures that looked like something the Capitol might send had made her retreat to the house. (Granted, she could have taken care of herself if she needed to, but she knows well enough what that would lead to.)

'Crept' is the correct word indeed, because she is hoping against hope no one will see her. She is not feeling entirely fit for conversation, either, too fragile and anxious at the moment, and she needs something to settle her mind and ground her. So she finds a spot probably somewhat near Lancelot's, settling in to tie knots in the net she's been working on making. (She has not, as of yet, realized that there is someone else nearby.)

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot is fairly absorbed in his own task, checking the edges of the blade for any bad knicks after the very real work of the battle. After a time, though, he registers that Annie is there -- that she has a net, that he doesn't know her, that she seems set on her own task. He waits a while before saying, carefully, "Hail, lady. That is fine work you are doing."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"You look busy," she says, sitting down at the edge of the bench, next to him, and peering over him at the sword.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I could be done very soon, though this is-- what's the word? Relaxing." He glances over at her briefly, the smile fixed in place, and then back to the blade.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"What is it with men and polishing their swords?" Susan asks, raising an eyebrow at Lancelot and shaking her head, practically playfully.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot laughs quietly, "Well, lady, we did have a battle. Must needs be certain I am ready for the next."

[stayafloat]

She is indeed, set on her own task. So much so that it takes a moment before his words actually register. "Oh, um. Hi," she says quietly, looking askance at him, a little like a frightened deer. The sword might have something to do with it, really, but if she notices the slightest hint of more zombies she is planning to bolt immediately.

[onthewillowsthere]

It's been a good day so far. It took Galahad less time to get out of bed this morning than it sometimes does, and he made up that extra time because Matins and Prime by reading Horology: An Illustrated Primer on the History, Philosophy, and Science of Time¹. He ate.

Now, in his continuing pursuit of new, small purposes, he's out walking with his sketchbook again, looking for some of the herbs Mothwing showed him, so he can draw pictures for her. He sits down by a patch of feverfew not far from where Lancelot's bench is located -- the flowers have died back, but he recognizes the leaves, and begins to sketch.

¹which he left on his side of the bed when he went downstairs, not because he intended for Claudius to see it but because his typist did.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He starts to wipe down the blade with a clean rag, using slow and careful strokes. He's quiet for a little space and when he's almost finished he says, "I don't think we've met. I am Lancelot."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Surely there won't be another anytime soon," Susan says, with more hope than certainty; she's a little more subdued at the reminder.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Aye, I pray so, too," wiping the last of the oil from the blade. "But I would rather be ready."

He sheathes the sword and looks up at her, fully present now. "I am glad to see thee."

[lanselos_du_lac]

It takes him a little time to look up and see Galahad nearby, but once he spots him he pauses to consider how to proceed. Ultimately, he keeps at his task but calls quietly to Galahad, "Sir, good afternoon. Art-- are you well?"

[onthewillowsthere]

He glances over. "Yes. Are you?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Well enough, aye. It is good to have a task."

[onthewillowsthere]

"You weren't hurt yesterday?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I was," he admits, then pauses, "Magnus healed the wound. I am well and whole."

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad smiles for a split-second. "Magnus healed me too. He's--" He signs, though he's not facing Lancelot and there's no reason for Lancelot to understand even if he were: wonderful, amazing. "My best friend," he says, after a space.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"That is well," lightly. He holds the blade up to the light again to check for marks or knicks. "Magnus likes me not, but he fights well and he cured in whole what would have been a grievous wound."

[onthewillowsthere]

He looks up again, and almost asks why, but he knows why. He shades the leaf of feverfew, adding shadows, and says instead, "I'm glad you are whole now."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Aye, as am I," he sets aside the whetstone and starts to wipe the blade down. "I would have been helpless on the field, were it not for him. I am grateful."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"And I, you," Susan says. "You look like you're doing well." It's phrased as a statement, but there's a question underneath it: he's been poorly, lately, and as he pointed out, there was that battle.