[Semi-Closed Post] Sadmas Aftermath

[lanselos_du_lac]

Rather suddenly, after this latest mansion event or incursion of unexpected visitors, Lancelot will not be seen around and about as has come to be usual for him. He is not drilling in the field in the mornings. He is not in the café seeking pastries or companionship. He is not around the kitchens or libraries or, seemingly, anywhere.

Lancelot keeps to his room. If he bathes or shaves or uses the bathroom, he does so carefully and avoiding anyone he might meet. If Laertes leaves food outside his door, folk will find it still there later in the day. If anyone knocks, he will not call them in. He lets the mansion provision him with bread, cheese, water-- sometimes wine or whiskey -- but he doesn't much want any of it.

He cannot bring himself to speak to anyone. He cannot bring himself to do much of anything at all. The best concession he will make, with the understanding that there are those who will worry, is that he does not lock or bolt the door.

[Typist note: Anyone who might be really worried about Lancelot's sudden disappearance or withdrawal is welcome! Post is "semi-closed" really only because a character would have to deliberately decide to enter, and no one will stumble across Lancelot by accident.]

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[timebethine]

Laertes is himself in a fragile state, after Reynaldo's sudden appearance, but he strives gamely to keep up his routine even though he wants to huddle beneath a blanket and stop existing. The first day after the visitations, he brings breakfast to lay at Lancelot's door, and takes away the untouched breakfast when he brings supper in the evening.

When he comes again with breakfast (today, eggs and sausage and rye bread spread with smoked salmon and soft, rich cheese), and finds the supper plate likewise untouched, he knocks.

He had told Reynaldo that he has friends here who are dearer to him than life, and he would be no friend to them if he did not seek to know their sorrows.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot doesn't call 'enter' or 'hail' as he usually might. He says nothing. Laertes is free to try the door or not, as he likes.

[timebethine]

"Lancelot!" he calls. "Art there? It's Laertes."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He sighs, though Laertes cannot hear that. He would rather pretend to be away, but he knows Laertes' concern will be great.

As much as it feels he can't manage it, he hauls himself out of bed and goes to open the door. When he does, Laertes will find him mussed, a little disheveled, clearly just abed -- not looking well-rested, but bleak.

[timebethine]

The worry in Laertes's eyes shifts to compassion. That bleakness answers much; it gives shape and texture to Lancelot's isolation He sets down the plate and wraps Lancelot in his arms, hugging him briefly but tightly. "Didst have a visitation?" he asks. "Come, let's sit. Tell me all."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot leans into him, though he can't make himself hug back. When Laertes releases him he steps away from the door to usher him in, nodding toward the table.

He has moved the bedding from the floor back to the bed (a man's back can take only so much sleeping on wooden floors), though he hasn't remade the bed in anyway -- just tossed things onto the mattress in a tangled mess. He sits in one of the chairs near the table only because he knows Laertes will make him do that anyway.

For the moment, he is silent as Galahad sometimes is. Blank, and sleepless, and sitting stiffly.

[timebethine]

"Canst eat?" Laertes asks, all gentleness. "It might do thee good."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He wants to say no, but he takes up the bread and holds it, in a gesture of I will try. After a moment he says, "Arthur was here."

[timebethine]

"Ah." Laertes lets that answer hang between them with all the weight it's due. "I met him. He spoke well of thee--he loves thee dearly."

[sagramore]

Laertes tells him that Lancelot is struggling, and it's this that makes Sagramore decide to visit. He brings a bottle of palinka with him, and his sword as well, in case hitting things makes Lancelot feel better. When he arrives he raps on the door with his knuckles and comes right in.

[lanselos_du_lac]

By this time, Lancelot has at least remade the bed properly. He has not, however, gone out (other than his very careful forays to make use of a shared bathroom). He has been doing his best to eat what Laertes has brought, but that's not going terribly well either.

When Sagramore enters, Lancelot is sitting in the chair next to the table, looking lost in thought. He's still somewhat rumpled; he looks like he hasn't slept. But when he hears Sagramore come in he turns, sighs a little, and says, "Sir. Hello."

[sagramore]

"Hello! Do you want to get drunk or demolish me in a fight?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot responds with a strange, half-gasping laugh. He draws himself up. "Well, sir," as wryly as he can manage, "Clearly what I want is to-- sit here. Staring at nothing. But, if pressed, I'll take the palinka."

[sagramore]

"Perfect." He comes over to Lancelot's chair, unscrewing the top of the bottle, and when he reaches him he takes a drink and then hands it over.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Do sit," taking the bottle. "I am terrible at everything right now, but thou shouldst make thyself comfortable."

[sagramore]

"I will." He does, on the table, so that he's not too far from the bottle. "Thou hadst better be eating what Laertes brings thee nevertheless. I'd not have his work wasted."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Another little sigh, "I have been trying. But-- Sagramore, if I am honest, this goes harder than the first I came here."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

The first time Lancelot misses lunch, Susan assumes he's busy. The second time, she grows worried, and asks about, here and there, to see if anyone else has seen him anywhere. The third time, her primary reaction is impatience - he hadn't been training that morning, either; she woke up early enough to check - and she decides to track him down.

She doesn't actually know where his room is, because they've been spending time together in common spaces or in her room, and it must be said that she knocks on a few unsuspecting doors before she finds one with a plate of old food sitting in front of it.

"Lancelot!" she calls, knocking on the door and trying the handle. It opens with a creak. "This bloody well better be your room," she mutters, and steps briskly inside.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Although Susan can't know this, the room is somewhat tidier than before. He's made the bed up, for one. Although he set his dinner plate outside last night (he did eat some, as he promised Sagramore he would, but he still has little appetite), there are a few items cluttered on the table.

Lancelot himself is sitting by the window, having dragged a chair over, and he looks up when she comes in, surprised. He doesn't look particularly well, though he's a little clearer than he was. He looks sleepless, drawn; he could use a shave. He says, "Lady-- I-- was not expecting thee."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan freezes in the doorway, giving him a long, sharply assessing look. He looks absolutely dreadful, and perhaps in a familiar way. For a moment, her instincts scream at her to walk right back out again - she's getting to know him, but she doesn't know him nearly well enough to have a sense of how to deal with him when he's clearly upset.

But he's been so kind to her, every time she's been lost - sweet and gentle, hearing her out - so she squares her shoulders and strides forward instead. Her indignation and impatience have already faded into a soft muddle of worry.

"Get up," she says. She's aiming for a bossy tone, since that's the sort of approach Miriam and Ingrid used when they were first nudging her along after the funerals, but her worry shines through. "You're taking me on a walk."

[lanselos_du_lac]

His immediate impulse is to decline, to tell her he would rather nearly anything than be out. But he can see the worry in her, and he has some better sense, now, of how dear she is to him. So instead he says, dubiously, "I will do as thou likest, but I am very poor company, lady."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"So it's your turn now," says Susan, who was poor company indeed the first several times they spoke. She crosses the room and offers him her hand, in case whatever has befallen him has made him feel too weak, emotionally, to stand on his own. "Come. What do you need? A coat? Some shoes?" Her concern, she registers, is making her sound a little prickly. Ah, well. Nothing to be done about that.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot takes her hand and gets to his feet; he has the sudden urge to pull her into his arms but he resists it. He moves around her, saying, "I will get my boots on."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Good," says Susan, firm as anything. She doesn't have a coat of her own, at the moment - hers is in her room - so she goes over to Lancelot's closet and bullies it into giving her one. It's a garish mauve monstrosity, but she hasn't got the focus to make it yield something more appropriate, so she just drapes it over her arm and goes to wait by the door for him.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Soon enough he's ready; he's got a cloak, which he puts on as well, and then nods toward the door and goes out.