[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.]

Comments

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot looks up at him. "Is it very stupid that I did not know, myself, until I had him here?"

[sagramore]

"No, not at all. It happens that way sometimes."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I knew that I--" He lets out a breath. "Had we more time," he shrugs, "Anyway. Perhaps it's best. He is needed there."

[sagramore]

"Does that lessen the sting for thee?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

He shakes his head. "No. I think not."

[sagramore]

"Then fuck it. What matters it whether it's for the best? Fuck this place and its cruel tricks."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot looks up at him, surprised.

[sagramore]

Sagramore shrugs. "Thou art hurt. If it comforts thee not to be practical about it, then be not practical."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He raises his eyebrows, considering this. He's starting to feel slightly tipsy. "I-- I suppose you're right."

[sagramore]

"Of course I'm right," with a quick grin. He takes the bottle back for another drink.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot says, after another moment, "I told him I would stay, that I had begun to feel better, here. I told him not why."

[sagramore]

"The lady Susan?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Not only Susan," thoughtfully, "but yes."

[sagramore]

"Hast thou another lover?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

He laughs, a little rueful, "No, I haven't. Not just now, anyway. But-- I have more friends here than I did at court, and more who take care of me. Folk who have helped me see how I can--" He waves a hand, finding that he isn't sure how to say what he's thinking.

Instead, he shifts tracks, "No one at court would ask what ails me. None would come as thou hast today, or as Laertes did."

[sagramore]

Right, friends, the other thing! "That's on thee, know thou. Thou hast opened thyself to friendship and kindness as thou didst not before."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Perhaps." He takes the bottle back and after another pull says, "Arthur did try, I think. I was too hurt to hear him. We spoke of it."

[sagramore]

"Aye?" switching smoothly back to his listening affect.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Sagramore, I think I was very far gone. I cannot think what it would be like to go back to living that way."

[sagramore]

"Aye. It was a hard way to live."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot looks up at him, saying quietly, "I am grateful for thee."

[sagramore]

"Dear man--"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Not only thee," with a touch of humor, "but aye."

[sagramore]

"Good. Thou'rt not nearly drunk enough."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"What, to speak well of thee?" Now he is teasing.