[Open Post] ..only want to glean the purpose..

[lanselos_du_lac]

Since they learned of Shen Yuan's death, things have been subdued; rightly so, Lancelot reasons. He has done what he can to be a support for those he loves, and to keep his own worry and anxiety at bay. He worries about how they are all doing, about whether or not they are safe, about what he can do to make anything better -- which often feels like nothing. It's unsettling, and he wants to stay settled and present for them, so he determines to find a way to be so.

As has always been the case for him, being outside helps. The weather is warming and true spring is settling in. (He has difficulty keeping track of what time may be like back in Britain¹, but he suspects that it is early summer there. If so, then he supposes that means he is another year older, which is a strangely hopeful thought.) And so, after his lunch with Susan, he heads back out -- he might ride, or walk through the woods, or explore the lake. Whatever keeps him out in the sunshine, under the sky.



^{1: He has not quite realized this yet, but he has generally stopped thinking "at home" when he means Camelot, or Britain in general. That this place -- no, these people -- have become home in so short a span is something he has to take by degrees, lest he worry about what it means for his relationship with those he left behind there.}

Comments

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot nods Sagramore inside as well.

[sagramore]

"Should it be all one color for the base? White, or-- that red color old pottery always is? I've never painted a castle before."

[futaille]

"It can be whatever color you want. Bright green, if you'd like."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Blue," Lancelot suggests, because of course he does.

[sagramore]

"Blue's all right, but the chickens won't show up as well."

[futaille]

"That would depend on what color the chickens are. And what shade of blue."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"It could be the sky," he points out.

[sagramore]

"I suppose the sky is fairly light."

[futaille]

"Most of the time, certainly. Although a white chicken against a light sky may not contrast very well. Another color of chicken, though..."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Do the paintings have to match whatever chickens are found?"

[sagramore]

"A white chicken against a light sky is poetry," he informs Grantaire, and then: "Well, to inspire them. I want them to be able to imagine themselves doing the brave deeds and so on."

[futaille]

"Give them something to aspire to. To become the courageous chickens you know they can be."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot laughs. "Of course he does."

[sagramore]

"I suppose that presents a problem for our art since I don't have any actual chickens yet," thoughtfully. "Perhaps some creative license can be taken."

[futaille]

"Or perhaps when they finally arrive, they will be mirrors of the art, and therefore you can use it to determine what sort of chickens you'd prefer."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"We do not know the magics of how this place works," Lancelot agrees. "How many sorts of chicken are there, anyhow?"

[sagramore]

"I've been reading on the subject, and there are so many! As many as there are kinds of dogs, I think. It's actually rather astonishing."

[futaille]

"Clearly I'll need to paint at least one of the most bizarre looking chicken you can find."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Perhaps we had fewer sorts in Britain. Or perhaps I did not pay enough attention to chickens. I'd like to see, though."

[sagramore]

"We had fewer sorts in Britain. There are so many French breeds! And Dutch. I'll show thee the book later."

[futaille]

"Oh, do we have more chickens than average in France?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I was paying no attention to chickens in France, either," he half-mutters.

[sagramore]

"Not more, but more breeds. Chicken fanciers, as it were."

[futaille]

"More kinds of chickens, then."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Perhaps thou'lt have several sorts of chicken. In this grand palace."