[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 raises his eyebrows at Sagramore. "A youth!"

[sagramore]

"Don't tell me, I already worry about robbing cradles."

[futaille]

"Yes, of course, you're both my wizened elders to whom I should listen diligently."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I am not wizened, but aye," easily teasing.

[sagramore]

"I am. Constantly devolving into ever more wrinkles. In a few years I'll just be a series of pleats."

[futaille]

"A very charming set of pleats, to be sure."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Aye, well-spoken."

[sagramore]

"Wilt be able to wear me around thy shoulders like a cape."

[futaille]

"Truly the peak of fashion!"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Undeniably," into his glass.

[sagramore]

"Art thou muttering at me?" to Lancelot.

[futaille]

He has a sip of his own. "I think he was agreeing with me."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"So I was."

[sagramore]

"This isn't fair, really. He loves thee. Wilt thou make me another drink?"

[futaille]

He huffs out a laugh. "Of course I'll make you another drink. Any specific request this time?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"He also loves thee," Lancelot points out to Sagramore.

[sagramore]

"Something with a lot of different flavors. I won't look, and I'll try to guess what's in it. Canst be as liberal as thou wouldst." To Lancelot, he adds, "Right. Not fair to him. How is he supposed to choose a side?"

[futaille]

Grantaire shrugs insouciantly and starts grabbing random bottles to pour in in varying quantities.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Very well, I relent."

[sagramore]

"Wait, really?"

[futaille]

He pushes the concoction he's made toward Sagramore. "Is there relenting to be done?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I am apparently being unfair to thee," gesturing with his glass, before he drains it. "So, aye."

[sagramore]

"By making thee choose sides between thy two lovers," Sagramore says helpfully. Then he takes a drink. His face goes through several Expressions.

[futaille]

"Oh, I have no trouble dancing from side to side regardless." He looks at Sagramore's face and laughs. "That bad?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Is it terrible? I want to try it."