[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

[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."

[sagramore]

"It's interesting." He takes another drink and hands the glass to Lancelot.

[futaille]

"I want to try it afterward!"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot takes a sip, and then makes an expressive face of distaste. Without saying anything he holds the glass out to Grantaire.

[sagramore]

"I know," Sagramore says to Lancelot.

[futaille]

Grantaire takes the glass and has a long sip of his own. "Huh. That's... something."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Sweet," he says. "Quite something."

[sagramore]

Sagramore laughs and takes the glass back for another drink. "I think I can taste-- no. I've no idea. Malort? I know thou likest it."

[futaille]

Grantaire glances over the bottles that he used, as he was paying very little actual attention to the process. "Correct!"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Almost gleefully, Lancelot says, "It is dreadful."

[sagramore]

"Appalling." He takes another drink.

[futaille]

"I almost wish I'd taken better note of the proportions as I was making it."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Try it again-- think not too hard. Perhaps thou canst recreate it."

[sagramore]

"Go ahead."

[futaille]

"Why certainly!" He grabs another glass and starts to attempt to recreate the strange cocktail.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot watches him fairly closely -- as if he might recall enough to replicate it.

[sagramore]

Sagramore is also watching, albeit less intently, simply because he's curious about what he might have drunk.

[futaille]

Grantaire has absolutely no idea what exactly went into the first drink, so he's just picking up the closest bottles to himself on the assumption that they're closest because they got used, and he's adding them based on vibes alone. This will almost certainly taste nothing like the first one, but at least he's trying.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Dost think," to Sagramore, "He will be able to reproduce it?"

[sagramore]

"I think it'll be something wholly new, to be honest."

[futaille]

"You doubt my skills?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Never," solemnly.

[sagramore]

"Thy memory, though, that I have my suspicions about."

[futaille]

"And you are right to," he says as he pours from one last bottle and stirs. "I am entirely confident that this will taste nothing like the last one."