[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]

"That explains nothing."

[sagramore]

"It explains nothing?" outraged. "Thou hast seen my husband! How in Christ's name can I keep that to myself and not gladly share with my friends?"

[futaille]

"Sagramore is an extraordinarily generous man."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"No, no, none of that was in question," waving a hand.

[sagramore]

"Well, then?"

[futaille]

Grantaire rests an elbow on the bar, putting his chin in his hand as he continues to drink, amused as he decides to spectate this like a tennis match.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"It explains nothing because everyone here is in agreement when it comes to Laertes," Lancelot says knowingly. (Privately, he is thankful to the alcohol.) "Thou wast, however, ever at me when it came to Laertes. Thou shouldst also pester me on Grantaire's behalf."

[sagramore]

"I have! I told thee to kiss him at Wanderers Gather! Dost thou not remember? I asked thee often."

[futaille]

"Thank you very much. Very appreciated." He has another sip of his drink.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Oh," he says, sifting back through his thoughts and memories, "So thou didst. And I did kiss him."

He takes a sip of his drink.

"The fault, then," he says after a moment, "is mine. I shall correct it."

[sagramore]

"So thou shouldst!"

[futaille]

"How lovely that this lukewarm conflict has been resolved."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Nay, sweet, there is only one resolution-- and I think we shall not find it this evening, unless I am mistaken."

[sagramore]

"Oh?"

[futaille]

"Then perhaps, at the least, a resolution has been resolved, if I should venture a guess."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Aye, very much resolved. Resoluted."

[sagramore]

"Christ, we're all drunk."

[futaille]

Grantaire waves a hand dismissively. "Ah, barely. I've been much drunker than this."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I am delightful when drunk."

[sagramore]

"Oh, I didn't contest that."

[futaille]

"I would say you're usually delightful, drunk or no."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Wouldst thou?" He's practically beaming.

[sagramore]

Sagramore just laughs and shakes his head. "Are we even going to look for the paint?"

[futaille]

"Of course I would-- Oh right! The paint!"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Mildly, into his glass, Lancelot says, "This is a better distraction."