[Open Post] ..hell yes i mind..

[lanselos_du_lac]

It's been a long while since Lancelot felt this way: angry and adrift, too overwhelmed and in his own head to determine how best to manage it. (If Susan were here, it would be simple -- but the fact that his Susan is gone is part of the problem.) His anger is a hot stone at his center, a roiling mess, a weapon without a target. He still feels that he would like to smash something, start a fight, find some way to externalize everything all the things he could not bring himself to say to the Galahad who is far older than he ought to be, the quiet king of a quiet kingdom.

A fulfilled purpose. A completed quest. A long chain of manipulation and events that dragged Lancelot along in its wake, and that (in this other time, he has to acknowledge, not his time and not now) led only to the ruin of everything Lancelot had cared for. And for what? It makes him furious to think that the price of the Grail was Galahad's joy, Galahad's self, and that that price was somehow being paid long before Galahad was even born.

That's just the start of it; there is more, much more, and it feels like it will keep spooling out without ceasing.

His impulse, as ever, is to stalk off to his room and stay there until he feels he can manage himself. (He thinks, not for the first time, of himself ten years older and outwardly angry, angry enough that everyone sees it, fears him or dreads his company. A man who lashes out. He does not want that future, but this possibility has always been somewhere just under the surface; he's always known it. Sometimes it has worked for him, with him, but he knows that it is dangerous and there is no one in this place that he would want to bear witness to it.) If this were Camelot, that is what he would do.

Since he can't figure what to do, he settles for a middle ground. It's been a long while since he felt like getting very deliberately drunk, but that appeals just now, and so he heads for one of the smaller bars, just off the main corridor.

^{[Note: All are welcome! Those who care for Lancelot and/or those who also wish to fistfight God are particularly welcome.]}

Comments

[lanselos_du_lac]

"As King Galahad said, I took the Queen away with me, which forced Arthur into a war. Once his back was turned, Mordred took his opportunity. It all sounded... well. Terrible. I cannot imagine it."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"The Lancelot he knew," Susan corrects, softly. "Not you, sweetheart."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He glances over, and it's clear that all of this pains him. "I still cannot see how it isn't me. I cannot imagine making war on Arthur, forcing his hand; but I know, too, how I felt for Guinever, and what I might have done to protect her if her life were at stake."

[ninth_cavalier]

"Nah, dislike is whatever. Dislike is boring. I'm talking, like, deep hatred. Hatred in the fuckin' bones." Gideon sounds almost wistful. "You have anyone you hated like that back in your dimension?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

He considers this, then says, "I don't think so. Perhaps there were some who felt that way about me, there. But for the most part, if I do not enjoy someone's company I try to leave well enough alone."

[ninth_cavalier]

Gideon laughs. "Can't relate."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot grins at her, "I would not like to be the object of thy hate. Thou'rt fierce."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan is quiet for a long, long moment. "There are dozens of stories, you know," she says, eventually, after a long sip of her drink. "I've not read all of them. Just a few, and not in years. But from what I understand... they're all at least a little bit different." She pauses. "None of them speak of King Galahad. In every last one, he ascends."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"At least there is that," with some relief, though there is still considerable sadness. "And what of Camelot?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan's silence may speak for itself even before she says, "Oh, sweetheart. The manner in which it falls varies, too."

[timebethine]

"Nay, I should let thee dawdle and creep."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Aye, do-- and best of luck to thee!" And he's off.

[lanselos_du_lac]

The silence and the words together are enough -- it falls. It always falls. And how could it be he would not be at the center somehow? If for no other reason than he and Guinever refused to give one another up, and Arthur hoped for their happiness over his own good sense. The cost would always be the same, and no amount of love between any of them would be enough to pay it.

Lancelot puts his head down on the bar, resting his forehead on his arms.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

She rubs his back for a moment, and then slides off her seat so she can hug him from behind. "Come with me," she murmurs, kissing his shoulder.

[timebethine]

"Thou wretch!" he shouts, as though he wasn't expecting exactly this kind of sudden betrayal--then he takes off running after Lancelot, cackling all the way.

[lanselos_du_lac]

For a moment, he isn't sure he can move; everything feels heavy, and he wishes the bourbon was hitting harder. But he lets himself feel Susan's presence, draws a breath, and stands, reaching for her hand.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot is laughing as well, and admittedly he is slowed by his efforts to undress as they reach the pier.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

She takes his hand, threading their fingers together; after a sharp look at him, she also takes the bottle. Then she leads him back to their room. The dress her other self wore is still crumpled at the foot of the bed and Regina has made a nest of it; she walks him past those to the sofa, guides him into a seat, and then climbs on his lap. Then she offers him the bottle again.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He takes it, but sets it aside first and then wraps both arms around her, tucking his face against her neck.

[timebethine]

Laertes is doing the same, so they're evenly matched--but Lancelot still comes out just a hair ahead. Laertes's bare feet are pattering down the dock soon after, though, and with a last wild fling of his underwear (they catch in a bush and hang there lewdly), he's plunging into the cool lake water.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot joins him only a moment later, swimming out toward him, still beaming.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

She wraps her arms around him, too. "It hasn't happened," she murmurs, kissing his temple. "In your Camelot. It hasn't happened yet. It mightn't ever happen."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot takes another long breath. Muffled, he says, "That is true. I am here."

[timebethine]

"Joy looks well on you," says Laertes as they draw close to one another. They're still close enough to the shore that his feet touch the lake bottom; soft mud and tumbled stone shift beneath his toes. He reaches for Lancelot--almost reflexive by now, a moth's yearning to immolate itself in light.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"You're here," she agrees. "And it's not all on you, Lancelot. I'll tell you the same thing I told Laertes when he learned of his sister: we oughtn't act as if the beats of stories told about us are foregone conclusions. Words on a page are no promise, sweetheart, and words from a man who is such a divergence from any story told of you are even less so."