[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.]}

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[timebethine]

Laertes is on a supply run; his shoulders are already draped with bags full of fresh fruits, dried beans, cheese blocks, flour and jars of yeast. He's just stopping off to replenish their supply of alcohol (red wine and sherry for cooking, palinka and bourbon for drinking) when he catches sight of Lancelot. His ready smile swiftly fades when he catches sight of the expression on Lancelot's face. "What's happened?" he asks, and sets all of his bags down with a thump and a clink of glass.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot looks up, and absolute relief crosses his face, "Laertes."

[timebethine]

"Ay, I'm here." He comes to sit at Lancelot's side, and reaches for his hand. "What ails thee? Thou lookest pale, and sick."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He takes Laertes' hand, gladly. "The house plays its tricks today. There is some other Susan, who knows me not. And a Galahad who-- well. Can we go out of here?"

[timebethine]

"Ay, let's." His quest for alcohol forgotten, Laertes bends to shoulder his bags again, then offers Lancelot his hand to guide him away--from the bar, from the mansion, toward the rough comforts of the cabin.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He considers, very briefly, taking the bourbon with him. But he'd rather have Laertes, so he takes his hand and lets himself be guided, comforted.

[timebethine]

As they cross the grounds, Laertes asks, "Wouldst speak of it? Or wouldst thou only have a moment's quiet?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I-- I would," his grasp on Laertes' hand tightens. "I am... I'm angry, in truth."

[timebethine]

"Angry, at seeing thy lover once more made a stranger to thee?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"No-- that will pass, I think. I do not like it, but this place has its ways. It was my talk with King Galahad." His grip tightens again, like a spasm. "I never thought about it much, before. I had other concerns."

He falls quiet for a few steps before he asks, "What thinkest thou of God's plan?"

[timebethine]

Laertes lets his steps falter; he draws Lancelot closer, and wraps an arm around his waist despite the heavy bags pressed tight between them. King Galahad rings an anxious, hollow knell in him, although he can't guess at what it means. "I think that any god who creates a world topfull of joy and wonder, and asks His creations to abstain from the pleasure of it, must be a cruel god--and I had rather the sweetness of this imperfect world than the bliss of the hereafter."

[lanselos_du_lac]

An unusually bitter note seeps into Lancelot's voice, "And what of a God who creates a plan that lets -- or makes -- good things fall to ruin all for His own sake?

[timebethine]

Quietly, "What did King Galahad say to thee?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot takes a second to try to figure where to start. Somehow, the comfort of being with Laertes is not exactly calming, but rather makes it easier to feel what he feels.

"This Galahad is older. He is a king because he attained the Grail and that was his reward -- a reward he did not want." It's very clear that he finds this unfair, but here he hesitates. Eventually, he settles on, "He fulfilled his purpose, as did all of us that God needed to contribute to that purpose."

[timebethine]

Laertes's eyes narrow. He can trace that thread back to its beginning--to Corbenic, and to the crime that was done to Lancelot there. "God meant her to violate thee."

[lanselos_du_lac]

There is confirmation enough of this in what he says next. "He told me that Elaine was dead, long ago for him, but he said it as if it was some sort of blessing because she achieved her purpose." The undercurrent of anger is clear, though Lancelot is being careful to keep it under control.

[timebethine]

Quietly, but with such a depth and passion of feeling that the air seems to vibrate with it, Laertes says, "Fuck God's eternal plan."

[lanselos_du_lac]

It's as if that unlocks something within him. He looks over at Laertes -- and yes, he feels a stab of love at seeing Laertes' own anger. Then he takes a step away; he needs to move, and so he paces a little.

"I don't understand it," he goes on, his voice shaking now, talking with his hands, almost, as he rarely does. "I do not understand the point. This quest, over decades, that was Arthur's great dream and God's grand plan. I was meant to be harmed? Elaine was meant to suffer, as she must have suffered? Galahad attaining the Grail brought joy to no one. Brought more souls to God, perhaps, but Galahad has no joy. He was perhaps the loneliest person I've ever seen. Galahad has a kingdom he does not want. Arthur is dead, Camelot fallen, Britain engaged in wars -- that is my work, born out of everything God planned for me. All of this-- as if God knew not where the cup was. As if the thing matters. It sat untouched in Corbenic for decades and now it sits untouched in Sarras, and everything that's ever mattered is destroyed? Why?"

All of this comes out in a tumble, with a vehemence that Laertes has likely never heard from Lancelot.

[timebethine]

"There are those who would say--and be proud to say--that there is no greater glory than God's, and no greater joy or purpose than the serving of him," says Laertes. "But if I had met a man who made a beautiful thing ... if it were the most beautiful thing in the world, a jewel beyond price, infinite in its variety, wondrous from every angle and a remedy for every ailment ... still I would come to hate that man, if he demanded eternal praise for the making of it. Even more would I hate that man, if he required that we should never take delight in it, but only look to the creator. But if he desired our suffering as the price for the making of it, and indeed, if our suffering were necessary not to enrich the work but to glorify its creator--I would have no greater enemy on Earth or in heaven."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot stops and looks over at him; he is flushed, his gaze bright and pained, but he nods. "Aye. Aye, just so. Galahad said it was God's will, fulfilled. I told him I could wish to God that he might be happy, but this God apparently has no interest in happiness."

[timebethine]

"Nor thine, nor Elaine's, nor anyone's--He had no mercy for Christ's suffering, and Christ was His son and other self."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot shakes his head, scrubbing his hands over his face. "Why should it have been me? Why should that have been God's plan for me? Is it meant to be a punishment?"

[timebethine]

"Must it have been punishment? Canst thou think of anyone for whom God's plan brought happiness and reward?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

A note of despondency creeps in, though the anger does not abate, "If it is not punishment, it is needless suffering, which makes even less sense."

[timebethine]

"Far less! Its purpose seems only to cudgel us into awe. If Hell is my fate for saying it, then Hell, too, is part of God's design, and He could at any moment choose to spare me from it. There is no suffering that God hath not ordained. Fuck God," says Laertes. "And may I be damned for it."