Monthly Archives: November 2013
My muse is suffering from a panic attack and can’t breathe. What does your muse do?
It takes a while to track him down; Camelot is not a small place, even just the castle. Finally Summer finds him in the armory, putting away his weapons after practise. “Mordred.” There’s only one door, so she stands in it, trying to look a little intimidating. It’s hard to be angry at him, though; her voice comes out more worried. “Mordred. What are you hiding from me?”
xregicide-deactivated20140812:
Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.
The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.
Sulkily, childishly, she turns her head away from his hand. “I won’t go unless you stay with me.”
”I‘ll stay with you, but I can’t come back with you.”
It’s exhaustion, it’s shock, it’s frustration … whatever it is, she starts to cry, hating herself for it. He will believe she’s trying to manipulate him with it, and that hurts, and makes her cry harder. She buries her face in her hands — those terrible hands with fresh blood on them — to try to muffle it, to try to hide from those blue eyes that see too much.
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It takes a while to track him down; Camelot is not a small place, even just the castle. Finally Summer finds him in the armory, putting away his weapons after practise. “Mordred.” There’s only one door, so she stands in it, trying to look a little intimidating. It’s hard to be angry at him, though; her voice comes out more worried. “Mordred. What are you hiding from me?”
xregicide-deactivated20140812:
Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.
The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.
“I got lost,” she cries back, “just runni—”
— just running from fighting with you.
“I can’t go back to Camelot, because I don’t know how to get there from here,” Summer forces herself to say calmly. “And I won’t go until you tell me why you left.” She slumps on the ground, lack of sleep, lack of food, and use of magic all combining to exhaust her. “I don’t think I could make it more than a few steps right now, anyway.”
He holds his hand out to her. “I’ll help you,” he tells her, “but what you request is something I cannot repeat, I am sorry.”
Sulkily, childishly, she turns her head away from his hand. “I won’t go unless you stay with me.”
He rolled his eyes, bunching his tie up in his hand.”If you think he’s sexy with clothes on- actually, no I’ll stop there. Alright then mum, see you.”
“I suppose it would be nice to get out of this thing” he agrees, chewing his lips gently. “Alright, better go put on something nice” Mordred mutters, loosening the tie around his neck.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, do not /say/ things like that in front of me! Especially not while actually taking your tie off!” Summer facepalms. “Shoo. Get out of here. Take your sexy self out with your sexy boyfriend,” she scolds fondly.
It takes a while to track him down; Camelot is not a small place, even just the castle. Finally Summer finds him in the armory, putting away his weapons after practise. “Mordred.” There’s only one door, so she stands in it, trying to look a little intimidating. It’s hard to be angry at him, though; her voice comes out more worried. “Mordred. What are you hiding from me?”
xregicide-deactivated20140812:
Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.
The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.
“They don’t know I exist!” she flares. “The King, the queen, they are going to care about the unwanted daughter of a nobleman in Devon? Don’t be stupid. It’s /you/ Camelot needs, the finest knight in the kingdom.” Much more quietly, she adds, “I can’t be there if you aren’t.”
“Then make yourself know, Summer, believe me they do know of you and they do care!” He tells her, his voice raising an octave higher. “They don’t need me, believe me, I’ve learned as such.”
“I got lost,” she cries back, “just runni—”
— just running from fighting with you.
“I can’t go back to Camelot, because I don’t know how to get there from here,” Summer forces herself to say calmly. “And I won’t go until you tell me why you left.” She slumps on the ground, lack of sleep, lack of food, and use of magic all combining to exhaust her. “I don’t think I could make it more than a few steps right now, anyway.”
Mordred flinches away from her hand before he cocks an eyebrow. “I do actually have to go get ready, I’m taking him to dinner.”
“Then unless you plan to go in your uniform you’d better get going.”
“Calm down Summer” he tells her, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I was kidding, and believe me if I was threatening you you would know about it. I know for a fact I have no business being insecure in my relationship, and I am not as such.”
She raises her eyebrows, an amused smile curving her lips. “But you felt the need to come over to tell me not to touch Merlin.” Reaching up, she pats his cheek. “Go away, Mordred. Go play with Merlin, and enjoy being in love.”
Leave me here to my loneliness, watching you.