But will it get him to make his replies properly? Muses should be subject to their muns!
{Probably not, he’s been like this for the last few days. I think the absence of his wife and kids is finally getting to him.}
Where’s Artemis then anyway? Sheesh.
… not fair, not fair I already laughed myself breathless at a vocal grammar mistake tonight. *collapses on the floor*
I could ask Galahad to spank him.
{Well that’s one way to get him to leave Camelot and never return.}
But will it get him to make his replies properly? Muses should be subject to their muns!
mordred, mordred. BEHAVE! or I will ask merlin to spank you.
{Don’t threaten him with a good time.}
… not fair, not fair I already laughed myself breathless at a vocal grammar mistake tonight. *collapses on the floor*
I could ask Galahad to spank him.
iamthefirechild replied to your post:Dazed with misery, she barely hears the warning bell, barely notices the knights and guardsmen rushing past in the halls. Her own personal world is black and bleak. She walks blindly, and doesn’t notice when she steps out into the courtyard, or when she leaves the safety of the walls.wow, mordred, not only is she breaking up with you but she’s commiting suicide by raging barbarian and you can’t tell your mun what to say?{I’m so done with him today. He’s in one of his moods where.}
mordred, mordred. BEHAVE! or I will ask merlin to spank you.
She patted his hand briefly before standing up and glancing around the armory. For half a second she thought she could at least finish cleaning up, putting her armor away, but the weight of frustration weighed too heavily on her shoulders. She had to get out.
“Come on,” she said, and led Mordred to the stables. She didn’t even have to say anything; the stablemaster took one look at her face, shook his head slowly, and sent boys scurrying to tack up their horses. As she mounted, the stablemaster holding the mare for her, he said quietly, “You be wary, lady.”
“I’ll try,” she replied. It had the tone of a habitual exchange.
The young knight obediently followed, the woman clenching his hand as she dragged him through the halls and into the stable where he mounted a horse that had been brought out for him.
Out of habit he checked the straps, making sure they were fine before he climbed up. “I’ll look out for her.”
The stablemaster murmured to him, under the guise of checking over his horse’s bit and bridle, “There’s been Saxons seen on the channel of late, my lord.” He didn’t admonish the knight to caution the way he had Summer, but nodded, man to man, instead.
Summer didn’t hear. She put her mare to a canter as soon as they were free of the courtyard, not waiting for Mordred, not even glancing back. The wind caught at the loose strands of her hair and dried the tears on her face. She only slowed when she came to the path down to the strand, which was steep, sandy, and rocky.
“You think your will is stronger than anyone else’s.” She laughed. “Even if you did find a way out, the others would kill you before you escaped. There is no freedom here save what is forced from others, and no one here is going to let /you/ have what we can’t.” She stepped right into his face to murmur, sweetly, “I’ll kill you myself before I let you escape where I cannot.”
Then she was gone, halfway across the room to stroke the pale face of one of the frightened children huddled there.
A vindictive laugh passes his lips, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smirk. “I look forward to it,” he calls after her but then he pushes himself from the chair, sweeping from the hall. “Not before I kill you first,” the prince mumbles.
He’s someone to watch, that prince, with his burning hatred and pale, intense eyes. Perhaps she should have stayed near the castle before, and learned about him sooner, but when the madness takes her fully, she doesn’t know where her feet take her. Only away. But she’s here now, so she resolves to keep a closer eye, and bids one of the children follow the dark prince.
If he does find a way out, she wants to know.
She groaned as he hit a particular sore spot, a kink in the muscle just at her shoulder blade. One hand groped for the bench before she eased herself down, abandoning the cuirass to the floor. “Where did you learn this?” she said thickly. “I am never letting you go now. Not ever.”
“Just something I picked up from my travels,” he tells her earnestly, “it’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal the way your magic is not a big deal, or mine,” she muttered. He hit another sore spot and she bit her lips to hold back a yelp. She added, “wandering hands,” and laughed.
I’m not leaving, but I’m letting go. There’s so many people on here — I want to be just as important to them as they are to me. I flinch inside everytime I see the post about “I want a ship where I constantly have ideas” etc. because I’m the person who does that. Constantly having ideas, I want to be important — I want to feel like I’m not the one doing all the work. That someone would come to me. I’m not pointing out anyone specific, I’m not. It’s me. I know that.
So I’m just … I have to make myself go back to holding with an open hand. I’ve been clutching madly, being desperate for attention, and I have to stop. I’m /not/ alone, I’m not lonely, I’m just obsessed sometimes.
So just … if I’ve tagged you, it’s just so you know, that I’m sorry, and I’m letting go. I’ll stop holding on so much, and just step back, and let you come to me if you want to. And if you don’t come it’s okay. I promise.
Her eyes rolled shut and she went a bit limp under his hands. “Oh, you can do that /forever/, Medraut … ” He was easing aches she hadn’t even noticed, they were so familiar, so connected to Dobria castle and the folk there. “Please don’t stop.”
“Tell me if I hurt you,” he tells her, gently rubbing her shoulders, trying to work out all the kinks before moving to her lower back “sit down.”
She groaned as he hit a particular sore spot, a kink in the muscle just at her shoulder blade. One hand groped for the bench before she eased herself down, abandoning the cuirass to the floor. “Where did you learn this?” she said thickly. “I am never letting you go now. Not ever.”
“I shan’t ask why you know that. Still,” Summer said firmly, “you tickling me is not at all the type of wandering hands or pawing I was talking about, and well you know it.” She pulled at the lacing on the cuirass, breathing hard when it loosened. “I think you tied this more like a corset than armour.”
He winces, rubbing her shoulders, “I’m sorry, my armour doesn’t have laces; it has leather straps.”
Her eyes rolled shut and she went a bit limp under his hands. “Oh, you can do that /forever/, Medraut … ” He was easing aches she hadn’t even noticed, they were so familiar, so connected to Dobria castle and the folk there. “Please don’t stop.”