Ah yes, the thing I did a lot of last week, really. I remember that. Sleep is good. *scolds Mordred* Behave, or I’ll ask ARTEMIS to spank you.
{Sleep is good, it would be better if I was there though. I think she did take over once, he didn’t like it so he decided he’d had enough and took back control}
If you were there she might try to stay awake to talk to you … ‘m just sayin’ from my own experience. I’m going to fish back in your threads one of these days when I need reading material.
Where’s Artemis then anyway? Sheesh.
{Lien was doing her exams so she went on hiatus, she came back around a day ago. But she just got her wisdom teeth pulled so she is sleeping currently.}
Ah yes, the thing I did a lot of last week, really. I remember that. Sleep is good. *scolds Mordred* Behave, or I’ll ask ARTEMIS to spank you.
“If it’s amusing they want, I’ll build them a nightmare,” she hissed. “Is that what you want, Mordred? A nightmare to distract you from the nightmare that is Avalon? Or do you still believe you will escape somehow?”
Mordred swallows, staring intently across the room, wishing the woman away, already. “It does not matter what I want,” he tells her, his tone holding anger, there was never a time where it did not. “There is no need for a nightmare, you fool, we are already in one,” he says, “but unlike you, I know that everything can be undone. This is merely another part of a world, where there is a way in, there is a way out. I will get to Arthur if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
“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.
“What?” she sniffed, and rubbed at her face. “Oh, fine, I know. You don’t think that. It’s not what you meant when you said that.” Summer sighed and sniffed again. “I’m sorry. It’s this place. I need — I need to get out. I’m … I’m going down to the shore. Do you want to come with me?”
Mordred smiled, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Of course, lead the way.”
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.
“Oh, did I keep you waiting?” Her tone was poisonously sweet, the smile a slash of red lips across pale skin. She could hardly remember a time before she was trapped in Avalon, before being tricked through the veil into a place so completely antithetical to her being it was painful. She had adapted, been forced to adapt — broken, some would say.
Her madness was like a raging thunderstorm.
With a purposeful stride, Summer stepped over to Mordred and lifted the goblet out of his hands, sipping from the same place. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” If sarcasm could cut, his face would be bleeding.
Mordred turned his attention back to the goblet, the red liquid, yet again, taking his fancy over the woman that walked into the room but her presence became a problem when she removed the goblet from his grasp. “I do not care where you have been,” he tells her, snatching the goblet back, “and nor do I care what you are doing. You kept them waiting, not me.”
The man pushes himself up from the table, walking towards the window, his attention cast down to the land below, watching the way the moon reflected on the bodies of the dead. “It is their minds that need your amusement, not me.”
“If it’s amusing they want, I’ll build them a nightmare,” she hissed. “Is that what you want, Mordred? A nightmare to distract you from the nightmare that is Avalon? Or do you still believe you will escape somehow?”
“I haven’t lifted a sword in over a year!” she snapped. “Of course I am not as skilled as Arthur’s most skilled knight! Even at my best I was not a match for you, and I never will be; I have accepted that!” She put her hands on his chest and pushed a little. “I will never be worthwhile at anything men value. I know this. I am neither a seamstress nor a chatelaine nor a mistress of the distillery, I am not pretty or witty in the way that men value. My worth is only that I might be married off for some alliance!”
Then she sat down on the bench and burst into tears.
Mordred crossed his arms over his chest, allowing her to rant to him, half listening and half not. He knew that even though he could dispute these things she wouldn’t believe him, and she never would. It was only when she began to cry did he lower his arms to his side. “Summer.”
“What?” she sniffed, and rubbed at her face. “Oh, fine, I know. You don’t think that. It’s not what you meant when you said that.” Summer sighed and sniffed again. “I’m sorry. It’s this place. I need — I need to get out. I’m … I’m going down to the shore. Do you want to come with me?”
Beyond the veil there was nothing but night, the moon taking precedence in the sky over everything else. There was no warmth to be found amongst everything else, it was a land as desolate as the people in it, swallowing any sun that fell through the veil, twisting it to Avalon’s will. It was not the beautiful place of legends, for Mordred, it was a prison, the place that slow sucked away his soul, leaving him nothing but an empty vessel.
Avalon was dark, cruel, and evil.
Just like him.
There had been a time, once long ago, or perhaps it had been only yesterday, there was no sense of time beyond the veil, no sense of anything, that he had been filled with love, and perhaps would have cared for what he saw from the people here, but now he did not. It was a fickle thing.
Mordred sat there, swirling the wine around in his goblet, half listening to the mindless chatter of those who joined him. He cared not for them just as much as they cared not for him, just as willing to plunge his dagger into their back as they were to his. At the sound of the door opening the man snapped his attention upwards, raising the goblet his lips, the red staining the skin.”It’s nice of you to join us —”
“Oh, did I keep you waiting?” Her tone was poisonously sweet, the smile a slash of red lips across pale skin. She could hardly remember a time before she was trapped in Avalon, before being tricked through the veil into a place so completely antithetical to her being it was painful. She had adapted, been forced to adapt — broken, some would say.
Her madness was like a raging thunderstorm.
With a purposeful stride, Summer stepped over to Mordred and lifted the goblet out of his hands, sipping from the same place. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” If sarcasm could cut, his face would be bleeding.
Summer’s eyes went dark, and her voice fell flat. “I /am/ trained, or did you not see? No. No, after all, I am done with the sword today. I shall go back to drifting along the corridors, waiting for you.” She couldn’t walk away, not with his arms still either side of her, but she lifted her chin proudly.
”Not well enough —” he tells her simply, “you need some more work but, if you so wish to spend your time floating around the castle for me then so be it.”
“I haven’t lifted a sword in over a year!” she snapped. “Of course I am not as skilled as Arthur’s most skilled knight! Even at my best I was not a match for you, and I never will be; I have accepted that!” She put her hands on his chest and pushed a little. “I will never be worthwhile at anything men value. I know this. I am neither a seamstress nor a chatelaine nor a mistress of the distillery, I am not pretty or witty in the way that men value. My worth is only that I might be married off for some alliance!”
Then she sat down on the bench and burst into tears.
“Oh! Oh, /now/ you are willing to fight me?” She squirmed around to face him, lifting eyebrows and making an amused face. “Now that you’ve seen me fight?”
”I am not willing to fight; I am willing to train you.”
Summer’s eyes went dark, and her voice fell flat. “I /am/ trained, or did you not see? No. No, after all, I am done with the sword today. I shall go back to drifting along the corridors, waiting for you.” She couldn’t walk away, not with his arms still either side of her, but she lifted her chin proudly.
abrupt vision of any of Summer’s lovers coming in to find her in a morning when they were not together, and finding her blanketted up to her nose in cats in various attitudes. And he just stands there, and starts to laugh, and laugh, and laugh, as pointed ears pop up all over the bed, and big eyes stare at him.