awaitingalbion: (with what i most enjoy contented least;)
[Outside of house 40, the young warlock is working tirelesslydoggedly at polishing a pair of boots. He sits on the top step, the left boot between his knees as he works with it. Merlin takes shelter underneath the porch and watches those who might walk by--envious of their relative freedom. His neckerchief has been tossed aside and--occasionally--it does get whipped from his side and sent reeling out into the path. This is when Merlin must stand up and chase after it. Why does he continue letting it drift off, then? Well...perhaps it's a welcome, planned break from boot polishing. Or perhaps he's just that daft.

Do feel free to help him one of these times, though. And he's also distracted by the journal open wide just behind him. Eventually, he muses:]
The leaves are changing colours--I've never quite seen anything so lovely as when they do that. Tell me, will it get much colder?
awaitingalbion: (but release me from my bands)
[Here are the sounds of fingers being drummed anxiously. Against wood. Against stone. Against anything.] This is a good thing. Surely, this is good. Camelot needs him. And--[pausing, hesitant]--he needs Camelot. Far more than he needs Luceti.

[Merlin, and the extreme fool that the sometimes is, has unintentionally left his journal open as he frets over Arthur's disappearance. It had been during the move from apartment to house. Merlin had gone back to fetch a chest of Arthur's, only to find it already cleared out. He had checked the new house--just in case, miraculously, the Prince had decided to move his own affects. But it was fruitless. Arthur, like Gwen before him, has been sent home.

Unsettled and, in truth, a bit listless--Merlin sits on the front step of house forty. He holds a few blades of hardy, thick grass that he slowly weaves and knots together. A bit of creative coping thanks to a strange, productive inclination in the air. Instead of plucking new ones, he simply gestures and another blade or flower floats up to his fingers.

Please, someone distract him from his troubled solitude.]

Profile

awaitingalbion: (Default)
awaitingalbion

October 2010

S M T W T F S
     12
3456789
10111213 141516
17181920212223
24252627282930
31      

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Aug. 22nd, 2025 09:00 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios