eleven >> audio/action
[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.]
[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.]