Room 325, Saturday Morning
Later that day, Arthur was slated for a spar with Lord Deadpool and Zack; he supposed he should be using this time to work out his strategy (and work it around Zack's still-too-obvious weaknesses in battle, as he had a fear the man might flail his way into a wrong position eventually and cost them the battle, nevermind his more than realistic picture of Lord Deadpool's skills in battle). He didn't feel the inclination to, however, as happy as he was to focus on anything that wasn't the usual sense of battle-dread in his guts that usually found its way there during a tournament.
Instead, he was choosing to spend this early morning by reaching over and getting himself a book from the bottom of the pile, unassuming, unadorned with any claims to knowledge of tactics or weaponry. It was a novel, the name of Jules Verne writ small across the cover, but Arthur was giving it his full attention.
It was better than lingering on his situation, Katina's situation, the upcoming fight, or the everpresent fact that he was still stuck here-- and, thankfully for Morgana, he was in no mood to seek out anyone to annoy badger bother, although the urge to seek out certain big-eared parties was starting to crop up.
The door was closed.
[[ but the post was not! ]]
Instead, he was choosing to spend this early morning by reaching over and getting himself a book from the bottom of the pile, unassuming, unadorned with any claims to knowledge of tactics or weaponry. It was a novel, the name of Jules Verne writ small across the cover, but Arthur was giving it his full attention.
It was better than lingering on his situation, Katina's situation, the upcoming fight, or the everpresent fact that he was still stuck here-- and, thankfully for Morgana, he was in no mood to seek out anyone to annoy badger bother, although the urge to seek out certain big-eared parties was starting to crop up.
The door was closed.
[[ but the post was not! ]]