He's there rather without appearing to have come: a dark young man of Mediterranean aspect, twenty-five or so, soberly dressed. He stands easily in the doorway with his arms folded, surveying the room cautiously.

Typist: This chatty lad is Leonato, offspring of Don John and Hero. He's mostly harmless.

"...Ceri? Ceri, it's not funny anymore. You win, alright?" The young man who emerges from the bushes has a smudge on his nose, some leaves in his hair, and is just old enough to begin to get lanky. "...hello?" He frowns and looks around. "Shoot."

I couldn't resist. Pedr, Ceri's younger brother and the son of Peredur and Cimorene. He's ( Read more... )

"Ma?" She looks up from her book, face wrinkled into a frown, and gets up, wiping dirt off her dress. There is always dirt on her dress, kind of the way her long red hair is always messily coming out of its braid, or the way she always smells like food.

"Ma? Da?" Hands on her hips, she looks around. "Pedr? Oh, shoot."

Ceri is the child of Sir ( Read more... )

There is a daisy chain draped over the porch railing. Twice. And extending down several feet onto the lawn, terminating in Annuska, who is briskly tying more daisies on. Go on, ask her what she's doing.