Happy birthday, Alice.

Early in the morning he's leaning on the fence in front of the cottage, looking out across the fields. It's doubtful if he's slept -- his eyes have that particular bruised look; but he's too tired to be melancholy, at least. Brothers and snot-nosed kids are particularly welcome to bother him, but he'll probably be civil to anyone.

Hey, Alice? Have you disowned me yet?

He's standing to one side of the path around the lake, looking at the rosebushes with a faint, preoccupied frown. The late afternoon breeze ruffles his hair, grown longer than it has been and now straying into his eyes; it does not make his expression any easier to read.

One might easily come upon him unawares, in this place.

[/sock] open post, ( Read more... )

It's light out long enough, now, that Alice can just make the house before dark. In the gathering dusk, the windows are bright. The door stands slightly open, and from within there are the sounds of a good-natured argument.

Click boxes. You know you want to. Or just tell me what you really think.

( edit: for future reference. ha )

Here's for girdleforakiss. What were they thinking?

Here's for russet_goddess for her entertainment. ("I do not like you or your brother", eh?)

And here's for onlyachild.

Since I can't convince Gawain, I'll settle for this:


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