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As far as Sagramore is concerned, this weather should be illegal. Of course it's typical April weather, achingly hot one moment and cold rain the next, but the achingly hot periods are too often and too early for him, and it's irritating. So he's dressed in the bare minimum, having given up all pretext of wearing time-period-appropriate clothing, of a white undershirt and light jeans, and is still not perfectly content.
He's actually walking around to-day, as opposed to lurking on the porch; with coffee in hand, is exploring the gardens of the Mansion. Damned seizures, damned weather, Mordred still gone, Morgause still a headcase--plenty to brood about. And certainly he has been, for a few days, and avoiding Courfeyrac in the process.
Finally he sits down on a bench and waits for some kind of wind to stir the air. Should have dosed his coffee stronger, in his opinion. Summer has no business coming in April.
He's actually walking around to-day, as opposed to lurking on the porch; with coffee in hand, is exploring the gardens of the Mansion. Damned seizures, damned weather, Mordred still gone, Morgause still a headcase--plenty to brood about. And certainly he has been, for a few days, and avoiding Courfeyrac in the process.
Finally he sits down on a bench and waits for some kind of wind to stir the air. Should have dosed his coffee stronger, in his opinion. Summer has no business coming in April.