ℜ six
[Arthur goes for a run in the morning and showers when he returns. This idle life is not quite agreeing with him and, more than once, he has contemplating taking on some manner of employment. Being a King amongst his knights, even in this city, promises to be a full-time job, though.
He goes to his laptop and opens it. Not knowing what comes over him, he begins to type. His disappointment in himself. In most of his knights, apart from those pious, pure few. He writes how sometimes he wishes he had not encountered them again. He pauses, horrified, and stares at the words he has written. They are every manner of truth but, like any fine Englishman, he has repressed them thoroughly.
He deletes the post. Closes his laptop. Walks away, running his fingers through his hair and wondering just what has come over him. It is not vitriol. It is simply ... truth.
Later, much later, he returns to his laptop. No. He can't be there right now. He unplugs it and tucks it away in its case, under his bed.]
[text to polyxena]
dinner this week? i've missed you. a
He goes to his laptop and opens it. Not knowing what comes over him, he begins to type. His disappointment in himself. In most of his knights, apart from those pious, pure few. He writes how sometimes he wishes he had not encountered them again. He pauses, horrified, and stares at the words he has written. They are every manner of truth but, like any fine Englishman, he has repressed them thoroughly.
He deletes the post. Closes his laptop. Walks away, running his fingers through his hair and wondering just what has come over him. It is not vitriol. It is simply ... truth.
Later, much later, he returns to his laptop. No. He can't be there right now. He unplugs it and tucks it away in its case, under his bed.]
[text to polyxena]
dinner this week? i've missed you. a