for the light in my eyes is strange

[northseaflotsam]

Things are a little better now -- or at least a little more stable. Clar has gone home, as abruptly as she arrived, and the scent of herbs and smoke has gradually faded out of the apartment. It's easier to maintain his defenses this way, easier to slip back into the habit of being Mike Morgan, who worries about small things, and looks ahead no

Comments

[petitmorte]

Well, in a way he does find him. Sagramore is curled up contently in a warm spot, his long-lashed eyes half-closed so that just a little sun comes in. He's always been a bit of a basker, and this is a perfect spot. It even smells a little like heather.

He's situated so that it wouldn't be difficult at all for someone to trip over him, should that someone not be on the lookout for skinny Hungarian landmines.

[northseaflotsam]

Mordred doesn't, but only just. "Damn--" And then he stops, with a curious sense of deja vu.

[petitmorte]

Sagramore rolls over, lets his eyes flutter open, and grins, joyfully. "Sir!"

[northseaflotsam]

He stares for a moment, utterly bewildered. "What in God's name--?"

[petitmorte]

He jumps to his feet, as graceful as a panther, startlingly at odds with his teenage body and its inherent gracelessness. "I tell Lady Clarissant I will find you," sounding very pleased with himself.

[northseaflotsam]

"Clarissant." Then he shakes his head. "Of course, why not. Why not? Christ."

Any minute now he will be coherent.

[petitmorte]

Sagramore watches him, as he used to do, with extremely earnest intensity. And then says, "Sir, you are old."

[northseaflotsam]

His bewilderment fades, then, into something altogether more wistful. "Aye."

[petitmorte]

"Are you well, sir?"

[northseaflotsam]

"Well enough." Mordred reaches up to lay a hand against his cheek, gently, almost paternal. "What are you doing here?"

[petitmorte]

"I come to look for you," he says brightly--are you proud of me? be proud of me.

[northseaflotsam]

"Backward as usual," affectionately.

[petitmorte]

"Sir!" He laughs, though, bending his head to half-hide his smile.

[northseaflotsam]

"Heart's friend." Mordred ruffles his hair. "You've come to the wrong end of time."

[petitmorte]

"I know. You are here, but it is not the right place." He looks anxiously at Mordred. "Should I go?"

[northseaflotsam]

It is really not fair to deploy the puppy-dog eyes. Mordred leans up to kiss him lightly.