[log] you would rather fight than walk away
Even Enfys has a method to her madness - a pattern that you can find in her wanderings. It's not where she goes, but how she comes home. Always first she goes home to Fred (home is people, and Enfys has refused to have too many of those), to show him that she's safe and whole, to abuse his hospitality and to steal his phone. She calls Garath and ( Read more... )
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He's practising with his sword, the sword that he is absolutely OCD about keeping clean and sharp, his father's last gift, and really the only thing Sagramore has to remember with, his last memento of Hungary, which was always his true home and which he hasn't seen in years, really since childhood.
His movements are fluid, but not as swift as they were twenty years ago. His arm falters on a few of the fiercer thrust, as twitches of pain appear, unexpected, in his wrist and shoulder. In addition, the alcoholism has made his hand less than steady. Nevertheless, he's fighting with great passion. His shirt is soaked with sweat, even in this cold weather, and his dark curls are dripping, and he lets out occasional soft growls of exertion.
He doesn't see her. His whole energy is focusing on slicing the living hell out of the air in front of
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Enfys stops some feet away, her head cocked quizzically to one side and the postcard held in one hand, against her hip. She waits for a while, and eventually-
"Hello, then."
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Enfys doesn't even pretend that that reaction isn't hilarious. She laughs, tucking her hands behind her back and coming closer. "You're good," she says, lightly, "for an old man. Miss me, did you?"
(Her reunions are almost always this way.)
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