They'd gotten in an hour or so before sundown last night, and Arthur had spent rather a lot of time hanging out in front of windows, staring at the countryside. He couldn't help it-- being here both helped and hindered his homesickness
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Since no one arrested her on the way there or back (and no cats, birds, or sheep were harmed in the making of this trip) she felt the ingredients she'd returned with were well worth the risk of criminal prosecution. Or, you know, Arthur yelling at her.
Which was why, a few hours later, there was now homemade bread in the oven.
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If Francine was really curious, Arthur had several 'that time Morgana and I mudwrestled' stories to distort some of her images of Morgana.
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"It's a little hard to picture you taking summer vacations with your dad, somehow. Was he different when you were little?" She wasn't trying to poke sore spots; if he'd asked her the same question back, she'd have to say yes.
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Because it meant he had someone to wipe the floor with, Francine.
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He sounded very enthused. Yes.
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It was better than voicing his opinion about how that all of that sounded to him.
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