ooh, mysterious house.

[floweredknight]

He pushes briskly through the door -- a smallish young man of eighteen or twenty, sensibly dressed out of somewhere in the Middle Ages, sturdy, dark-haired and fair-skinned; he probably looks familiar. He stops as soon as he sees where he is, and looks back over his shoulder anxiously. "Brother

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[dutifuldaughter]

Clar is still raiding the plothole for her cotton. Too many people not enough blankets, work as she might - at least, she figures, spring has mostly come, but with its advent the garden has needed work, and the meadows and woods and streams have needed walking, and she has little time for sewing.

But, nonetheless, down she comes, with a basket full of folded fabric over one arm, and a hand on the grand staircase's rail.

[floweredknight]

He looks up at her, and then blinks. "My lady?"

[dutifuldaughter]

Clar blinks down at him.

And then she sighs, sweeps the last few feet down the stairs, and pushes the basket at him. "You're lost," she says, "This is the wrong house."

[floweredknight]

"I had that impression," Florence says mildly.

[thornofcamorr]

Locke looks up from his chair and lifts a glass of wine in Florence's general direction. "Hey," he says, "Welcome to 'the Mansion' and all that."

[floweredknight]

A slight bow. "Thank you, sir."

[thornofcamorr]

Locke snorts. "Dispense with the sir. I haven't any use for it." He sets down the wine and stands up. "So who're you?"

[floweredknight]

"Florence, sir, son of Sir Gawain of Orkney. Where have I come to?"

[hardlyagravated]

Once Clar has guided him to the house, we can assume he makes it in. Laurel is currently working on a cake, as she's found a cookbook and is experimenting a little. No one has yet objected to her experiments, at least.

[floweredknight]

"Aunt?" he says cautiously.

[hardlyagravated]

She looks up with a small smile. "...Florence? Goodness, how tall you are. Come in."

[floweredknight]

Only by Orkney standards! He ducks his head a little, and comes over to her. "You're well?"

[inglewoodblues]

Ragnelle, gathering a few more things to fit the house with before she leaves, stops as still as a held breath. The son with her dark hair (if Ragnelle were the kind of parent to pick favourites, her undeniably favourite son)--the son she knows, in the very back of her mind, she already left one time before.

She watches him for a few moments, and says, "Florence."

[floweredknight]

He looks over at once. "Lady?" And then on a second, incredulous look: "Mother?"

[inglewoodblues]

"And who else might I be?"

[floweredknight]

"I--" He looks utterly bewildered for a moment, and then holds out his arms.

[lesser_son]

Melou startles and then almost, almost smiles, but reserves it out of habit. "Sir Florence!"

[floweredknight]

"Ay?" equally startled, turning toward him a little wide-eyed.

[lesser_son]

"How art thou, sir?" warmly, as greeting a brother.

[floweredknight]

"I'm very well, but forgive me-- I don't quite remember--"