[open post] Dead deer tiemz

[sir_agravaiting]

Having recently heard the news (not such very new news, but it takes a while for things to get through to this knight, sometimes) regarding the Plothole's strike, Sir Agravain now (now being an early May morning, early enough in the day that his steps form a visible path through the sparkling, dew-laden grass behind him) comes stumping up to the

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[longuecarabine]

Hawkeye stares rather pointedly. "'Tis spring."

[sir_agravaiting]

Agravain stares back at him coolly. "So it is. But I for one don't propose living off of roots and berries until August."

[longuecarabine]

"And why not? But there are rabbits enough, and fish, in the lake. All to be taken without the waste of powder or bullets. There's no need to act the fool and take a damn deer!"

[sir_agravaiting]

Agravain looks just a tiny bit baffled. "Powder or bullets? I used a bow." Which is, of course, not the point.

[hardlyagravated]

Laurel, because the fates or the typist likes to torment her, happens to be coming down the main staircase at the moment. She looks like she hasn't slept very well, if at all, but she's together enough. But she stops when she sees him, knowing better than to let him see her pained, but not entirely able to hide it just now.

T: Missed you! (And the thread this is following isn't 100% done, but I think I can predict it well enough that I won't have to massively rewrite this. I hope. XD)

[sir_agravaiting]

Agravain's first, instinctive reaction upon seeing his wife after such a long time is to hunch his shoulders, half-turning away to glower at the deer carcass, but after barely half a second of this he seems to think better of it, and instead straightens up, stands tall, and faces Laurel - if not directly eye-to-eye, well, then, at least rather nearer it than before.

"Morning."

[hardlyagravated]

Her breath catches a bit, but she says steadily, "Good morning, m'lord. You've had good hunting, I see."

[sir_agravaiting]

"Ay," he answers tersely, and for a moment it seems as though that will be all, but then he manages to add, reluctantly, "With that closet refusing to produce more food--"

[norweenish]

Hey, nice one!

[sir_agravaiting]

Agravain smirks, managing not to look too smug about it. "Thanks." Just for that, Fortinbras will probably end up with the choicest bits of the animal, too.

[norweenish]

*grins* Need any help with it?

[sir_agravaiting]

A shrug. "Why not? Be my guest. Not my favorite part of hunting, I have to admit."

[lightningcurse]

POUNCE.

Not exactly, of course, but--you know what, exactly. Mabon is not feeling very human to-day, as one might infer from the blood on his nose and lips (been rooting around in a carcass again), but he knows his Men from a thousand miles away. And he pounces.

[sir_agravaiting]

It's been a while since Agravain's been pounced like that -- actually, it's been a while since he's had much contact with anything resembling humanity even as little as Mabon does. He swipes at Mabon with his fist, but it's a half-hearted gesture.

[lightningcurse]

"You're back," Mabon says, entirely too pleased.

[sir_agravaiting]

"Obviously," Agravain snorts.

typist invaaasion

[snowyofthenight]

Oh, ew, Squishy-- wait, she's back? ...hey, pal! love you!

Re: typist invaaasion

[sir_agravaiting]

t, of course: So sweet. Just for that, I'm going to carry on raving about Into the Hoods at you for another forty minutes--!