[snapshot]

[illgotten]

He's standing to one side of the path around the lake, looking at the rosebushes with a faint, preoccupied frown. The late afternoon breeze ruffles his hair, grown longer than it has been and now straying into his eyes; it does not make his expression any easier to read.

One might easily come upon him unawares, in this place.

[/sock] open post,

Comments

[russet_goddess]

"What's going on, then?"

[illgotten]

Mordred looks up, startled. Then almost smiles. "Nothing."

[russet_goddess]

She makes a little sceptical noise with her cheeks that sounds like 'pfff'. "Y'don't pose and brood over nothing."

[illgotten]

"No?" wryly. "I've heard otherwise."

[knightly_affair]

'Unawares' is certainly a good way to put it, Lancelot certainly didn't mean to bump into Mordred. Nevertheless, he does, pausing and giving a short nod. "Good day."

[illgotten]

It's a remarkably swift change of expression, from absent-minded to annoyed to sheerly scathing.

[knightly_affair]

He bristles slightly, raising an eyebrow. "I cannot greet you, now?" and then moves to continue on his way.

[illgotten]

"Surely you can do as you please," acid.

[onlyachild]

She looks up at him with a bit of a confused smile, twisting her little hands into the front of her little blue dress. "Are you sad?" she asks, finally, with a sort of piercing innocence.

[illgotten]

Mordred bites his lip, hard, for a moment before answering. "Thinking, that's all."

[onlyachild]

"Thinking shouldn't make you sad."

[illgotten]

"Likely not." He looks down.

[rightismight]

"Should I question," asks a light voice from a few metres away, "if there is something wrong with the roses?" Should Mordred turn towards the sound, Arthur's not even looking not him.

[illgotten]

He stiffens, half turning. "No," he says after a pause, shortly, and starts to edge away.

[rightismight]

"Ah," is all he can manage at first. "Then I will not."

[illgotten]

"Your pardon," in a less than contrite undertone.

[blind_judgment]

"There's probably better things to be offended by than some poor, innocent rosebush." Justitia's voice is light, peculiarly gentle, and he stands (some distance behind Mordred - unawares, indeed) with shoulders slightly hunched, hands stuffed into pockets - an expectant, hesitant posture.

[illgotten]

Mordred turns, with a smile tugging itself out of nowhere. "Likely," he agrees, and holds out an arm, a little shyly.

[blind_judgment]

The boy offers half a crooked smile to meet the other's, pulling one hand out of its protective pocket to take Mordred's. "Why not some oleander, for instance? Much more insulting than roses, I'm sure."

[illgotten]

"None was handy," tugging him closer, it seems half-consciously.