[snapshot]

[illgotten]

A scene in monochrome: pale moonlight through the dark branches, black-haired boy in a white shirt, bright glare and sharp-edged shadows. Grays are hard to pick out in this light. Mordred pauses a moment at the edge of the woods, on the Mansion side, skittish as some forest creature scared out of hiding, at once sharply alert and somehow

Comments

[hislefthandman]

It's quite probable that Mordred isn't the only skittish one out tonight. Lucan still isn't quite used to these woods, and especially not alone, in the dark. He's already startled himself twice by stepping on twigs.

[illgotten]

A wary look in that direction -- and then, as the light shifts, a startled one. Evidently, if he expected to meet anyone out here, it wasn't this someone.

"Hi," Mordred says, in that faintly jarring way of his, after a moment.

[hislefthandman]

He jumps, then recognizes the voice. "Bloody," he mutters," I didn't think anyone else was out. Hello." He'd probably be much more relaxed if he knew where he was, but he's not about to ask anyone for help (especially anyone who might tell his brother about it).

[illgotten]

A grin, sudden as the light between the leaves. "Shouldn't you be inside with the rest of the respectable types?"

[russet_goddess]

Hey.

[illgotten]

He twitches. "Hey yourself. Christ, woman, a little warning next time."

[russet_goddess]

"Sorry," not overly penitent. "What're you doing out?"

[illgotten]

"What are you?" he counters.

[hedda_t_gabler]

[Typist: Okay, I'm late, but I somehow managed to miss this, and I think Mordred's one of the few people Hedda could get along with, so I'm replying.]

*and Mordred will hear a shot from a pistol fired, though it does not come anywhere close to hitting him*

[illgotten]

[/sock] Late is good, we can work with late--! :D [sock]

He freezes, one hand on the nearest tree trunk. After a moment, finding himself still corporeal, he turns warily in that direction.

[hedda_t_gabler]

*rather cheerfully, (and wearing a long black cloak that is perhaps a bit overdramatic) Hedda walks toward Mordred* Oh, it's you, the one whose parents liked King Arthur stories but not really. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to starlte you.

[illgotten]

"Right," dryly. "I appreciate that."