you say that things change my dear

[northseaflotsam]

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[le_desirous]

And in that world things are slowly winding to an inauspicious close, slowing down like old clockwork. Sagramore is sitting on the front steps, sewing buttons back on a shirt, his hands shaking with delerium tremens. He looks extraordinarily old.

[northseaflotsam]

The shock is nearly as bad as the first; not only the place, the hour, but Sagramore himself is wrong, unfamiliar. Mordred stands there for a moment, entirely disoriented.

And then (he wouldn't be here if he wasn't resilient) he shoves the PINpoint in his pocket and crosses the yard purposefully.

[le_desirous]

Sagramore glances up, and the change is in his eyes as well. "Mordred?"

[northseaflotsam]

"Who the hell else?" He drops to one knee beside the steps. "Leave that, leave it, come here--" reaching out an arm.