Who: A excalibured and his gwaine What: Long overdue conversation When: Tuesday after Thanksgiving. Backdating because we're awesome like this. Where: Their shared living space
It doesn't take him long to venture down the stairs, especially not when he hears the fact that something was in fact knocked over, and the noise of someone moving about the house. It's not that it's unusual, he's gotten used to hearing other people in his space, rather than the silent halls of a castle, but with a lot weighting on his mind, it's harder to ignore.
Leaving his own bedroom without waking the other occupant isn't difficult, and he doesn't bother to be quiet. Short of a hurricane dropping another house on top of them, Allen will sleep like the dead. He flicks on the lights as he goes, squinting against the abrupt change and fumbling to steady a hand on the wall to ensure he won't run into anything. His eyesight is bad enough with one eye being useless.
"What the hell are you doing? Other than making an apparent mess of my table?!" It's hissed, but he's not really as angry as he might normally have been. Irritated, yes. But mostly, just weary in a way that has nothing to do with the time of night.
With a sigh, he starts brushing the crumbs into a pile that can later be easily swept off the table and into the trash.
"Nothing," he replies shortly. His tone is due to exhaustion than any anger toward Arthur. At least at the moment. "I couldn't sleep. Just go back to bed. No point both of us being awake."
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Leaving his own bedroom without waking the other occupant isn't difficult, and he doesn't bother to be quiet. Short of a hurricane dropping another house on top of them, Allen will sleep like the dead. He flicks on the lights as he goes, squinting against the abrupt change and fumbling to steady a hand on the wall to ensure he won't run into anything. His eyesight is bad enough with one eye being useless.
"What the hell are you doing? Other than making an apparent mess of my table?!" It's hissed, but he's not really as angry as he might normally have been. Irritated, yes. But mostly, just weary in a way that has nothing to do with the time of night.
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He grabs one of the larger pieces, but rather than start cleaning he absently rips it to smaller halves. His head hangs low.
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"That was not an answer, Gwaine. What are you doing?" And more importantly, why?
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"Nothing," he replies shortly. His tone is due to exhaustion than any anger toward Arthur. At least at the moment. "I couldn't sleep. Just go back to bed. No point both of us being awake."
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