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futurarex) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2012-12-21 12:57 pm
futurarex) wrote in exsiliumlogs2012-12-21 12:57 pm
Entry tags:
And it's about time you see that things ain't like they used to be--
Date & Time: vaguely today-dated; midafternoon
Location: training facilities
Characters: Arthur Pendragon (futurarex) and Merlin (alwaysforhim)
Summary: In a land of myth and a time of legend, the punching bag of a prince rests on the shoulders of a young man. Basically Arthur wants to do some training and most certainly does not have any Feelings to talk about. Crazy sisters, too much magic, more or less unrequited crushes on serving maids.... nope. None of these things will be discussed.
Warnings: no swear worse than "girl's petticoat"!
[Without his usual docket of duties and tasks, there is little to occupy Arthur's time in this place. He has seen every bit of the city--he has gone out beyond its walls to the dead lands beyond--he has talked with the people (a loose definition of the word, people; some of them are proudly anything but) of this place--a place of magic, a place where Morgana now lurks, somewhere in the city--
His next punch is harder, and the second, harder still. Morgana, and the heat of her glare scorching through the tablet, the venom of her words--
Training is all that he has, and he has been training obsessively, as Merlin could attest. It is up to Merlin to attend him, as ever, but Arthur spares little thought for his manservant as he punches at the bag again--though it's his manservant that is braced against the bag, holding it for him. He isn't thinking of Merlin, because there is too much else to think of. Morgana, and Camelot--and Gwen, who he can't help worrying for; even as he's pleased to see her, even now, even after she's proved to be well and safe, he yet thinks of all the dangers of this place, the sorcery and those who work it--and there's Morgana again, like an evil shade--
One last punch, harder still, and then Arthur shoves away from the bag and shoves his wrist against his forehead, wiping away the sweat that has beaded at his brow. It's a harsh motion, as if he could wipe away the thoughts in his head at the same time--but no luck there.]
Enough.
[And he turns his back on Merlin, glaring out at the training room at large.]
Location: training facilities
Characters: Arthur Pendragon (
futurarex) and Merlin (alwaysforhim)Summary: In a land of myth and a time of legend, the punching bag of a prince rests on the shoulders of a young man. Basically Arthur wants to do some training and most certainly does not have any Feelings to talk about. Crazy sisters, too much magic, more or less unrequited crushes on serving maids.... nope. None of these things will be discussed.
Warnings: no swear worse than "girl's petticoat"!
[Without his usual docket of duties and tasks, there is little to occupy Arthur's time in this place. He has seen every bit of the city--he has gone out beyond its walls to the dead lands beyond--he has talked with the people (a loose definition of the word, people; some of them are proudly anything but) of this place--a place of magic, a place where Morgana now lurks, somewhere in the city--
His next punch is harder, and the second, harder still. Morgana, and the heat of her glare scorching through the tablet, the venom of her words--
Training is all that he has, and he has been training obsessively, as Merlin could attest. It is up to Merlin to attend him, as ever, but Arthur spares little thought for his manservant as he punches at the bag again--though it's his manservant that is braced against the bag, holding it for him. He isn't thinking of Merlin, because there is too much else to think of. Morgana, and Camelot--and Gwen, who he can't help worrying for; even as he's pleased to see her, even now, even after she's proved to be well and safe, he yet thinks of all the dangers of this place, the sorcery and those who work it--and there's Morgana again, like an evil shade--
One last punch, harder still, and then Arthur shoves away from the bag and shoves his wrist against his forehead, wiping away the sweat that has beaded at his brow. It's a harsh motion, as if he could wipe away the thoughts in his head at the same time--but no luck there.]
Enough.
[And he turns his back on Merlin, glaring out at the training room at large.]