time and time again

[fahye]

Ugh. Today was crammed full of more shit than I had previously thought it was possible for a day to be...crammed.

(Don't you just love those sentences that you get lost in because by the time you reach the end you've forgotten what the beginning was?)

I need a punching bag. In the absence of such:

Leave me a drabble of backstory. It can be about anyone -- one of your characters, one of mine, someone else's, no-one's. Anyone. Then I'll write one for you.

If you want to request a character for your return drabble, that'd be helpful. Any pokes in the direction of Lucifer or Galahad will be jumped upon enthusiastically :D

Ashie and I are bringing the boys into Milliways. We're crazy, but we're kind of looking forward to our coordinating timezones. Seeing as how we live in the same city and everything.

Comments

[fahye.livejournal.com]

Mordred was bored. His latest plaything had left court a week ago, bound for his father’s lands in Spain. Half of the young men still refused to put up a decent fight on the practice fields, scared to spill a drop of the Heir’s blood. And now Arthur was making him sit through formal court in full view of everyone, so he couldn’t sneak away and go riding.

He rested his chin on his hand, trying to look absorbed and thoughtful rather than bored out of his wits. His gaze flicked absently to Gwen, who was obviously as bored as he but hiding it behind a polite smile, to his father, to Lancelot. The king’s Champion was shifting in his seat, looking...nervous? Mordred’s dull interest in proceedings perked up a little.

And fifteen minutes later, when the source of Lancelot’s anxiety walked quietly out to stand in front of the king and pledge his allegiance, Mordred’s full interest returned in a flood of curiosity and desire. Galahad du Lac’s voice was soft and smooth with the smallest trace of a French accent as he made his oath, and his eyes were shielded as they roamed across Mordred’s face without pause, one more new person in this sea of polite hostility.

Mordred felt rather than saw his father’s flash of keen betrayal, felt the cold curtain of regality drop between him and his Champion. But he saw the look on Lancelot’s face as he looked at his son, and the naked indifference bordering on dislike took him aback. Mordred knew what it was to receive that look from a father. One son had come between Arthur and Lancelot already. Two was going to be...interesting.

What are you hiding, pretty one?

A pair of dark eyes fixed on the perfect, blank face of the golden boy, and Mordred Pendragon made a promise to himself.

[ashen_key]

He rested his chin on his hand, trying to look absorbed and thoughtful rather than bored out of his wits.

*wipes tears of laughter from her eyes*SO Mordred. So utterly, utterly Mordred...

Thank you, Frar. I write Galahad, you write Mordred. Maybe I should write Mordred so you write Galahad. Hmm.

[fahye.livejournal.com]

Do so! *encourages shamelessly*