scribblingface
Lights blinked their final confirmations on his screen: all systems go.
"You ready, boys?" Arthur asked. Their answers came in quick succession:
"Ready," said Gawain.
"Yes," said Kay.
"Affirmative," said Sagramore.
"Damn right," said Bedwyr.
Arthur grinned.
"Here we go..."
Countdown: launch in three, two, one...
There was a final moment of tension, and then they were hurtling through the air towards Albion.
"You've fabricated these lies to give yourself some sense of fulfilment!" Accolon said, the raw derision plain in his tone.
"That is rich to come from you," Moordred said with a sneer, "You who thinks the sorceress to be your true-hearted lover. Morgann le Fey, Accolon, and that is what she is: /fey/, fickle, selfish. Do you truly thinks she shares in your naive visions of revolution? Her visions are of power, and you her dull witted tool to those ends!"
"She is your mother, and you would say such vicious things about her?"
"She is my mother, and so I know them truth."
For every time I saw his smile some feeling within me grew, until, eventually, it became love.
When I walk in the first thing I think is rot. The air is stale, the lighting is dim, the plaster is cracked and the floors are sagging. I think--I know--that I must have come to the wrong place. Then I see them: three of them sitting in a circle on dilapidated couches. One of them is tall, lanky, limbs too long and out of proportion with spindly fingers that remind me too much of skeletons. The next one looks old, hunched over, with eyes so piercing and intent that it makes my skin crawl and I can barely look away from them. The third one is the least obtrusive in appearance: brown hair, brown eyes, good posture, but something in that bland face makes my stomach knot.
"Well, it looks like we have our visitor." The smile is like a slash across the face. Three sets of eyes never leave me.
That's when I know that this was a bad idea.
"Well aren't you just Mister Cool," Sarsan said, suppressing a smile.
"You know it," Seth said with a grin. "So, are we gonna let these guys get away with a cover up..." he said, pushing the sunglasses back into place, "or are we going under cover to bust them?"
"I only wish I could be surprised that you just said that," Sarsan said, wincing slightly and sighing deeply. Seth just cracked up laughing.
"I think we're gonna work great together," He said.
"Next time I'm partnering with Moordred," Sarsan replied.
The way he moves is musical. It is precision and grace, every step a perfect note, every breath keeping time. Each strike is percussion and the moans of the dying are his backing choir. How could I help but love him when he makes such sweet music?
I clench my fingers around the hilt of my sword.
I want an encore.
"Have you applied to that job yet, then?"
Sarah tried to pretend she hadn't heard her mother's question, making an intense study of the newspaper.
"Mrs. Bartlett thinks it's healthy for young people to have a job while they're in school, keep them out of trouble. Not that you get in any of that of course, dear. Have you been to any parties lately?"
"Mum..."
"Any parties this year? last year? You could probably use a party."
"Mum!" Sarah said incredulously.
"What? It's not like you have a job yet, I'm sure you could find a weekend."
Sarah didn't bother to tell her mother that that was not the point. It wasn't as if it would have done any good anyway.
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