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[Arthur Pendragon, prince of Camelot, is wearing a very wrinkled version of his usual shirt, and someone has done up the laces crookedly.
actually, he looks a general mess. he's clearly made the effort to appear slightly presentable--his hair has been recently smoothed down with some water, though not as flat as it usually might lay--but his shirt looks like it was trampled beneath a horse's hooves and the room that he's in is a little hazy with smoke from some old fire. or hopefully it wasn't an actual fire, because it was meant to be dinner.
but he's here to make an official announcement, and so he's composed himself as best as he can--all slightly rumpled clothing and bad hair and smudges on his face aside--and he stares grimly into the camera. this is a dare to anyone to comment, to make any smart remark.]
I must speak with the witch Morgana. She can deliver herself, but I do not expect her to come when she is called upon. If there is any of this city that knows her location, send word to me, and you will be rewarded.
[he's not learned how to send messages privately, so here it is, curt clipped, and that might be all there is to it, but then he glances away, his face tightening into a small glare.]
I would speak, too, with anyone that can be counted honest enough to make a delivery. Your reward will be a smaller sum, but your service will be counted valuable.
[without Merlin, what choice does he have? the smoke seems somewhat thicker in the room now, and it's a good thing you can't smell over the devices, because it would smell strongly of burnt food now. Arthur spares the air an irritated glance and now, finally, he reaches to flip off the video before this gets any worse.]
[[ any roommates, feel free to notice the smoke/horrible smells/et cetera! ]]
actually, he looks a general mess. he's clearly made the effort to appear slightly presentable--his hair has been recently smoothed down with some water, though not as flat as it usually might lay--but his shirt looks like it was trampled beneath a horse's hooves and the room that he's in is a little hazy with smoke from some old fire. or hopefully it wasn't an actual fire, because it was meant to be dinner.
but he's here to make an official announcement, and so he's composed himself as best as he can--all slightly rumpled clothing and bad hair and smudges on his face aside--and he stares grimly into the camera. this is a dare to anyone to comment, to make any smart remark.]
I must speak with the witch Morgana. She can deliver herself, but I do not expect her to come when she is called upon. If there is any of this city that knows her location, send word to me, and you will be rewarded.
[he's not learned how to send messages privately, so here it is, curt clipped, and that might be all there is to it, but then he glances away, his face tightening into a small glare.]
I would speak, too, with anyone that can be counted honest enough to make a delivery. Your reward will be a smaller sum, but your service will be counted valuable.
[without Merlin, what choice does he have? the smoke seems somewhat thicker in the room now, and it's a good thing you can't smell over the devices, because it would smell strongly of burnt food now. Arthur spares the air an irritated glance and now, finally, he reaches to flip off the video before this gets any worse.]
[[ any roommates, feel free to notice the smoke/horrible smells/et cetera! ]]
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[and me, but that is implied in the rest of it; he need not say it.]
--and she knows the price of her betrayal.
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Let's see if yer as good with a blade as you are with a sword.
[ Arthur doesn't seem a liar, but Sharpe, fool as he might be, trusts a woman's word - a lady's word - far more than he would any man's. Especially any noble's. ]
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You're proposing a duel?
video; // as you are with WORDS. gosh self
Aye, I want ta fight you.
video; // I UNDERSTOOD <333
What is Morgana to you?
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[it comes out full of disbelief--and a little scathing, too. no offense, Sharpe, but--really? it's not as if Sharpe lacks some skill, or isn't worthy--perhaps some of it is a muddled instinct, leftover from the times before, when he would defend Morgana or critique those who would presume to offer themselves--but he shoves that away and focuses on the rest of it. Sharpe seemed a man of dubious honor, but still basically good. or so he'd thought. anyone that chose to ally themselves with Morgana could not possible be good--
unless he is enchanted. which is a possibility, certainly.]
You can't be serious. Has she told you how little her honor is worth? She betrayed her king.
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[ An impatient noise. ]
Will you duel with me, or are you content ta stand there and slander a lady who won't fight back against you? Sir?
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I'm not stalling. My word is good. I will duel with you--but you would do well to learn the full truth of the lady you are so eager to defend. Morgana is capable of more than you know.
But I will not be called a coward. In a week's time, we will have our duel.
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I don't know what sort of rush jobs they do in-- wherever it is you're from, but a proper duel requires preparation and planning. We aren't going to march out into a muddy field and hack at each other. It will be done right, before the sight of witnesses, or it will not be done at all.
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A week it is then. [ He cocks his head. ] You've got a place in mind? Muddy fields do well 'nough fer me.
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[ what is happening here. How is got into a duel. ]
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You ain't a soldier, ma'am, so I am no 'sir'.
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[ Sorry Gwen. He's an ass. ]
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Then I hope she would not fail your trust.
[ 'as she had mine' is not said but heavily implied. ]
not here
THIS IS NOT AS INTENDED.
I MEAN I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK.
... ): ]
not here
not here
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I know she won't. [ Beat. ] You'll be there, ma'am?
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[ dear to her, a man she loves, a man she is love with. ]
He is my lord and prince. Of course I will be there.
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It's not right.
[ she says it and sounds tired, sweet Gwen who isn't used to having enemies and picking sides. ]
It's not right that one of you would perhaps be hurt for this.
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[he says it firmly, but his words lack some sharpness that might otherwise be expected--because it's Gwen that he speaks to. (and he will not say it, but he doesn't like that tone of weariness. nothing should sadden Guinevere so, and a part of him hates Morgana for causing this.)]
I must fight. You know that.
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[ there is a bit too much familiarity there. A servant isn't supposed to speak like this to her lord. Isn't suppose to sound so caring. But she speaks all the same. ]
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