![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
♔ video ||
[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! ]]
text; ikr? maybe they will be friends after all......
whatever it is, it's definitely unexpected.]Thank you, I think. And the feeling is mutual.
[after all, she's bloody annoying too. again, he pauses, considering.]
I believe she has already reached the point of change that you speak of. In fact I am almost sure of it. Do you speak from experience, with this?
text; a miracle...
My home got invaded. A few mates and I didn't get captured, but all the things we've done since the war started kind of chipped away. So I guess I've got experience, yeah. It's not a good feeling when you stop recognising people.
( Or yourself, for that matter. Part of her wants to latch onto those old ideals of talking to people about your shared problems, working through them, and all that crap, but she knows better. It hardly ever happened before the war, and it sure as Hell didn't happen after. )
Was she a friend of yours?
text;
[and--well, it's not that he thinks that it will be so easy to understand Morgana. not that he wants to understand her--she is a witch, and so much of what she is and has become is foreign to him, and forbidden. there is only one fate for sorcerers in Camelot. but they aren't in Camelot, and some stupid soft part of him still wonders.]
You say that you stopped recognising people. What exactly do you mean by that?
text AND voice ohoho outlandish
( After hesitating for a few moments, she switches to voice. Some things make more sense when you speak them, instead of trying to make words appear on the page. Or the device, in this case. She can walk away from writing or typing, but there's no escaping the demands of sounding out one word after the next. )
voice.
I mean that war changed us. From little things to big ways. You get to see sides of people that you'd never have realised were there. See the gentlest, most thoughtful person become so thirsty for blood and revenge that you'd never think of how kind he could be, all artistic and that. You realise sides of yourself that you never knew, because you are forced to adapt if you want to survive. You can't go on being sentimental and caring when there's blood and death all around you, and people are trying to kill you. It becomes you or them, and eventually that becomes instinct. You transform, and a lot of it isn't good. It's not just being a leader or standing up to defend the people you love, but it's plotting and scheming, and torching the land to burn yourself a path to escape down. You start looking at yourself and wondering how you go to be that way, and there's no one little thing. And then as much as you want to blame the other side because they pushed you to this, at the same, you know you have your own agency, and it was you who decided you valued your life over theirs.
Does that make sense?