Mordred (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
adamantly) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
shapeupship2013-05-02 08:57 pm
adamantly) wrote in shapeupship2013-05-02 08:57 pm
Entry tags:
Voice / Action spam - Backdated obscenely
[There's no video with this post, but the voice that sounds over the network is deep and undoubtedly that of a young man's. Mordred sounds calm and unaffected, although perhaps a little uncertain of the technology in his hands.]
It is easy for skills to weaken in this place. Very easy. [There's a note of resignation as he says it. He knew coming here would mean leaving Camelot and the knights behind, but it's still frustrating to feel the dexterity he'll need later ebbing idly away.]
If other people have weapons, I thought we might train? Sparring may be useful if we want to keep up our strength. [A considering beat of silence.]
Um ... that's all. Let me know if you are interested, I suppose?
[@ Arthur, 100% hackable]
[Arthur's transformation, and especially having to scold him for it, still has Mordred a little wary of how much he can trust the man's judgment. Part of him regrets the incident–– there is nothing easy or comfortable about shutting down someone who wants the same things he does: open acceptance, and the ability to be free with his gifts. But then there's the driving need to be a good example, whatever the captain means by that, and he isn't sure how to reconcile one understanding with the other. It's frustrating, to say the least, to be stuck between friend and mentor and not know which to be.
Regardless, Mordred's eager to move on, and it's on that note that he contacts Arthur:]
We have not spoken in some time, Arthur. How are you faring?
[@ Kara, similarly hackable]
Kara. [There's a kind and easy familiarity in his voice as he addresses her.]
How are you doing? Do you need any help?
[The barge is enormous, but it still seems a rare moment that Mordred gets time to himself. He doesn't mind being busy, exactly. On one hand, Arthur's pleasant enough, and although Mordred isn't sure how much he can trust him yet, it's still satisfying to be able to help him. On the other hand, being around Kara is freeing and the only opportunity he's had in years to openly be himself. Merlin had been a source for that in Camelot, but the man's strange distrust of him was tangible whenever they spoke. With Kara he has both acceptance, and the pleasure of the company of someone who actually trusts and likes him as much as he does her.
Between moments with them both, however, it's still nice to have time to himself.
Which is what he's getting while taking lunch in the ship's Environment room–– an improbably large dome-shaped chamber filled with trees, numerous small animals, and beautifully-crafted fountains. The room feels familiar to him with with its natural scenery and artificial, but real enough in its warmth, sunlight, and he's glad for its existence. The crowded cafeteria and miles of ocean found on the ship's deck didn't compare to the familiarity of a (makeshift) forest.
As he's sitting by one of the fountains, an expectant duck comes waddling up to poke around at the bit of bread in his hands. He pauses, eying it, and then tears off a generously-sized scrap of bread to drop at the duck's feet.]
It is easy for skills to weaken in this place. Very easy. [There's a note of resignation as he says it. He knew coming here would mean leaving Camelot and the knights behind, but it's still frustrating to feel the dexterity he'll need later ebbing idly away.]
If other people have weapons, I thought we might train? Sparring may be useful if we want to keep up our strength. [A considering beat of silence.]
Um ... that's all. Let me know if you are interested, I suppose?
[@ Arthur, 100% hackable]
[Arthur's transformation, and especially having to scold him for it, still has Mordred a little wary of how much he can trust the man's judgment. Part of him regrets the incident–– there is nothing easy or comfortable about shutting down someone who wants the same things he does: open acceptance, and the ability to be free with his gifts. But then there's the driving need to be a good example, whatever the captain means by that, and he isn't sure how to reconcile one understanding with the other. It's frustrating, to say the least, to be stuck between friend and mentor and not know which to be.
Regardless, Mordred's eager to move on, and it's on that note that he contacts Arthur:]
We have not spoken in some time, Arthur. How are you faring?
[@ Kara, similarly hackable]
Kara. [There's a kind and easy familiarity in his voice as he addresses her.]
How are you doing? Do you need any help?
[The barge is enormous, but it still seems a rare moment that Mordred gets time to himself. He doesn't mind being busy, exactly. On one hand, Arthur's pleasant enough, and although Mordred isn't sure how much he can trust him yet, it's still satisfying to be able to help him. On the other hand, being around Kara is freeing and the only opportunity he's had in years to openly be himself. Merlin had been a source for that in Camelot, but the man's strange distrust of him was tangible whenever they spoke. With Kara he has both acceptance, and the pleasure of the company of someone who actually trusts and likes him as much as he does her.
Between moments with them both, however, it's still nice to have time to himself.
Which is what he's getting while taking lunch in the ship's Environment room–– an improbably large dome-shaped chamber filled with trees, numerous small animals, and beautifully-crafted fountains. The room feels familiar to him with with its natural scenery and artificial, but real enough in its warmth, sunlight, and he's glad for its existence. The crowded cafeteria and miles of ocean found on the ship's deck didn't compare to the familiarity of a (makeshift) forest.
As he's sitting by one of the fountains, an expectant duck comes waddling up to poke around at the bit of bread in his hands. He pauses, eying it, and then tears off a generously-sized scrap of bread to drop at the duck's feet.]