bitchprince (
bitchprince) wrote in
fandomhighdorms2009-04-11 05:57 pm
Entry tags:
The Deck, Saturday Late Afternoon
Last night had been distinctly odd, but how it ended had taken some of the edge off, at least. If Arthur didn't know better, he'd almost even be able to convince himself the day was going to be sort of all right. Or, at least, not completely insane.
Instead, he was going to take a seat on the deck with a bowl of fruit and some bread for a late breakfast. Uther Pendragon taught great lessons about paranoia.
He was just going to be pleased that at least he hadn't wound up sleeping in the preserve last night.
[[ open, especially to any blonde spawn that might want to assault him ]]
Instead, he was going to take a seat on the deck with a bowl of fruit and some bread for a late breakfast. Uther Pendragon taught great lessons about paranoia.
He was just going to be pleased that at least he hadn't wound up sleeping in the preserve last night.
[[ open, especially to any blonde spawn that might want to assault him ]]

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At which point he realised he was arguing with a six-year-old. (Okay, Arthur knew very little about kids and ages. Could you blame him?)
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"Yeah, well, that's not gonna change after she does." Morgana perched herself on the edge of a nearby lounge chair and affected a knowledgeable air. "She said somethin' 'bout squirrels and rum having to do with it though."
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"Of course they did," he said. "We'll have to see about feeding you. And finding you somewhere to spend the night..."
He cast a look at Katina, clearly asking for some kind of assistance. Not that he needed it.
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Including stabbing himself in the head to get away from all of this. His life was easier back when he was too irresponsible to have a conscience.
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Arthur wasn't sure why he was pushing this point. Arthur would rather she not exist at all. Arthur... had a duty complex the size of a small mountain range.
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"I can take her up until dinner," he said, staunchly ignoring anything... you know. That might infer he had an emotional life. "And she can stay in my room the following afternoon and night. If she remains after that, we'll see to other arrangements."
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Which just brought to mind the uncomfortable realization that as far as maternal role models went she only had her own -- absolutely not -- and Francine's as reference. And no way in hell was she Marie Peters.
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Sense of responsibility? Yes. Macho sense of authority? Also yes.
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Arthur was doing his level best not to skim the edge of camp here again, thank you. "--You're not your mother."
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Oh, god, was he actually saying this to a four-year-old?
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She glowered at Arthur. "Can I just die now?"
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He'd be more polite and Princely some other day.
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Like he was going to be killed by a girl.
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You know, before any actual armed conflicts could break out.
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Although at least she wasn't a girly girl. There was that.
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