Arthur's World Part 3 and CRAZY TAXI!
Apr. 21st, 2003 12:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tammaiyaYES! YES! YEEEEEEEEEEEEEES! After like TWO MONTHS of thinking I had lost the two chapters of my Met/Gabe story... They've been there all along! Word just wasn't recognizing it as word files, and now it IS, and now I have it back, HOORAY!
In other news, I'm writing chapter 8 of Mere Illusion right now. In fact, I just finished, so all I need to do is proof-read. I should probably be packing or eating breakfast, but I only woke about half an hour ago. And my mouth feels sticky and ick- I ate chocolate. Yes, before breakfast. ^ ^;
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tahira_saki: here's the third part of Arthur's World, as I know you don't have a copy.
Arthur studied the Guinevere drawing thoughtfully. “You think so?”
Mordred smirked. “Father? I know so.”
Galahad blinked. “Is the apocalypse nigh, and everyone just forgetting to tell me? Because I could have sworn that Mordred just referred to Arthur as father.”
Lance merely shrugged. Things were beyond his comprehension, now.
Arthur bit his pen, and resumed writing. “This is the lady I married. I don’t know why I married her-”
“Merlin said so? Her father said so? She had troops? She had a really, really cool table?” Mordred suggested.
Arthur looked down at the Round Table. “Well, yeah, the table is admittedly very cool. I wish I hadn’t married her, though.”
“Agreed,” Mordred answered flatly, making a face.
Arthur pouted. “She’s evil. She’s trying to steal Lance, which makes her not cool.”
Mordred looked interested. “Really? Now THIS I would like to hear.”
Under the table, Lance was looking a bit disturbed. The fact that the conversation and presumably the black pen had returned to HIM made the possibility of future humiliation somewhat more imminent. Galahad patted his shoulder in empathy.
“Arthur? Where the hell are you? Morgan told me you’re up to something!”
Guinevere sounded, well, pissed off. Arthur squeaked. “Evil lady! Mordred, shield me!”
Mordred looked rather dubious. “I don’t know how you expect me to do that. I mean, you could always hide under the table with Lance and ‘Ala, but then we wouldn’t be able to continue our world. It’s a bit of a compromise, really, so- hi, Guinevere.”
Guinevere was leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.
“Boys, you do realise that this is MY table, yes?”
Arthur brushed is hair back nervously. “Er… yes?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Then what are you doing to it?”
“Oh, redecorating,” Mordred responded flippantly.
Guinevere stared. “You two are… talking to each other.”
Arthur shrugged. “So? Mordred’s cool.”
Mordred punched the air. “SCORE! I’m cool! Hey, can I get that down in writing?”
“Sure.” With that, Arthur added, “Mordred is now cool. This means he may own Galahad, if he so chooses, by Royal Decree,” to the Mordred notes.
Galahad started bashing his head rhythmically against the floor. “Why? Why? Dear God, WHY ME?”
Lance bit his lip. “Um, Galahad, are you okay?”
Galahad whimpered. “Sorry, I’m busy right now. Come back tomorrow. For the funeral.”
Lance looked a bit concerned. “I hope you don’t expect me to pay for it.”
Galahad glared at him. “Thanks, dad. Nice to know you care. Anyway, I’m sure Arthur will pay for a royal funeral. If I belong to Mordred, that makes me his son-in-law. And if you’ve got some thing going on with Arthur-” he ignored the face Lance made, “-that makes me his step-son. Which makes Mordred my step-brother.” He paused to look disturbed. “Oh, squick!”
Lance patted him on the shoulder sympathetically.
Out from under the table, Guinevere was confused. “Yes, but there’s no killing or insulting going on. Since when did this happen?”
Galahad poked his head out. “Excuse me? I’d like to refute that. There has been a lot of insults aimed at ME, and I believe the intent is to kill through embarrassment.”
Guinevere peered under the Round Table. “Galahad? Lance? Why are you sitting under the table?”
Lance shook his head. “You don’t want to know, trust me.”
“Oh yes, I do.”
“No. You don’t.”
“Yes, I do,” she insisted.
“Seriously, you don’t.” Lance growled.
Guinevere looked at Mordred questioningly. “What the hell is going on?”
Arthur and Mordred glanced at each other. “Long story,” he replied.
“I’ve got time,” she purred.
“Yes, well, father and I don’t want to tell you, and as we outnumber you, TOO BAD.” Galahad snapped.
“Yes, but I out-RANK you, dear,” Guinevere pointed out.
Lance sighed. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Look at the table. Maybe you’ll be able to STOP them.”
Guinevere was intrigued by this. Walking over, she began to read, eyebrows raising. Finally, she looked up at Arthur. “Arthur? Where did you find the coffee? I thought I hid it after last time.” Arthur looked mildly guilty. “Anyway,” Guinevere went on, “I have no desire to steal Lance, as you so charmingly put it.”
Arthur was perplexed. “Why not?”
Guinevere rolled her eyes. “I’m already with Morgan. I don’t want Lance, no offense to him. You can keep him.”
“I don’t know whether I should feel insulted by that or not,” Lance stated idly.
Arthur was a bit lost. “Um. Okay. Evil Lady with Mean Sister. Would is… confusing. Whichever way. Lance belongs to me. Not Evil Lady.” He drew some love-hearts between the Lance and Arthur figures. “Aren’t the love-hearts pretty?”
Lance shot up so fast that his head cracked into the underside of the table. “Ow, SHIT that hurts!” Cradling his head, he crawled out from his hiding place and collapsed into a chair. The pain began to recede, and Lance remembered exactly what had caused it.
“Arthur,” Lance began calmly, “What the FUCK is going on?”
“Hmm, that appears to be phrase of the day,” Mordred remarked.
Arthur widened his golden eyes innocently. “Well, I made an official declaration of ownership. Then I drew in hearts. Then I asked if people liked them. Why do ask?”
“Arthur!” Lance wailed. “Why in the blazing fires of Hell could you have not mentioned this EARLIER? Possibly in a less public manner?”
“But I like attention! I’m High King!” Arthur protested.
“Which means he’s really, really cool,” Mordred added.
“Do you know how much PAIN you could have spared me?” Lance ranted. “Headaches, hangovers, not to mention practically cracking my skull open on the Round Table! And the angst. Don’t forget the angst. Do you understand how much I HATE angst?”
“I do,” Galahad volunteered. Had he been in visibility range, Mordred would have smirked at him.
“Has anyone else noticed how localised this pain seems to be?” Guinevere wondered. “You, Arthur, must be a pain in the head.”
“Cool, a pain in the head.” Mordred was rather impressed by this.
“Hey, Mordred, do you think I should get Lance a collar or something?” Arthur asked.
Mordred considered this carefully. “As he does belong to you, that would make sense. Get him a black one with silver studs. Oh, and sapphires- they’d match his eyes.”
“That’s what I thought,” Arthur replied in a contemplative tone.
“Do you think I should get GALAHAD a collar?”
“Oh, definitely,” Arthur told Mordred firmly.
Galahad scrambled out from under the table. “Hey, excuse me? I’m still here! Stop talking about me like I’m not in the room!”
Mordred ran his eyes up and down Galahad’s body slowly. “Oh, I KNOW you’re still here, Galahad,” he drawled. “Trust me, I know.”
Galahad blushed AGAIN. His blood was getting a very thorough work-out, today.
“Look,” he hissed, “I am NOT going to wear a collar. It’s degrading. I refuse! Furthermore, I do NOT belong to you! I never will, no matter WHAT you say, so GIVE UP!”
“Ah, but the thing is, you do. By Royal Decree.” Mordred pointed out. “You know, there really are a lot of advantages to being on good terms with father. I can’t think why I didn’t think of it before.”
“Yes, well, we did keep TELLING you that, but did you listen? No.” Lance muttered sourly.
“And now I really wish he hadn’t done so at all,” Galahad added bitterly.
Guinevere sank her head into her hands. “Oh, I pity Camelot. The two of you are bad enough separately, but together? Lord help us!”
Arthur and Mordred both smirked. Together. In unison. They looked identical and evil, so much so that they scared everyone who could into taking a large step backwards. Guinevere found herself thankful that she was the furthest away. Lance shrank back into his chair in fear. Arthur slunk closer, slithering along the stone table sinuously to lie in front of Lance, whereupon he grinned. Lance gulped.
“Mordred?” Arthur purred, “what do you think about my making a Royal Decree that henceforth, all Point du Lacs shall belong to their respective Pendragons?”
Mordred lent forward onto his elbows, expression pleased. “I think that this is a very good idea.”
Arthur’s arms snaked around Lance’s neck, who was by this time hyperventilating. Guinevere wolf whistled in appreciation, and Galahad shuddered. “Hmm, definitely. Why don’t you write that on the table, Mordred?”
Mordred rubbed his hands together gleefully and reached for the pen. “Oh, I will.”
Galahad curled into a little ball, and Lance squeaked. Arthur slid off the table and onto Lance, pressing himself against the delightfully confused knight. “Good,” Arthur murmured.
“Hang on,” Guinevere interrupted. “Doesn’t Mordred have sons?”
“Yes, two. Why?” Mordred enquired.
“Well, Galahad has no sons, and the way things are it is looking VERY unlikely that he ever will.”
“Amen to that,” Mordred put in.
“However, this means that there are no Point du Lacs to belong to your Pendragon sons,” Guinevere explained.
“Oh. Damn.”
“Then again,” she frowned meditatively, “Lance’s brothers do have grandsons, do they not?”
“Indeed.” Arthur smiled slowly. “About six, in fact. And if Mordred’s sons turn out to be straight, there are always eight granddaughters to choose from.”
“Excuse me?” Mordred snorted. “None of my sons are going to be straight, thank you very much, so don’t you go corrupting them!”
Arthur smirked. “Do I look straight to YOU? I have no intention of corrupting ANYONE. At least, not that way.” At this, he looked pointedly at Lance, who blushed fiery fuchsia. Galahad found himself glad that his mother Eileen had golden skin which he had inherited- the blush wasn’t so painfully obvious.
“Hey, Vere? Whose side are you on, here?” Lance broke in sourly.
“Oh, mine,” Guinevere told him sunnily.
There you go, Ashie. It leads of straight from Mordred's constructive criticism of the Guinevere stick-figure.
In other news, I'm writing chapter 8 of Mere Illusion right now. In fact, I just finished, so all I need to do is proof-read. I should probably be packing or eating breakfast, but I only woke about half an hour ago. And my mouth feels sticky and ick- I ate chocolate. Yes, before breakfast. ^ ^;
tahira_saki: here's the third part of Arthur's World, as I know you don't have a copy.Arthur studied the Guinevere drawing thoughtfully. “You think so?”
Mordred smirked. “Father? I know so.”
Galahad blinked. “Is the apocalypse nigh, and everyone just forgetting to tell me? Because I could have sworn that Mordred just referred to Arthur as father.”
Lance merely shrugged. Things were beyond his comprehension, now.
Arthur bit his pen, and resumed writing. “This is the lady I married. I don’t know why I married her-”
“Merlin said so? Her father said so? She had troops? She had a really, really cool table?” Mordred suggested.
Arthur looked down at the Round Table. “Well, yeah, the table is admittedly very cool. I wish I hadn’t married her, though.”
“Agreed,” Mordred answered flatly, making a face.
Arthur pouted. “She’s evil. She’s trying to steal Lance, which makes her not cool.”
Mordred looked interested. “Really? Now THIS I would like to hear.”
Under the table, Lance was looking a bit disturbed. The fact that the conversation and presumably the black pen had returned to HIM made the possibility of future humiliation somewhat more imminent. Galahad patted his shoulder in empathy.
“Arthur? Where the hell are you? Morgan told me you’re up to something!”
Guinevere sounded, well, pissed off. Arthur squeaked. “Evil lady! Mordred, shield me!”
Mordred looked rather dubious. “I don’t know how you expect me to do that. I mean, you could always hide under the table with Lance and ‘Ala, but then we wouldn’t be able to continue our world. It’s a bit of a compromise, really, so- hi, Guinevere.”
Guinevere was leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.
“Boys, you do realise that this is MY table, yes?”
Arthur brushed is hair back nervously. “Er… yes?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Then what are you doing to it?”
“Oh, redecorating,” Mordred responded flippantly.
Guinevere stared. “You two are… talking to each other.”
Arthur shrugged. “So? Mordred’s cool.”
Mordred punched the air. “SCORE! I’m cool! Hey, can I get that down in writing?”
“Sure.” With that, Arthur added, “Mordred is now cool. This means he may own Galahad, if he so chooses, by Royal Decree,” to the Mordred notes.
Galahad started bashing his head rhythmically against the floor. “Why? Why? Dear God, WHY ME?”
Lance bit his lip. “Um, Galahad, are you okay?”
Galahad whimpered. “Sorry, I’m busy right now. Come back tomorrow. For the funeral.”
Lance looked a bit concerned. “I hope you don’t expect me to pay for it.”
Galahad glared at him. “Thanks, dad. Nice to know you care. Anyway, I’m sure Arthur will pay for a royal funeral. If I belong to Mordred, that makes me his son-in-law. And if you’ve got some thing going on with Arthur-” he ignored the face Lance made, “-that makes me his step-son. Which makes Mordred my step-brother.” He paused to look disturbed. “Oh, squick!”
Lance patted him on the shoulder sympathetically.
Out from under the table, Guinevere was confused. “Yes, but there’s no killing or insulting going on. Since when did this happen?”
Galahad poked his head out. “Excuse me? I’d like to refute that. There has been a lot of insults aimed at ME, and I believe the intent is to kill through embarrassment.”
Guinevere peered under the Round Table. “Galahad? Lance? Why are you sitting under the table?”
Lance shook his head. “You don’t want to know, trust me.”
“Oh yes, I do.”
“No. You don’t.”
“Yes, I do,” she insisted.
“Seriously, you don’t.” Lance growled.
Guinevere looked at Mordred questioningly. “What the hell is going on?”
Arthur and Mordred glanced at each other. “Long story,” he replied.
“I’ve got time,” she purred.
“Yes, well, father and I don’t want to tell you, and as we outnumber you, TOO BAD.” Galahad snapped.
“Yes, but I out-RANK you, dear,” Guinevere pointed out.
Lance sighed. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Look at the table. Maybe you’ll be able to STOP them.”
Guinevere was intrigued by this. Walking over, she began to read, eyebrows raising. Finally, she looked up at Arthur. “Arthur? Where did you find the coffee? I thought I hid it after last time.” Arthur looked mildly guilty. “Anyway,” Guinevere went on, “I have no desire to steal Lance, as you so charmingly put it.”
Arthur was perplexed. “Why not?”
Guinevere rolled her eyes. “I’m already with Morgan. I don’t want Lance, no offense to him. You can keep him.”
“I don’t know whether I should feel insulted by that or not,” Lance stated idly.
Arthur was a bit lost. “Um. Okay. Evil Lady with Mean Sister. Would is… confusing. Whichever way. Lance belongs to me. Not Evil Lady.” He drew some love-hearts between the Lance and Arthur figures. “Aren’t the love-hearts pretty?”
Lance shot up so fast that his head cracked into the underside of the table. “Ow, SHIT that hurts!” Cradling his head, he crawled out from his hiding place and collapsed into a chair. The pain began to recede, and Lance remembered exactly what had caused it.
“Arthur,” Lance began calmly, “What the FUCK is going on?”
“Hmm, that appears to be phrase of the day,” Mordred remarked.
Arthur widened his golden eyes innocently. “Well, I made an official declaration of ownership. Then I drew in hearts. Then I asked if people liked them. Why do ask?”
“Arthur!” Lance wailed. “Why in the blazing fires of Hell could you have not mentioned this EARLIER? Possibly in a less public manner?”
“But I like attention! I’m High King!” Arthur protested.
“Which means he’s really, really cool,” Mordred added.
“Do you know how much PAIN you could have spared me?” Lance ranted. “Headaches, hangovers, not to mention practically cracking my skull open on the Round Table! And the angst. Don’t forget the angst. Do you understand how much I HATE angst?”
“I do,” Galahad volunteered. Had he been in visibility range, Mordred would have smirked at him.
“Has anyone else noticed how localised this pain seems to be?” Guinevere wondered. “You, Arthur, must be a pain in the head.”
“Cool, a pain in the head.” Mordred was rather impressed by this.
“Hey, Mordred, do you think I should get Lance a collar or something?” Arthur asked.
Mordred considered this carefully. “As he does belong to you, that would make sense. Get him a black one with silver studs. Oh, and sapphires- they’d match his eyes.”
“That’s what I thought,” Arthur replied in a contemplative tone.
“Do you think I should get GALAHAD a collar?”
“Oh, definitely,” Arthur told Mordred firmly.
Galahad scrambled out from under the table. “Hey, excuse me? I’m still here! Stop talking about me like I’m not in the room!”
Mordred ran his eyes up and down Galahad’s body slowly. “Oh, I KNOW you’re still here, Galahad,” he drawled. “Trust me, I know.”
Galahad blushed AGAIN. His blood was getting a very thorough work-out, today.
“Look,” he hissed, “I am NOT going to wear a collar. It’s degrading. I refuse! Furthermore, I do NOT belong to you! I never will, no matter WHAT you say, so GIVE UP!”
“Ah, but the thing is, you do. By Royal Decree.” Mordred pointed out. “You know, there really are a lot of advantages to being on good terms with father. I can’t think why I didn’t think of it before.”
“Yes, well, we did keep TELLING you that, but did you listen? No.” Lance muttered sourly.
“And now I really wish he hadn’t done so at all,” Galahad added bitterly.
Guinevere sank her head into her hands. “Oh, I pity Camelot. The two of you are bad enough separately, but together? Lord help us!”
Arthur and Mordred both smirked. Together. In unison. They looked identical and evil, so much so that they scared everyone who could into taking a large step backwards. Guinevere found herself thankful that she was the furthest away. Lance shrank back into his chair in fear. Arthur slunk closer, slithering along the stone table sinuously to lie in front of Lance, whereupon he grinned. Lance gulped.
“Mordred?” Arthur purred, “what do you think about my making a Royal Decree that henceforth, all Point du Lacs shall belong to their respective Pendragons?”
Mordred lent forward onto his elbows, expression pleased. “I think that this is a very good idea.”
Arthur’s arms snaked around Lance’s neck, who was by this time hyperventilating. Guinevere wolf whistled in appreciation, and Galahad shuddered. “Hmm, definitely. Why don’t you write that on the table, Mordred?”
Mordred rubbed his hands together gleefully and reached for the pen. “Oh, I will.”
Galahad curled into a little ball, and Lance squeaked. Arthur slid off the table and onto Lance, pressing himself against the delightfully confused knight. “Good,” Arthur murmured.
“Hang on,” Guinevere interrupted. “Doesn’t Mordred have sons?”
“Yes, two. Why?” Mordred enquired.
“Well, Galahad has no sons, and the way things are it is looking VERY unlikely that he ever will.”
“Amen to that,” Mordred put in.
“However, this means that there are no Point du Lacs to belong to your Pendragon sons,” Guinevere explained.
“Oh. Damn.”
“Then again,” she frowned meditatively, “Lance’s brothers do have grandsons, do they not?”
“Indeed.” Arthur smiled slowly. “About six, in fact. And if Mordred’s sons turn out to be straight, there are always eight granddaughters to choose from.”
“Excuse me?” Mordred snorted. “None of my sons are going to be straight, thank you very much, so don’t you go corrupting them!”
Arthur smirked. “Do I look straight to YOU? I have no intention of corrupting ANYONE. At least, not that way.” At this, he looked pointedly at Lance, who blushed fiery fuchsia. Galahad found himself glad that his mother Eileen had golden skin which he had inherited- the blush wasn’t so painfully obvious.
“Hey, Vere? Whose side are you on, here?” Lance broke in sourly.
“Oh, mine,” Guinevere told him sunnily.
There you go, Ashie. It leads of straight from Mordred's constructive criticism of the Guinevere stick-figure.
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Date: 2003-04-20 07:52 pm (UTC)*grins*
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