#arthur001

Location: Larimer County Sheriff Department 

Maybe Finn won’t kill her. Maybe he’ll get a kick out of this little misunderstanding, something they both can get a good laugh at. Except, it really isn’t that much of a misunderstanding, is it? How was she supposed to know she could get arrested from an arrest warrant issued years ago in a different state? In her mind, the plan was always simple. She’d never set foot in Nevada again. Easy as that. But, her little plan didn’t take the literal law into consideration, which couldn’t have been dumber on her part. She realizes that now as she sits behind the bars of the cell. Yeah, Finn’s definitely going to fucking kill her. Fuck. Angel sighs as she taps the soled toes of her beat up Converse together. Even though she’s putting off her phone call, there’s no way her brother doesn’t know by now. She might as well get her story straight while she has the time. Where should she start? What the old charges against her are? Why she got stopped by the police today in the first place? Angel sighs again, moving to rest her elbows on her thighs and slide her fingers up into her hair. What’d the cop say? If she seeks counsel, they could fight the charges and avoid going back to Nevada. If not, she’ll have to wait through the extradition process in jail for 30 days or something like that. Goddamnit, Angel.

Amos settles down into his seat with his usual cheese pastry and latte. He smiles brightly as Arthur takes his seat. They’ve got a lot to talk about today; Amos hadn’t come fully clean during their session about the week he’s had. He’d left out the part about coming out to his parents. “So,” he begins, tearing off a piece of the pastry. “Did you propose yet?” 

A tortoise in a bumblee coozie. 

It nearly ended Carrington’s life as it leapt at him from the shadows. 

At least... that’s what he told himself as he nearly ran face-first into a tree to avoid trodding on the damnable creature. Who merely dropped to it’s belly and tucked itself up like a... well, like a tortoise wearing a bumblee coozie. 

Luckily, he avoided any trauma to his person, and turned back to inspect the thing a bit more closely. Taking his Air Pods out and putting them the pocket of his joggers, Carrington squatted down and carefully lifted the tortoise with two hands. It was rather large, the size of Carrington’s open hand, and looked at Carrington with what seemed to be a mixture of terror and embarrassment. 

“I’d run too if someone dressed me like this,” Carrington muttered to the tortoise, looked around to see where it might have come from. When Carrington didn’t immediately put it down, it slowly - very slowly - extended it’s flat little feet and started ‘walking.’ And kept ‘walking’ as Carrington noted a slightly tortoise-sized hole in a nearby fence. “Is that where you came from?”  

Heading over, Carrington tried to (gently) push the tortoise back through the fence. But it wouldn’t fit. He could’ve torn a bigger hole - and briefly considered dropping it over the top, but then realized that might be bad for it’s overall intactness - but that was counterproductive. “Fuck.” He sighed, glancing up at the house attached to the small garden and seeing a light on inside. “Guess you’re going in the front, my little macrame friend.” The tortoise merely wondered what Carrington’s shirt would taste like. 

Palming it securely, Carrington tucked the tortoise beneath his arm and ascended the steps to ring the doorbell. “Let me guess,” he said to the tortoise as they waited. “Your person is an eight year-old girl, pigtails, vintage Walkman, passion for crochet-” But then the door opened, and Carrington found that for once, he was very, very glad to be mistaken. 

Fighting upon arrival was not a good look for a knight. Yet, she assumed it the best choice for when a couple of men were harassing a damsel of the area. Gareth was very capable of handling a couple of people in her lonesome with great agility and speed, but even then accidents occur.

Once finished, the wooden lance in her hand had become really chipped and the handle had broken in two. She wouldn’t force anything against a wall ever again, getting used to a magical weapon does this to you! Oh, this was nothing but cheating at the end! Where was her pride!? She can’t protect a country if this is how she managed her own weapons.

Now of all times, she had to be found by the king while trying to piece together the pole. It couldn’t go worse than this. It might not be her king but it was still the king.

Regardless of circumstances, all were her uncle and ruler. 

“Your majesty.” Knelt down and features unwilling to face him directly, Gareth kept quiet before breaking her formation and allowing her shame flow freely in her words and demeanour. She stood up in little time, arms waving desperately and face contorted in utter embarrassment.

She’d known he was in White Crest from the moment he passed through it’s borders. But then Mercy always knew when Aren was close by, even if she’d avoided him so far. They always found each other, after all. In each new lifetime, as Aren grew into adulthood - and sometimes before that - they were drawn together by something inexplicable, yet never questioned by either of them. And always, Mercy had been there, right by his side. A constant and faithful friend and companion. 

Yet the last two hundred years had seen Mercy glaringly absent from Aren’s life.  There had been no explanation, no reasons given to her lifelong friend. She still kept certain promises, even if he didn’t know it. Nothing could make her forsake him completely. 

Because fear of losing him forever would always be what scared Mercy the most. In fact, it was the only thing in this world - in all the worlds - that scared her. So when the fates decided it was high time for them to meet again, despite Mercy’s best efforts, there was nothing to be done. 

Which explained why she was currently slinging sticky gore and webbing off her hands as she watched the lifeless body of a rather large Bootstrap Worm sink beneath the water. It had nearly made a snack out of Aren where he stood - well, he was currently a bit splayed at the moment - on the path near the shoreline. 

“They’re getting braver by the day, nasty little shits.” She wiped her hands on her jeans and turned back up the hill towards her fallen friend. “Hello, Aren,” she said in the language they’d spoken as children, holding out a hand to help him up as if it hadn’t been over two hundred years since they’d last seen one another. 

Molly was pacing bath and forth in the kitchen of the Burrow, a piece of paper clutched in her hands. She was fretfully playing with it, twisting it, folding it, dog-earing the edges and ripping little pieces off and allowing them to litter the floor of the kitchen. There were quite a few things running through her head - namely, HOW COULD ARTHUR DO SUCH A THING.

Ever since she had received his first owl, she had spent the afternoon worrying, on the verge of tears, her heart sitting uncomfortably high in her throat. What if something had happened to Arthur? What if something had happened to her and the children? How could he have been so insensitive, sending her something like that? And furthermore, what had he actually wanted to talk about? What could he possibly want to do with the garage?

She heard the latch on the front door creak as it opened, and she spun around, just waiting for her husband to walk through the door.

“ What in Merlin’s name is going on, Arthur? ”

Eventide had only begun to blanket the skies in an ebony of vast pulchritude, signaling to the inhabitants to the oncoming hours of nightfall. While several had begun to heed that it was time to secure themselves and seek shelter themselves from the unfortunate hazards arising within the outskirts of the murky, second sector, one had continued forward without hesitance. There had been a pique curio regarding information that alluded to place of carnal rumour, tightly sealed away from any officials that might terminate this entertainment so cloaked in secrecy.

--CANIA, a name of eccentric saccharine for such a primitive conception.

Hours had trickled slowly since the forger had stepped foot within the very walls of a lackluster warehouse which feigned abandonment, the illumination dimmed to disguise rowdy attendees scattered along the enclosure. Like a secondary home, as if he had not left the very streets eh had grown accustomed to. "Your wagers, will you?" Accented vocables rose above the crowded taunts, umbrage skewed the very countenance to whom he conversed. To any who had come to remotely know of this man, it was no astonishment that he might utilize this moment to procure what minuscule funds he could in such a time.

Metal clattered as one of the entrances slid open, grey hues lifting to observe the newcomer; another possible contender among the gamblers that currently surrounded his person. Ah, much to his astonishment... for beyond the gloom was a visage he could not mistake for any other.

"Quite a quaint surprise, this is," he voiced, one limb plopping into his lap as an elbow rested upon the arm of the chair. Digits passed the carmine poker chip between themselves in habit, a cursory smile given in greeting. "I never analyzed you for one to come along to a place remotely akin to this unless it were an absolute necessity.