Britannia, NY

Florence wakes in the middle of the night, shaking uncontrollably. It's been years since she had nightmares like this -- standing in the stone passageway, side by side with his brother, scared and heartsick; watching helplessly as Agravain went down in a fountain of blood; Mordred screaming at him and at Lovel to go, get to their father, they should never have come --

And then she always wakes up, struggling to breathe around the blade in her ribs.

She climbs out of bed, fumbling for her slippers -- her eyesight, thank goodness, is still perfectly good, but her hands won't stop trembling -- pads slowly through the house, past Janie snoring on her bed, and out onto the porch, shrugging on her coat.

For a minute the cold fresh air steadies her. She stands there, a small shaken old lady in an overstuffed parka, staring out at the dark with the eyes of a terrified boy.

Florence is outdoors again, sitting on her front doorstep in the afternoon sunshine. She has a library book with her, open, but at the moment she's not paying a great deal of attention to it; she's looking out toward the street, thoughtfully. She's been thoughtful a lot of the time, since that peculiar confrontation in the restaurant, and most of her thoughts are concerned with whether it's any of her business.

Currently she's leaning toward 'yes', but not strongly enough to do anything about it. At least not just yet.

( Ask every person if he's heard the story, and tell it loud and clear if he has not )


_{OOC: Drop-in sessions with the newly-illuminated Merlin, even if she is just a tad distracted and off-form. Get 'em while they're hot. She's anywhere you need her to be, except obviously at Of The Lake.}

( A knight of the Table Round should be invincible,/Suceed where a less fantastic man would fail./Climb a wall no one else can climb,/Cleave a dragon in record time,/Swim a moat in a coat of heavy iron mail./No matter the pain, he ought to be unwinceable,/Impossible deeds should be his daily fare./But where in the world/Is there in the world/A man so extraordinaire?/C'est moi! C'est moi, I'm forced to admit./'Tis I, I humbly reply./That mortal who/These marvels can do,/C'est moi, c'est moi, 'tis I. )

((OOC Note about setting: Nathan has become Donald Trump leased an empty restaurant area next door to Of the Lake because he had a dream, which seems to be his primary motivation for most things these days. Of course, it's him, so instead of just leaving it alone, he built some tables and refaced the cabinets, in some vague idea that someone was going to need it some day. So now Lexi has a bakery right next to Nathan and will be opening as soon as she figures out how to turn on the ovens. Soon everyone in Britannia will have a source for their chocolate fix needs, which, I know, is what you all were concerned about.

Right now, though, they're chillin in the diner, should anyone want to greet them. :D))

Jacob is on his lunch break, and he's already been home to check on his father. That done, he's cycling slowly through town, enjoying the hint of September that's sneaking around on the breeze, counterpoint to the August sunlight that's still coming down heavy. Things are moving on, the way they always do.

When people wave to him, he waves back, balancing on his bicycle easily with one hand or none.

( I'm searching rumors with my hollow plans/when all I wanted is what's mine/I'm lost and lonely in this foreign land/and left too far behind the lines/I want to tear down these walls between us/and I can't make it alone/a million spaces in the earth to fill/and here's a generation waiting still/We've got year after year to kill/but there's no going home )

Molly, rather than spend absolutely all her summer moping, is out walking the dogs to-day: Charlie, Jhudora, and the three puppies that haven't sold yet (they're golden retrievers, and still in the fuzzy, round stage where they bob around when they walk) on pink leashes from the office shop.

All five dogs are eager and pulling at her, and she has to half-jog to keep up with them, the soles of her tennis shoes slapping on the ground.

She still looks subtly unhappy, but it's easy to overlook.