Britannia, NY

It's been a bad month for Gary, between his own dreams, Mike's revelations, the messy relationship with Karen, and the disaster of a dinner with Cecilia. He's out walking in what's mostly a last-ditch effort to disconnect from everything, praying he doesn't meet anyone he knows--if he doesn't, he's decided to lock himself in the studio for a week.

He looks rumpled and exhausted and cold, and if you offered to buy him a coffee he would probably not say no.

It's a risk she's taking, walking downtown in the broad daylight with no safeguard but her evident youth. But Morgan has never been noted for her caution, when she's on the trail of something she wants. She has a secure line on Morvydd, and she's feeling confident. If she can make headway with her daughter, then Accolon, Ywain, even Mordred, ought to pose no difficulty.

So she wanders down the street, leisurely, peering into the windows of shops, pausing to read the Historical Interest plaques posted here and there. When she reaches the bakery she lingers, slim and elegant in her black wool coat, to study Of The Lake's unprepossessing façade.

( tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies )

Because Nathan honestly believed that keyboards were invented by the devil (he was the king of the one-fingered typing, when he was forced around the demon machines) and didn't even remotely know how to work email, when he decided it was time to reach out to certain key players, he turned to an old-fashioned form of communication.

Some letters, then, written in a slightly shaky left-handed scrawl on parchment and sealed with wax (the Lady thrilled in that little touch; so much of the old elegance was lost, now, in the age of electronic ones and zeros and soulless typed correspondence) in what might be a familiar symbol. The water lily, after all, had once covered the Lady's lake. It was fitting that it should now seal Nathan's letters.

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( Letter to Mike )

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( Letter to Arthur )

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( Letter to Cecilia )

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And the last letter had no address. No real way Nathan could expect it to reach the intended party. But Nathan put it in the mailbox, stamp placed firmly on with more than a little bit of optimistic hope, believing absolutely in fate to have it find its way.

( Letter to Morgan le Fay )

Morgan frowns over the paper. Area Carpenter Shot -- she's less and less confident of her contact in Britannia, who's already shown a tendency to have too many opinions. What she wouldn't give for Accolon, or even one of her reliable women; someone who understood what they were told and didn't ask questions.

Instead she has Newkirk, who looks to have exceeded his instructions once too damned often. She wants Nimue distracted, demoralized, not out attracting sympathy from everyone she -- he -- meets.

She reaches for the phone, and dials without looking, impatiently.

( and I gave you nothing, but you gave it all )