Britannia, NY

The dreams have not exactly gotten easier - they're more frequent than ever, which is draining (Enfys is getting used to waking up feeling more tired than when she went to bed), and more oblique and surreal, which is irksome – but the aftermath is less pea-soup Exorcist and more worst gravewalker ever. She presumes this is because she's getting used to them, which is both mildly terrifying and – which is the side she decides to concentrate on – hopefully an indication that her strength is growing, or something. Not exactly the fireworks she's hoping for, because she's going to need a hell of a lot more than sporadic foresight to go up against Morgan, but a step in the right direction. Maybe.

As it is, she's taken to writing down the visions and trying to make some sort of sense of them. In her conversations with Nimue the future's always seemed like some big loom where she can see the weaving and correct the threads, but it's not like that in practice. Or, well, it is, except that the threads don't look like threads but like snakes and dragons and things, and the final pattern is muddied and not the neat tapestry she's expecting. But hey, every little helps.

So she's holding court at The Round Table, because it amuses her to do so (not because it's next door to Of the Lake, or because it feels like she's meant to be there, or anything... really, she's just heard favourable reviews and decided to check the place out), and has pulled up a table somewhere in the corner with her laptop out, trying to google the hell out of last night's drama. Unfortunately it seems that the internet isn't up to making any sort of sense out of 'A golden-headed serpent will lure the leopard away and corrupt his heart, and that is how the great dragon will die' beyond that she - he, the Other – said it in the previous lifetime.

The entirety of the prophecy doesn't illuminate anything much beyond giving her a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach, so she really hopes this place is as good as she's expecting it to be.

It's been almost twenty years since Jim's gotten stinking drunk for no good reason (good reasons, like Amanda's being born, don't count). But somewhere in between Nathan's getting shot and Mike throwing him aside like that at the school, and this damned strange person inside him who he keeps trying to press back into a memory--

He's had a few shots of Jack Daniels before he stopped at the liquor store, and now he's at the park, sitting on one of the empty swings with his bottle of Southern Comfort in the brown paper bag. At least it's Friday; and it's late enough that most decent people in Britannia are seriously considering bed. If the police do drive by, they should give him a little leeway for at least being of the legal drinking age.

Actually, he hasn't thought it out that far. He isn't really even that drunk. He's jostling the swing a little, morosely, feeling confused and sad and mostly very, very sorry for himself.

It's going to be one of those weeks. Of course, it's already been one of those weeks, and probably it will be one of those months, too. Uncooperative witnesses tend to do that.

Sergiusz Jacek Nowak tilts his coffee cup (the ones the diner uses are just the right shape) swirling the dregs in an idle attempt to read his fortune in the grounds.

It's Molly's dad who brings her home, after all. The school didn't recommend a medical leave, but her father insisted on it--after all, he said, if she's going to be wheelchair bound it would be best to have her in a familiar environment. Actually he just worries about her, and the way she swings between being an utterly normal girl, the daughter he's lived with for eighteen years, and someone who's lonely and quiet and acts scared of him when he can't see any reason he's ever given her to be afraid of her own father.

She can still get out of the wheelchair sometimes and use crutches and leg braces, and that's what she does inside the house. But she'll have the chair for the next three months, and she tends to rely on it.

It just seems so futile. She was so happy to go to college, to get out of this place and away from everything and start fresh somewhere where she could make friends who loved the same things she does--and there was Stephen, who was a great boyfriend except that he drove drunk--and she wants it all back, but Stephen's in the hospital in a coma and she's back in Britannia in her chair. Never mind the dreams she keeps having, the ones that make her scared of her dad, the ones that aren't formed enough to tell her anything concrete except that her father doesn't love her, he isn't proud of her, he's ashamed, he's angry, and if she provokes him he'll hit her, and she should stay out of his way and hide, and she's so lonely because she can't find her brother and none of that makes sense--

None of this makes sense.

Thursday morning finds her wheeling herself through town, looking at all the new shops that have sprung up since she left. It makes her feel like she's lost in her own home, and after a while she brakes on a less well-trodden part of the sidewalk and buries her face in her hands and cries.

Larry's posted some fliers in public places: the grocery, of course, the library. Maybe a few others here and there. He doesn't know why he feels nervous, as this isn't the first concert he's played in Britannia, and it won't be the last. At least, he isn't planning it to be, right now.

Maybe it's just that this is the first time he's played with the full knowledge of who he was, then. With the knowledge of why he writes about the things he writes about. And the first time he's played in front of audience who he's certain will know when and if he gets things wrong.

Still. He feels like it's something he has to do.


[Feel free to approach Larry after the show, or use as a post for running into other people at the concert.]

Gary is out somewhere, and Mike has a whole new set of worries now (they've identified him, they've arrested him, they've scared him into starting a firefight and he's lying in a parking lot somewhere--) which he's resolutely ignoring. He sits quietly at the kitchen table, pen in hand, not getting anything done.

Sometimes he thinks Gary is the sane one after all. Self-medication is looking better all the time.

((Anyone who'd want to see Nate for any reason, or who'd just be wandering around the hospital, is welcome to poke their head in. :)))

( Don't know why, don't know why, we can't stand aside/There are all too many faces, we don't see right/If I had known back then/Whatever I know now/I'd think I'd have answers but I don't know why/So we finally gave up/The meanings tend to give out/The time was gone to act out/But here I am and I'm still living )

( Your hazel green tint eyes watching every move I make/ And that feeling of doubt, it's erased/ I'll never feel alone again with you by my side/ You're the one, and in you I confide/ And we have gone through good and bad times/ But your unconditional love was always on my mind. )

Something hit Gary, maybe one of these nights when he was lying awake trying to calm the rocking worsening misery of what Nathan made him know (oh God you're her)--that Jim still has his gun. The realisation came from the same part of him that won't let him even look at Mike that way (do what she did, destroy what loves you, lose what you love) without a good deal more alcohol than is conscionable; and somehow getting up and doing something about one straightforward thing feels like the only way to do something right.

So he slips out of the house around noon. He's still hard to notice, hard to get a bead on, more than ordinary, insignificant. He knows the way he's going, and he still has Jim's spare key, and Jim, this time on a weekday, is bound to be at the school, just as Mike is now.

He unlocks the door with the quiet dexterity he used to use to steal sandwiches and paint in the city, palming things into his pockets. The trouble is where in God's name Jim put it, and his first thought is--guest room? But he already knows that room like the back of his paint-stained hand, and it's empty. And then it occurs to him that probably the most likely place is Jim's bedroom itself.

Sure enough, the revolver is in the back of Jim's closet in a shoebox. Gary tucks it into his jacket with a sigh of relief.

( No haven for this heart/No shelter for this child in mazes lost/Heaven keep us apart/A curse for every mile of ocean crossed/For I must die for what I've done/A twist of fate a desert sun/For I see what I destroy/Sweet reflection knife into me/For I see what I destroy/I can see what I've begun )

Jim has taken to wearing mostly long-sleeved shirts with the collars buttoned all the way up, even since Nathan moved in properly. It's one thing to have a happy, successful relationship, and another thing for the student body to know about it. In the meantime, he has been thinking about this whole knight thing, but it's true and he can't help it that a part of him thinks it all seems immensely trivial and almost unreal next to the realities of the world, especially the one he grew up in, the one that's still haunting in his bones.

Anyway, right now it doesn't matter. It's Sunday, and he's taking one of his leisurely walks through Britannia, leaning on the blackwood cane Nathan carved for him. Pretty soon he's bound to stop in somewhere for coffee, and the warm smile and warmer fresh rolls of the baker whose attentions he's parted from. They're still good friends.

He's happy in a way he hasn't been since Amanda was born.

Arthur is out and about in Britannia, not going anywhere in particular. And though he's not looking for anyone in particular either, the list he and Enfys made is still in the forefront of his mind. He's not sure what he's recruiting people to, at this point, but awakening people... and determining who they are. That is certainly important.

And failing that, he may just enjoy the afternoon. Sure. Right.

Nathan's been sketchy about being available for the last few days, and finally Jim goes looking for him. Something he can't quite put a name to assures him the lake is the place he should be, and he makes his way down, easing along with his walking cane.

When he finds Nathan he doesn't immediately greet him; stands by him for a little bit and then says, softly, "What's wrong?"

Daniel is making the rounds, a little stack of posters advertising his services as a private teacher of voice or any of a number of instruments (with little taggy bits at the bottom that you can tear off, which are by far his favorite part) under his arm. He hasn't made much of an effort to advertise in a while, figuring that most people in the small town who wanted to know about where to get music lessons already did. But as someone who makes it his business to try and know every single person in town, he has noticed more than a few new faces lately, and has therefore deemed it worth the effort. Who knows? Maybe one of them has a kid who wants to learn piano.

He limits himself mostly to locations that actually make some degree of sense: the library, cafes where musicians usually play, bookstores, the message board in the post office. But, being Daniel, he also can't resist putting up a few in slightly more illogical places-- the new carpentry shop, the car garage-- just for fun.

( 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.}

( i carry your heart with me/(i carry it inmy heart)/i am never without it/(anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)/i fear no fate/(for you are my fate, my sweet)/i want no world/(for beautiful you are my world, my true)/and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant/and whatever a sun will always sing is you/here is the deepest secret nobody knows/(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;/which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)/and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart/i carry your heart/(i carry it in my heart) )

( 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))

( I build myself up and fly around in circles/Wait then as my heart drops and my back begins to tingle/Finally could this be it?/Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements/Even if it leads nowhere?/Or would it be a waste even if I knew my place/Should I leave it there?/Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements/Even if it leads nowhere? )

Adia is working in the store as usual--it's the last few weeks of tourist season. The kids are all going back to school, the first of the leaves are turning, but people are still trickling through looking for kitsch to remind them of how beautiful it is here.

She's humming Daniel's song again. She looks bored, the way she usually does when she's working, but part of her also seems happier, and her clothes are brighter.

Things with Mum have been strained of late; Fizz can't really understand where that's come from. She thinks the woman ought to be pleased that she's sticking around in Britannia rather than dashing off to college like she'd always planned on doing - and could, with her record - but apparently it's made her 'directionless'. Which is a fun thing to be called.

She's not directionless, though... she knows this for a fact. Arthur's speculations have, if not confirmed, then at least reinforced this. Something's keeping her here, some greater purpose.

At times she wonders if she's going nuts, because the old Fizz would have scoffed at the idea.

Taking a break from stalking Arthur, and commandeering Ken's wall, she's set up shop outside the coffee shop where Mum works and is trying to figure out exactly what that purpose is. She's had four coffees and no luck yet.

Hmmph.