Britannia, NY

Karen is in an exceptionally crabby mood. Nonetheless, she's at Habitat, where she's working a Sunday double shift, because obviously the solution to all of life's problems is to work as much as possible before you collapse into insanity brought on by sleep-deprivation.

The truth is, she'd rather work herself stupid than have two minutes to herself. If she has time to herself, she'll end up thinking about the life that isn't hers any more. So after staying up pretty much all night, she came in at 5:30 this morning to open the shop. It's been busy, what with tourists coming in for coffee and cider on their way to go see foliage, and she's given her best faux-cheerful curmudgeon routine, which is always good for tips.

Things are slowing down a bit, and so Karen's out from behind the counter, sweeping up around one of the corner tables.

Karen is having one of those mornings where it seems that nothing will ever go right. She was late getting in to work (her sleep is so mucked up at this point, she may as well not even try anymore), she broke two mugs, and she scalded her hand making tea for someone who just didn't seem to have the common decency to order coffee.

She's just finished her shift, and can't think of any reason she ought to go home. So she's staked out at Habitat, with a red eye close at hand, pretending to do the New York Times crossword. Even a Monday puzzle is too much, but it really doesn't matter, either way.

It's her lunch break, and Elaine is writing. Or attempting to do so, at least; her focus just isn't happening today.

That happens, when you're scared of sleeping.

She almost feels like it's a Jekyll and Hyde sort of deal, these days. For all Cecilia says she shouldn't fight it, she hates not knowing what she's done, or what she's capable of doing. At least Lexi's gone away; a small part of her is hurt, but most of her is relieved, because Lexi made it worse. (And, of course, Lexi had hurt her, here-and-now her, but that wasn't really something she wanted to be thinking about either.)

She'd thought by now she'd be long gone. But she can't quite seem to go. Instead, she's sitting on a bench about a half block away from the store, with a notebook open in her lap, blank.

James is, of course, not sleeping well, which turns out to be a problem. After waking up in a cold sweat for three nights running, he decides to cut out the middleman and just not go to bed.

Which explains what he's doing signed into assorted messaging services at this hour, while he makes a half-hearted attempt at writing a paper in between fruitless Google searches. He's a multitasker.

He's conscious of how it affects Mike when he has a bad day, so he's avoiding the apartment, he can't help it. The most obvious solution seems to be the one that always worked back in New York, to find someplace selling beer cheap and see how quick he can get drunk. He's aware, however, that that's not a terribly good idea, so he's trying to stave it off by taking a walk.

It's warmer than usual to-day, the snow, which is dirty by now, is starting to melt. Gaheris is a worn and tired-looking man with his jacket wrapped close around his body, walking against the light.

Clara, walking with great purpose, is going to the library. She's keeping an eye out as she does so. For what, she's not exactly sure.

(She had a dream last night-- because that seems to be the only thing that can force her to make decisions lately, but she doesn't want to think about that. She had a dream.

It's a dream about coming home.

It's the end of that quest-- the one she's dreamed about since the beginning with Lynet and Lyonors and all that nonsense. But in this dream it's finally over and he's coming home. And his brothers are with him and he rides in the midst of them, not a pace behind like with Lancelot. And they come home, to Camelot, and King Arthur is there and even though Gareth has seen him before, it was like seeing him for the first time. He looked then, more than ever, the way Gareth had imagined him from the stories, his famous sword at his hip and his Queen at his side.

And his brothers are there. They don't care that he ran away, that he did not come to them, that he lied. They're there.

It's the first time she wakes up and doesn't feel alone.)

So she's going to the library, because she feels like she has to do something and it's the only lead she really has. And she's keeping an eye out. True, she's been more or less an utter failure at recognizing anyone thus far. But today, maybe, she thinks she could do it.

Cecilia has felt so much better since her trip to visit Larry in New York. It had been wonderful - though she still wasn't sure she was ready to admit to being in love. Once home, she found that her days were astonishingly upbeat, even if her dreams had only intensified.

She still has alarmingly vivid, painful nightmares of the end, several times a week, but now she sees other things as well. Sons, her brother, memories of things that would have seemed commonplace, if they hadn't been so loaded for Morgause. Morgause, to whom most everything seemed like a chess piece to be played, something to trade for power or attention. Cecilia wasn't sure what to make of such dreams; they should have disturbed, her, probably, but more and more she found that they seemed normal, natural. That such thinking made a kind of sense.

It made her want to draw those people to her, somehow, in this life. She didn't seem to have any way of doing this; she didn't seem to have any sort of magic, or power that she could tell. So she settled for the next best thing. Against her better judgement, this Sunday morning, she's set herself up at The Round Table - coffee, coffee cake, and a crossword. She's doing her best to present an air of friendly availability.

Elaine dialed Clara's phone number, with shaky fingers. Please. God, please be there before I... She sat on the bare floor of her apartment, trying not to touch anything, trying not to breathe too hard.

She wondered if this was how Gary felt. She hoped not - for both their sakes.

Ivy hasn't felt right since her encounter with Elaine, and to top it off, yesterday she and Ken went to see a new gynecologist in Manhattan. This one has even better credentials than the last one, and he did lots of tests, and he's going to call them with the results by Monday but she hasn't got any more faith in him than she had for any of the ones before--he's going to call back and say that all of her tests came up perfectly fine and there's no reason she shouldn't be able to conceive. They all say that.

She's just locking up the office, her tote bag of legal files under her arm as she turns the key. For someone who's usually a bundle of manic energy, it's hard to imagine her looking more subdued.

Arthur is tired. Adia not sleeping well means he's not been sleeping very well either, for one. For another, he still doesn't know what he's back here to achieve, and he somehow feels like there's a duty he's shirking. Something obvious that's missing.

He decides to pick up some pie on the way home. He and Adia could both use some comfort food, and he hasn't seen Lexi in awhile. These small steps, at least, he can take. For now.

Gary has really been rocking back and forth a lot over the last few weeks--autumn does not do him any favours from a psychological angle--but he's finally roused himself enough to get out of the house and try to focus, so he's buying more art supplies (you would swear he is trying to keep that store in business single-handedly).

He looks unexpectedly fragile this afternoon, having lost weight again, wrapped in his jacket with his long-fingered artist's hands cold as snow.

He is wondering again whether he will ever be well.

Tiernay has settled in for the long haul at a little table by the window of the Round Table with her laptop and a legal pad.

She's working, but she's smiling, and glances up readily enough when someone comes near.

Aunt Jenny is changing the deal on him again. All he was supposed to have to do was to move to this forsaken small-town-nowhere and finish high school without getting arrested. If it wasn't for Mr. Madison's stupid English class he would have been done, but summer school meant getting shipped off to Colorado for three months. And then Aunt Jenny said he should go visit his Mom in Florida for two weeks, which was kind of like hell, but with booze. And now he's come back, and instead of moving out Aunt Jenny has converted his entire savings (for the account he had been required to cosign her on) into a trust he can't touch until he's twenty-one, so if he wants his money, that he earned, legally, he's got to stick around for another three damn years.

And to top it all off, the nightmares got so bad back in Florida he's started having to keep the lights on all the time in his basement. He's also spending more and more time outside during the day, though he hasn't quite lost his "geek-pallor" yet.

Today he's sitting in the park with his laptop, leeching WiFi from Habitat. He started the afternoon researching how to not get caught setting up offshore accounts, but he keeps finding himself drifting. He had another nightmare last night, and it won't shake.

Elaine is exhausted, from all the emotions she's been through in the last couple weeks, but she's finally accepted who she was. She isn't totally ready to accept that's who she is, but she's trying to work out a truce between her present and former selves.

And to that end, she's looking for the man who triggered it all - partially to apologize for flipping out at him, and partially to see if he still wants to draw her. But as she doesn't know how to ask after him, or where he lives, so she's kind of wandering around downtown Britannia, hoping fate will be on her side.

For once.

Cecilia had called in to work -- taking a personal day, she said. She didn't want to say she was sick, because then she'd feel strange about being seen out around town. But she needed to walk. She needed to listen. She needed to know where the rest of her sons were.

For the first time in months, Cecilia had found herself sleepless. But it wasn't the dreaming, keeping her awake. It was Morgause's unsettling, cold anger. When Cecilia had met Enfys a second time, with full knowledge of who Enfys was, Morgause had stirred within her. But when Nathan had interrupted them, Morgause had surged forward. Cecilia was used to that give and take, by now; usually, she felt that who she was in this life tempered the ambition, desire, the anger that Morgause had carried. She wanted to believe that this time was different, people changed, this was a fresh start. Cecilia wanted that desperately; even Morgause knew that she wasn't who everyone thought she was. (She loved people. She longed for things. She'd been hobbled by who she was, then. Not now. Not here.)

So today she's on her own time, walking. Listening, in Morgause's way, for a hint that will point her to the people she needs to know. She knows Gary. She felt something about Clara. But Mordred? The others? Still mysteries to her. So she walks; she looks, most likely, determined, almost angry.

"I am going to destroy you," Nathan had said, "You and your bastard son."

Not if Cecilia had anything to say about it.

In her dream, Clara (though not Clara) stands as still as if she's rooted to the ground. There are people all around her, but that seems unimportant. At the start of the dream, she is confident; it doesn't matter that she cannot move, because why would she ever want or need to? But before long, the people begin to move in closer and closer and there is chaos and shouting, and someone is bearing down on her, but she cannot move, cannot move-- and when she wakes, she is shaking all over and sobbing, her face buried in her pillow, and the only clear thought she can register is that she wants to see Lexi. She knows that seeing her will make it better, that even if they don't (and she hopes they don't) talk about the dream, Lexi's mere presence will make her feel calm and secure. Clara can't tell if the impulse is Gareth's or her own, and as she pulls on a pair of jeans and a shirt, still in a half-asleep blur between herself and him, she decides she doesn't care.

Despite having a room on the first floor, despite having a mother who set, in Clara's opinion, a ridiculously early curfew, despite being a teenager, she has never sneaked out through her window before. She's surprised at how easy it is. The sky is the warm gray that comes just before dawn and the air is chilly, and once she's across the lawn she realizes she forgot to put on shoes. She presses on, and it's only when she gets close to the lake that any kind of practical considerations enter her mind. Why would Lexi be up this early? Bakers do get up early. But why would she be in her shop? What if she doesn't want to see Clara?

With an uncharacteristic lack of worry, she answers her own questions silently as she starts for the door of the bakery: if Lexi doesn't want to see her, she'll tell her to go. If Lexi isn't there yet, she'll wait.

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.

Elaine made her way home around lunch time, and walked through the epic fight she'd been expecting calmly, ending it with the simple announcement that she was getting her own place. It was and wasn't about Lexi; suddenly, she knew she'd needed to do this for awhile, and working full time, she had enough money for a crappy little place, at least.

She's got her bag slung over one shoulder, the newspaper in the other with a few ads circled. As she walks, she calls Clara because the need to talk to someone is overwhelming. But despite everything... she looks happy.

( 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))

Cecilia's good mood seems to be something of a permanent fixture. She's been downright chipper at the library, which seems to befuddle some of her co-workers, but the patrons don't seem to mind it.

Every now and then, she slips off to hide in the stacks and poke around anything she can find that might give her a better handle on Arthurian lore. While she has a solid enough foundation, she was never really the sort who read Arthuriana for its own sake. Some of what she's read has brought the things she does remember (or that Morgause remembers, rather) into clearer focus. And while still other things by all rights ought to distress her, they don't. She feels, somehow, more solid. More herself, in spite of the fact that she clearly isn't who she once thought she was.

Today, she's just wrapped up her shift, and headed out to the park to enjoy the tail end of summer. She's got a book in her bag (more fluff, no doubt) and tentative plans to find a sunny spot and read it.