behindcloseddoors | CLOSED ♔ it was anything but hear the voice that says that we're all basically alone

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CLOSED ♔ it was anything but hear the voice that says that we're all basically alone

WHO || Arthur Pendragon, Wynnefalshond, Dumage Moulet, Mark Sandazhard [closed]
WHAT || ? ? ?
WHERE || A first floor hallway
WHEN || Tues, Feb 21st, evening, right before the Chicago briefing
HOW || Actionspam or prose or whatnot.

Just because Arthur almost died in training less than a week ago is hardly any reason to slack, and Fred and company don't go any lighter on him for what happened. There might be a bit of good-natured ribbing about getting nearly killed by a girl (whenever the women weren't in earshot), particularly by the elder fighters from the Shadow World who invested less awe in the Arthurian legends in the first place, but they were all too happy to spar anytime. So by the end of each training session, even a warrior in good shape would find himself winded and in need of a break. It's not quite time for evening meal yet as Arthur descends from the second floor in the direction of the squire rooms and baths.

It's unusual to find Wynn in this section of the castle, as he tends to make himself rare in the first place, barely making appearances even in the training oriented rooms of the castle. Hearing his voice, therefore, emanating from a slightly ajar door in the stretch of rooms largely reserved for squires rings as slightly unusual. He seems to be in the middle of some parting words.

"... think you might benefit from sharing a few words with him, in time. Though for the time being, I would suggest focusing on the assignment you'll be receiving today."

An answering male voice from within asks: "But if you hear from Jack, you'll--" His voice is laced with strained anxiety, and Wynn cuts him off smoothly.

"Of course." And with that, Wynn moves out into the hallway, where he sees Arthur just a couple yards away. He pauses, hand on the door handle, looking as if he was actually so preoccupied that he was surprised to see anyone there, so much as he can evince surprise at anything.

He recovers within the span of an instant, nodding to Arthur in greeting as he steps towards him, though he angles to walk past him without really seeming inclined to stop.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Arthur isn't the sort to eavesdrop, and it's a trait he loathes in others, but he can't help overhearing: the sound of Wynn's voice automatically has his ears pricking up.

It's slightly awkward when the man emerges. Jack — Chessing? The Dragon's Claw? Arthur can't help but chew over what he's just heard, whether or not it was meant for him to hear. But at least he owns it.

"Sorry. Couldn't help but hear—" Arthur turns, falls into step so as not to delay his mentor, but he has to at least ask. The worst that could happen is a rebuff. "Everything all right?"

"Of course." It's said simply, not exactly dismissively, but far from enthusiastic about discussing the subject. He moves down the hall at a clipped pace, eyes drifting to the artwork on the walls once in awhile, but never glancing back the way he came. His gaze falls on Arthur once, and he seems to take note of his state and come to a conclusion.

"Were you training this morning?"

"I was," Arthur nods.

After his disastrous loss to Buffy in the first tour of the training facilities, Arthur had known he would have to put the effort in — his normal routine from Camelot would not be enough. No longer was he fit to train his own knights — it was time to go back to basics, the sort that meant repetitive motion every day as his muscles remembered what his mind sometimes could not.

Perhaps there's a hint of that determination in his following comment: "It's important that I'm in good shape."

"Yes," Wynn echoes, but while it's obvious he isn't disregarding Arthur's statement, it's also clear that his mind is more distant than usual. "Though I have no doubt that you will soon find a balance for yourself here. It is only a question of determination, which you have never lacked for."

Arthur nods, takes the compliment, and hesitates a beat before saying, "Pardon my asking, but is all well?" Probably he's being forward, given he's a squire again, but he finds it difficult not to think of he and Wynn as equals. "You seem ... concerned."

"There's no cause for concern," he says simply, though his wording makes it sound more like he's trying to assure Arthur that it isn't worth his worrying about, than disputing his own level of preoccupation. Wynn pauses at the juncture of hallways, turning to face the other. He seems to focus on him entirely now, giving the impression that his thoughts have suddenly led him back to Arthur. For a heavy moment, he merely examines the King, as if trying to come to a conclusion about something. Abruptly, he looks satisfied, and says:

"If you have the opportunity, I think you should speak with a Knight named Mark Sandazhard."

"Mark Sandazhard."

Arthur repeats the name, mostly because it's an unusual one and he wants to make sure to get it right. It's not one he recognizes, though he still has trouble naming many of the full knights he's glimpsed without introduction. In fact, he'd have trouble naming all of the squires he lives with.

There's also a hint of who's he when he's at home. But he nods, untroubled by Wynn's obscurity. "And where am I likely to find him?"

"He's a member of the Dragon's Hide, so you'll likely run into him during training, if you haven't already." His eyes cast back down the hallway. "He doesn't room in their wing of the castle, however."

Arthur follows his gaze. "Let me guess. Back the other way?"

Wynn's eyes flash back towards Arthur's, studying him for a brief moment. But then a slight smile quirks his lip, and he nods, appearing to lose a bit of the tension that's been dominating his presence since he first appeared.

"Precisely." He nods by way of polite dismissal. "We'll speak soon."

Screw polite dismissal — Arthur smacks him lightly on the arm, a friendly 'til-next-we-meet farewell, and heads off back down the corridor, towards the squires' area once more. He decides to go back to where he'd encountered Wynn, guessing it was Mark he'd been talking to in the first place.

The familiarity of the gesture isn't exactly something Wynn's accustomed to experiencing firsthand, but he hardly seems affronted, merely staring after Arthur with a sense of amusement in his eyes. He watches him go, noting where he's heading, and then finally turns on his heel and heads off.

The door to Mark's room is closed tightly, but there's the sound of furniture being scraped across the floor when he first approaches.

Arthur knocks a few times, a perfunctory rap, and stands with a hand on his hip, weight shifted back.

"Hello? It's er, Arthur. Arthur Pendragon," he offers, loud. And decides to add an explanation: "Wynnefalshond said I ought to speak with you."

There's a pause and then what sounds like muffled conversation and the definite sound of someone's increasing protestations as footsteps move towards the door, which is suddenly yanked open with a certain rebellious abruptness.

This is certainly not Mark Sandazhard, though he freezes in place in the background, his hands locked in a pleading motion, his face a mask of absolute horror. It isn't just the shock of a man embarrassed either - there's a pallor to his countenance that seems like that of a man whose entire world is collapsing about his ears.

The woman reclining comfortably against the door frame, however, looks precisely like the cat who just got the cream. Her eyes spark with mischief as they quite deliberately rake in the King, with very obvious appraisal, and she glances back over her shoulder at the other man just once. His anxiety is palpable as he stands there, paralyzed, waiting for her to say something. It doesn't take much of an observer* to note his undone collar, the lipstick smeared on his jaw, his mussed hairdo.

"Did he now?" she asks, sounding like someone feigning "surprise" for something the other knows perfectly well that they aren't actually surprised about. "Mark, darling. The King is here to speak with you. Isn't that interesting?" She raises an eyebrow back at Arthur, her smug attitude only seeming to feed off from this.

[[*Spot check of at least 10]]

Truly, Arthur's reaction perhaps isn't as extreme as Mark's, but it's certainly coming from the same school of emotion. His eyes widen, the tips of his ears go scarlet, and his only movement is the way his eyes dart between the visibly ravaged Sandazhard and the woman he doesn't know, though he's fairly certain is a fellow Knight.

Something about her gaze on him makes him want to straighten his shoulders, maybe tuck in his stomach, touch his hair, his jaw. But his shock at the situation stills his nervous gestures.

"Er, I'm very sorry," Arthur very nearly stammers, wishing perhaps that he'd just knocked and gone away. "I didn't mean to interrupt... any sort of, er... tryst."

Immediately he winces, wishing he could take that word back.

"That is," he adds, trying and failing to salvage the situation. "I can — go."

Dumage seems quite pleased with Arthur's word choice, her smile curving up even more wickedly as she seems about to respond, when suddenly Mark springs to life behind her, moving forward to take her by the shoulders and give them a definitely not-affectionate squeeze of warning, as he pries her from her spot in the doorway and moves her aside.

"There's no ... trysting. Tryst-free." His voice is definitely strained, with anxiety and something more difficult to define. "Dumage was just going." He looks back at her, his expression somewhat desperate, which mostly seems to amuse her.

"Of course I was," she says, trailing a hand across his chest deliberately as she crosses in front of him to move through the door, purposefully not leaving a lot of space between herself and Arthur during the movement either. "You two boys have fun now."

With that, she saunters off down the hallway, heels clicking behind her, leaving Mark to stand there, mouth slightly agape.

Arthur watches her go, bemused and still a little flushed, thoroughly unused to that sort of behaviour in a woman. Eventually he recovers himself and turns back to Sir Sandazhard, clearing his throat.

"You've got a little, ah..." Arthur taps the corner of his own mouth, the same place on Mark's face that's been debauched by lip gloss. He swallows, throat bobbing. "Well, that was certainly... may I come in?"

Mark's head snaps back at Arthur's words, and he stares at him uncomprehending for a second, raising one hand to mirror the man's motions. When it sinks in what he's getting at, his embarrassment only seems to ramp up a notch and he mutters "Oh geez" pawing at his chin, and ducking back into the room, heading for a bureau so that he can check things out in the mirror. He not only scrubs off the lip gloss, but rakes his fingers through his hair, and then seems to notice his collar, and awkwardly fumbles to refasten it, trying to avoid Arthur's gaze in the reflection.

"Of course, uh... course you can. Just give me a ..." He turns around when he's apparently completed his cursory touch-up and glances around the room for anything incriminating, but the only sign of anything out of place is the red chair scraped away from its spot by the wall. He wipes a palm across his mouth before focusing back on Arthur, and then seeming to realize something else that fills him with dread. "I'm sorry. This isn't how I wanted to--" He takes a deep breath and looks down, licking his lips, before forcing a smile and meeting his gaze, his entire posture seeming to tighten up like a soldier. "... It's an honor, your Highness."

It's very nearly comedic. Arthur enters the room as Mark fixes his hair so he looks less like he's just been doing the nasty with a coworker, and pretends to be interested in the decor, toying absently with an ornament until the other man apologizes.

"Course it is." Arthur gives him a wry look, not entirely sure what to do with his sudden change in demeanor. "You are Mark Sandazhard, are you not? It's a pleasure to meet you."

He decides the man looks uncomfortable enough that nothing could actually be more awkward, so he crosses and offers a handshake. "Any idea why I'm here?"

Because he has pretty much none.

Mark eyes the hand for a beat, the question seeming to erect a wall of caution within the man. But he also seems to interpret the gesture as a statement on status in the room and reaches out to clap his hand into the other's. His grip is strong but he seems eager to let go. The wheels in his head are visibly clicking.

"It must be... that I..." the words are drawn out, clearly an excuse to figure out what to place at the end of them. "Told him I wanted to meet you."

He smiles upon the pronouncement, but it looks slightly off-kilter. And the color still hasn't returned to his cheeks.

The odd discomfort of the man has Arthur shifting his weight a little backwards once the handshake ends, lifting his chin, briefly sucking thoughtfully on his lower lip as he reanalyzes Mark's obvious distress at his presence, which is perhaps not purely a result of being caught in a somewhat compromising position.

"I see." His tone makes it apparent that he doesn't, and his eyes narrow a little. But he doesn't want to make any assumptions. Each and every knight here has sworn the same vows he has, and likely upheld them for far longer, and he will not disrespect any of them. At least, not until his squiring period is over. But he still asks questions like he's fully entitled to the answer.

"And why's that?"

"Why?" Mark echoes, once again quite obviously buying himself a moment of time. He looks the other man up and down, gesturing towards him. "Well, I mean... King Arthur. Who wouldn't, right?" Laughter follows, which sounds increasingly nervous, as he seems to realize this is entirely the wrong tack to take. The chuckles die out pathetically and his eyes scrape the floor again.

"I mean... I guess I just wanted to know what you were ... actually like. The whole ... man not the myth... thing." He looks back up, scratching the back of his head. "It was just an idle comment, I have no clue why Wynn ... took it seriously." He starts backing up slightly as he talks, and then points to the door with a hand in a sort of defeated way. "And I'm ... sorry for wasting your time."

When he points to the door, Arthur looks at it for a moment before looking back to the slump-shouldered, nervous man before him. What the hell. He has very little else to do, and he'd like to get to know each and ever knight in the organization, as impossible as that goal may seem. Where better to start than the one standing before him?

"I don't know that kicking me out is a good way to go about getting to know me," Arthur says, a little wryly. He glances around, looking for somewhere comfortable to sit. "If I'm intruding, by all means. But if you'd like to talk..." He gives a tilted, one-sided shrug, looking back to Mark. "Then let's."

Besides the suspect chair that's been edged out in the room, there's a still-made and unruffled bed, and two high backed chairs set against the wall. Mark seems to immediately regret his attempts to shove Arthur out, but they appear to have born of something reflexive, rather than a calculated effort, as he doesn't object this time and looks around a moment, before plopping onto the very corner of the bed in a somewhat defeated manner.

"Right, sorry..." He clasps his hands together between his knees, considering for a moment, before he comes right out with: "So how did you get here, exactly? I mean I'm pretty sure... time traveling's new around here."

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Spot: 13 and also lmao.

poor arthur. 1/2

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