bitchprince | Camelot Citadel, Saturday Night into Sunday

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Camelot Citadel, Saturday Night into Sunday

Camelot stood peaceful as it sometimes did: no sorcerers had been burned in about a forthnight, there were no bandits getting particularly close to the city proper, and there were no real problems with the food or water.

Inside one room, the Lady Catrina and her servant busied themselves with something particularly noxious-smelling. And a trinket. But that was hardly of any import just yet. After all, that was their business.

In the morning, the knights would head out for training. In the afternoon, Uther would recieve citizens in need of mediation or favours in his audience chamber. The markets would bustle, and the farmers would work.

Yes. It was just another day in Camelot.

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"Nah," Katchoo answered, deadpan. "It's a real bitch of a position to be in. Hard to work up a good guffaw at that angle."

"I really will have you thrown them in them," he threatened, with just enough frustration that it might possibly sneak close towards being an actual truth. "For the love of God, Katchoo, must you vex me today?"

"It's my job," Katchoo began, but -- because she wasn't entirely stupid -- eased off, holding both hands up. "Nah, I get it. It's been a shitty coupl'a weeks. It's your job to keep 'em in shape, but . . ."

She was thinking of Samantha.

"There's a point where people get pushed too far. And you'll need 'em, sooner rather than later."

"They're knights of Camelot," Arthur growled. "They should be able to take that and more. I can hardly beat back an invasion single-handedly."

Though he'd try, if Uther asked.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

"Do you really want to get stuck in a situation where you'll have to try?" Katchoo asked pointedly. God help her, she was actually contemplating the Eternal Francine Solution here, but she was reasonably sure she'd end up in the stocks for real if she tried to hug him. Geez.

"They can take it," he repeated, irritably. Irritable at what, he didn't know, which just made him more irritable. "I thought I'd find you yelling at some stable boy or another by now," he said, changing tracks just for the sake of it.

Katchoo chucked a thumb vaguely in the direction of the stables. "Been there, done that, in the wrong century to get the t-shirt. Whaddya think, I accidentally ended up all the way out here to rub elbows with complete strangers?"

"God only knows what you do in your spare time," Arthur said. He was definitely being uncharitable now. He yanked his tabard over his head without much fanfare. "Merlin should've been here to remove my armor," he muttered, even though he hadn't exactly told Merlin when he'd be done.

Good thing she was used to it. "Well, you usually tell me to keep the details to myself," Katchoo pointed out, neutrally. (Or as neutrally as one could deliver a rejoinder like that.) "Don't think I've seen him today . . ."

"Useless," he grunted. "You'll have to do. Get my vambrace, will you?"

He gestured at the piece of metal around his neck. "Though I'll pretend to be interested and ask what you've been up to."

Being in Camelot, especially during times like these... made him less congenial than in Fandom.

"Hey!" To her credit, Katchoo kept the exclamation well below her top volume, though the look she shot him -- while fumbling with the vambrace, yes, in an entirely clueless manner that might make the lack of Merlin even more keenly felt -- was at full force.

No, Katchoo, don't think of throttling him with it.

"Trying to lay low, mostly," she admitted. "There's culture shock, then there's this, and Fandom's a lot more, ah, forgiving that way."

"Ah, yes," Arthur said. A bit uncomfortably, to his credit. "I had not intended to place you in any danger, I hope you do know that."

She did fumble. He was trying not to yell at her for it.

Trying very hard.

"Relax, Pendragon." Gah. Stupid fingers. Stupid unfamiliar equipment. "If I blamed you for it, you'd know by now, but some schmuck at Portalocity's gonna get three new holes ripped for 'em later."

And in any circumstance, he would have laughed - at the image, if nothing else. "Right," he said, instead. "I might like to help you with that."

... It was probably best not to point him at any more opponents right now.

"So there you go," Katchoo answered; she thought she had the damn vambrace-thing undone now. No, wait -- oh, yep, there it was. "We can be productive and pissed off at the same time."

Arthur winced a little. "My God, you're slower than a snail," he bitched. (If you thought he'd listen to the 'I've never done this before' argument... ahahaha ask Merlin) He tilted his head and pulled at his collar, somewhat grateful for the new range of movement. "And who ever said I was 'pissed off'?"

Arthur, stop trying to mimic Katchoo's accent. We've been there.

It only ends in tears. Tears.

"My ears do," Katchoo answered smoothly, "after all that frikkin' clanging and yelling. Either that, or you're doing a damn good impression."

"I am absolutely fine," he retorted.

Loudly.

Katchoo raised an eyebrow. Pointedly.

"Sorry, could you say that again? Couldn't hear over this sudden loud ringing in my ears."

"...Shut up, Katchoo."

He scowled at her. It made him look a little constipated.

And them in a time long before Ex-Lax. It made that joke a lot less of an option.

"Aw, gee, but yelling at the stable boys isn't nearly as satisfying, Your Highness."

Arthur groaned. It was the practiced no Merlin I don't want to talk about my feelings groan he'd perfected over the past two years. "You are absolutely hell-bent on stealing Morgana's 'most frustrating woman alive' title, aren't you?"

"Nah, just interested in keeping pace." Katchoo gave him a far too toothy smile. "Since, y'know, she's the one who's here all the time to drive you insane."

"Lovely," he growled, and began to stalk towards the Citadel, clearly simply expecting her to follow. That's how people worked around here, after all. "Any other such insights?"

Not being in a mood to get lost, Katchoo did follow, wishing she could get away with a less expectedly-ladylike gait. "Not at the moment. You want me to share 'em when they occur to me?"

Camelot Citadel, Saturday Night into Sunday

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