The afternoon's encounter has -- not exactly done him good, but he is, at least, back to his base level of taut self-control. A little more sour about the mouth, a little more skittish about the eyes, but not panicked.

Mordred --

[adjective]:

Sexually stunning

'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

It's sunset before he makes his way back to the far side of the woods, still looking white and sick and spent. His knuckles have taken damage from the bark of several innocent trees, but otherwise he's in one piece, at least literally.

For those of you who care, TM activity has moved over here.

There are, unfortunately, no cold-shower facilities at the cottage. Mordred is making do with well water and some very deep breaths. On the bright side, he's changed his habitual T-shirt for something more old-fashioned and less gratuitous-when-wet.

Quarantined brothers, broken Girl Fridays, friends and ex-lovers acting decidedly odd; it's all quite enough to put Mordred in a filthy mood, and when that happens the best thing for everyone is for him to go up to the lake and throw stones in until he calms down ( Read more... )

( Where do you *get* these questions? )

( Oh, God, this again. )

( Where are you now? )

Gunshot to the heart, as neat as these things can ever be. He's lying very still and oddly graceless on the immaculate Mansion floor, still with that vaguely stunned expression, and quite beyond resuscitation.

[friends, relations and alarmed passersby feel free to react here, to save spamming Lascelles' intro. :D]