Sagramore needs his sword back.

To which purpose he is back outside her door, much as he was over a week ago, but this time his knock is steady and his clothes are clean, and he is very certainly living and well.

"Lady?"

( Log with Henry Lascelles )

To-day not in his room; on the porch again, slouched in a slant-backed chair, head leaned back and eyes closed. His breath is heavy, but that's not really a pertinent fact: he's taken off his sword and has no coffee and is wide awake despite the fact that he is doing a pretty good imitation of passed out.

Really he's just listening.

Sagramore has been drinking again, although at this point, particularly to him, there's nothing unexpected about the fact. On the other hand, it occurs to him suddenly that he's probably going to trigger another seizure by it, and he really isn't too keen on that ( Read more... )

Actual good mood! Still looking terrible, but feeling much better. He has his coffee, he's feeling infinitely more alive than last night, when he had a seizure, he's open to talking to anyone. Everything's fine, he'd tell you. Everything's well.

Near-fatal sword wounds notwithstanding, Sagramore is pretty well convinced he came out the better in this whole mess, and it brings him some mild regret. He doesn't like being the bad guy; he never has. It leads him to compromise sometimes when he probably shouldn't ( Read more... )

He doesn't know exactly how to go about this, you realise, not being in the habit of apologising for this sort of thing, but. He shows up at Percy's cottage anyway, and knocks carefully on the door, and then folds his hands behind himself and waits to see who answers.

As far as Sagramore is concerned, this weather should be illegal. Of course it's typical April weather, achingly hot one moment and cold rain the next, but the achingly hot periods are too often and too early for him, and it's irritating. So he's dressed in the bare minimum, having given up all pretext of wearing time-period-appropriate clothing, ( Read more... )

Being something of an incorrigible romantic, given half the chance, Sagramore has refused to go halves for any special occasion of such magnitude. Which at any rate explains the host of candles ( Read more... )

Dear Miss Rossi: Sagramore owes you dinner.

Which is, in fact, why he is hanging around your door waiting to tell you when to come. Don't leave him standing there. He's very annoying.