Thread: Guns of Camelot

Desmond was chopping onions as he saw Nuala through the window, coming down the street with her feet all bare and dirty. "Just what I need right now," he muttered as he slid the onion slices into a stewing pot. He had finished cleaning the porch not too long ago and, as though lady fortune simply wished to spit into his eyes for his efforts, here comes the daughter McNair to leave her tracks all over the place. It was simply deplorable. What kind of a lady walked around the streets barefoot anyway? No lady, no lady at all. Wiping his hands with a towel, Desmond went to the door and dutifully opened it for Nuala. As far as he was concerned, she was just another guest here like her father. Guests and no more.

"Evenin' Des." Naula smiled, aware how he feels about her and her father staying over at the Grimm's Manor. Just before stepping into the house, she caught herself and tried to scrape her yucky feet on the mat.

"Pa wants to let you know he's coming soon, and is willing to help with dinner." She didn't want it to sound like how her father said it. This way it was more like an offer to him, rather than a command. It was clear by his expression how he felt about what she said. Apparently Desmond didn't warm up to people very well, even over a period of two weeks. Or was it just her?

Nuala walked in, thinking her feet were just fine now. A few good swipes should have done the trick. Remembering she was still filthy form the days work and the dust kicked up by Clover, she did not sit on anything, or touch anything. It was hard enough to talk easy with people who wanted to know her, if she was to be on talking terms with Desmond, she must keep his hard work clean. Nuala had to admit it though, sometimes she was careless, running in with muddy feet and all.

"I'll be washing up, Desmond." Nuala smiled tentatively, as she walked up the stairs to the bathing room.

"Yes, very well," Desmond replied as he closed the door and returned to the kitchen. So Angus wanted to help with cooking dinner. How noble of him. Desmond had always been somewhat ambivalent about his master's decision to leave the house in the hands of McNair. For one thing, Desmond considered himself to be sufficient for keeping the place clean. All the McNairs ever did in that regard was bringing the dust of the streets into the house. Still, Angus was decent enough company, even if he sometimes had the arrogant notion that Desmond needed his help.

Nuala on the other hand, she was just a simple child. Desmond had never cared much for children, but Nuala was well behaved enough for someone of her age. The last thing Desmond wanted on his hands was a rebellious teenager to watch over. Goodness knows there were enough of them in the city.

Chopping carrots and dicing beef for the stew, Demond's thoughts drifted towards the war in Avalon. He didn't know how to feel about it except concerned, for the sake of Camelot and his master, Lowen Grimm. The man may have been a Caliburn Knight, but such elite Gunslingers were far from immortal. And a war in Avalon? How was that allowed to happen in the first place? It was too close. Much too close to home.

Desmond dumped the ingredients into the stew and began to stir. Its aroma soon filled the house.

Becky was not one to just be shoved off like that. She walked in a frustrated stomp. So what if she, Gale and Jay, her twin brothers, were trouble makers? It was just a bit of fun here and there. No one in Camelot could take a joke. Nuala was a riot when Becky got her up to things, but sometimes she fizzled out like a prude. Rebecca crossed her arms and grumbled.

"Didn't even give me an answer."

Hmm... Mr. McNair was on duty. And for the Merlin too. He'll be there for at least a few more hours. Nuala can't just hang out while he's workin'. Why, Becky had a great idea. If Nuala couldn't talk to her in front of her Pa, well she'd talk to her some where else. Taking to the road headed to the Grimm's Manor, Becky meandered through the streets. Naula was bound to talk to Mr. McNair for a few minutes at least. Becky reached the Manor just as she saw her friend walk down the stairs.

Looks like I took my time, the girl's squeaky clean. She said to herself. Running up to the door, she knocked on it in rapid succession.

"Hey, y'all there? Hey." Becky was never the polite type to knock three times and wait. "Hey, Nuala! I still need an answer you Ragamuffin! Desmond, hey Des, open up." She cupped her hands and peered in, then went back to knocking.

It was shocking to think Becky was a best friend to Nuala. On the outside they looked like polar opposites.

Nuala had taken a longer bath than usual. Her hair had grown longer and it was a pain to brush. Sometimes she just wanted to chop it off at the shoulder. This was hedonistic of course, her mother would never approve. Angus can get away with using the 'T' nickname, as Rose referred to it, but how can one hide shorter hair? Sighing, she raked through her unruly black curls that seemed to unravel like a cascade of a black waterfall. Now wet, it passed her hip to her knees.

"I will cut you, ya hear?" She threatened. "I will!"

Finally, dressed and ready for supper in clothes that were clean and respectable, Nuala walked down the stairs. Dinner would be ready at any moment. Sometimes she waited in the living room, where she would sing, or sew, or read. Naula didn't have her sewing with her this time, and she was glad of it. It was more of her mother's idea than her own. So when she would get to the living room, might as well sing. Wondering if Desmond thought she was an irritating singer, she heard a rapping at the front door.

"Hey, y'all there? Hey." Becky was never the polite type to knock three times and wait. "Hey, Nuala! I still need an answer you Ragamuffin! Desmond, hey Des, open up." She cupped her hands and peered in, then went back to knocking.

"Oh no." Nuala rushed to the door. Desmond did not like the Gibbs, not one bit. Opening it, she popped out, closing it tightly behind her. Facing her mischievousness friend, Nuala furrowed her eye brows.

"What in the blazes is wrong with you, Rebecca Gibbs!?" Nuala asked in a hoarse whisper. "You know you pissed off just about everyone in Camelot, and Desmond isn't going to forgive you for what you did to him! So why are you here?"

"I said I was sorry, Here, I'll do it again." Becky waved at the windows, hoping he would see her kind gesture. "Sorry I let that muddy pack of dogs run through your clean living room Mr. Lassiter!"

"Stop it." Nuala held her hand down. "What do you want?"

"You didn't give me an answer back there, remember?" Becky pointed out. "Are you coming or not?"

"You know I try, and why does it matter to you so much now?" Nuala asked.

"Because, y'all try but sometimes you just bale out. Come on, it's fun when you come." Becky encouraged her friend. "You know Jay wants another re-match. You owe him that much. Just say it, say you'll come."

"Fine! I'll come, now get!" Nuala was worried Desmond had heard them talking. If he told Her father, she'll be grounded. Although Angus didn't say 'don't go to the Mid-Races' he did passingly mention on how a person shouldn't go. So it's not like she's technically breaking any spoken rules. But, all hope is lost if Desmond mentions it to Angus.

"Leave now, you'll spoil it all otherwise." Nuala gave her short friend a hug. "Okay, don't come back now, ya hear? Desmond is-"

"I know, I know. Pissed. I pissed off half of Camelot. Gotcha." Becky waved good bye and Naula walked back into the house, wiping her feet before coming in. Walking past Desmond, not looking to see his face. She pretended all was just fine. Sitting on a couch, Nuala hummed to herself, waiting for her father to come home while picking a book to read.

Too bad Alicia isn't here. She thought. I'd sing to her instrument if she was. More fun than reading, and that's a fact.

Desmond was about to answer the door when Nuala came rushing down the stairs, as if afraid that the house servant would only turn Becky away. She would have been right to think so as it was exactly what Desmond was intending to do. At least her feet are clean, he thought as he returned his attention to the stew, watching it simmer as its ingredients cooked into flavour.

It was going to be a simple meal, but Desmond did not feel particularly inclined to cook anything fancy for the McNairs. They never asked for it, never showed any want for it, so a bowl of stew for dinner it was. He had the feeling that they would have been just as content with bread and water anyway.

As Nuala and her friend whispered to each other by the door, Desmond made a conscious effort to not pay any attention, although seeing Becky waving at him through the window was particularly difficult to ignore. A girl who deserved a spanking if there ever was one, Desmond thought, remembering the muddy dogs fiasco.

He shook his head wearily as he washed the chopping board whilst waiting for the stew to cook. Try as he did to ignore it, he could still hear the girls talking and caught several words of their conversation. Typical youngsters, he thought as Becky left and Nuala went to sit on a couch. Just typical.

Nervous, so nervous. What had Desmond heard? How does she find out? It was obvious he saw Becky at the least. So would he tell her father that little detail, or brush it off? Nuala felt her stomach turn. She was just two days away from the Mid-Races and now she promised Becky she would go. Nuala stood, humming innocently. She could just passingly talk to him, maybe figure out what he knows.

"So, Des." Nuala sighed contentedly, marveling at the dustless furniture. "You certainly have skill, I reckon not one other man in Camelot, or Avalon for that matter, can say they an keep up with a house this big."

Smiling she swiped a finger on the rail of the stair. Looking up at him, she nodded. "And you do it with such pride and flare. Everyone else just fall short. A person would never guess that a pack of dogs ran through." Nuala moved to the chair, sitting like a sweet child. "Sorry about Becky, she can be a devil. I hope you heard her..."

"I hope you...heard her apology. Or did you?" Nuala's little red mouth turned up in hesitant curiosity. What would he say? "She's so loud, I'm sure you could...right?"

"Yeah, I heard her all right," Desmond replied sardonically. "Well what's past is past, but the next time something like that happens, I'm going to have a serious talk with that girl's parents and you'd best tell her about it. I don't have much tolerance for such a wild child... and don't do that."

He rubbed at the railing with the wrist of his sleeve where Nuala touched it. "You'll leave smudges. Anyway, the stew's nearly done. If you want something to do... never mind, I'll clean the kitchen myself. You can wait here until dinner's ready."

Without further ado, Desmond went back to his work.

"Yes, a wild child. I can't argue there." Nuala admitted, and felt a little like a walking dust-bunny, watching Desmond wipe away her 'finger smudge'. Then he almost invited her to help clean, but of course, she isn't fit to do it the 'right' way. So she was told to wait for dinner instead.

So he DID hear Becky! She lamented in her thoughts.

At least the part about the apology. But then if he heard her say that, then, what else did he hear? Oh, the terror! Nuala can't possibly just ask what else he heard, it would be too suspicious. Then Desmond might ask why and then all would be for not. Nuala flushed red, sitting by the window. Her father would come for dinner, and talk with her and Desmond. Desmond could possibly mention Becky. What would Nuala say to Angus, if he asks why Becky had come all the way up to the Grimm's Manor?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KDRx1ezNyII

The day was turning dark and Desmond was cleaning the chopping board when he saw Angus through the window, his hat in one hand and the other raised in greeting. "Honey, I'm home!" the Gunslinger hollered as he approached.

Shaking his head at such undignified behaviour for a Caliburn Knight, Desmond dried his hands on a towel and went to open the door. Angus stepped inside with a nod of thanks as he hung his hat up on a hook and removed his duster, handing it to Desmond.

"Hey there, pumpkin," Angus said cheerfully when he saw Nuala. "I hope I didn't keep you two waiting for long. Has my dinner gotten cold yet?"

"It's just ready to serve now," Desmond said as he folded the duster and hung it on a coat stand. "I'll go get the table ready. It'll be beef stew tonight."

"Ah, my favourite," Angus said with satisfaction and took a deep sniff of the air. "Mm, smells good. I can't wait!"

Seeing her father walk in, Nuala felt two things very strongly. One was happiness. Oh her father was home! It felt good seeing him. Like it was for the first time, every time. You never knew who would come along and challenge you, if you were a Gunslinger. Never knew if you'd live through a duel. When that door opens, and you see their face. A light springs up in your heart. They're safe. They're home. Nuala forgot her worry in that moment and hugged her Pa again, just like before.

"Oh, Pa!" Nuala said, right after he gave his coat to Desmond and commented about dinner. "Oh, I'm so glad you're home."

Letting go, she suddenly let the other thing hit her. Desmond could still mention Becky. The idea that Angus would ask why she was there and then have Nuala tell him why...Would she lie to Angus about Becky's visit? She could just say Becky went to apologize to Desmond. That's not 'really' a lie-lie. Becky did say sorry...but it wasn't 'why' she came there.

Ugh...maybe I should just let it go. Whatever I can do, I'll do.

"Cain't wait to eat either Pa." Nuala smiled, hiding her worry.

"Yeah, it's been a busy day for the both us, hasn't it?" Angus replied. "C'mon, let's have a sit down over there while we wait for Desmond."

He walked to the living room and then flopped down onto the couch, heaving an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, I'm pooped. So what was it that you wanted to talk about when I was at the Merlin's workshop? It was something about those three Gunslingers, wasn't it?"

Thinking back on the day, he tried to recall what Nuala had said. He didn't exactly remember everything, but he did remember the colour in his daughter's cheeks when she mentioned Mitchell. What would the boy think if his former mentor told him about that? It would be amusing, to be sure, although perhaps a bit cruel. Mitchell had always tended towards shyness on matters of the heart.

Looking at Nuala and thinking about Mitchell, Angus gave a mental shake of his head and thought just as he did before, You should know better darling. Gunslingers are nothing but trouble, just take a look at your old man. He smiled a smile of self-deprecation, although it looked no different from any other.

Glad that, so far, Desmond hadn't said a word about Becky, Nuala let herself relax. Sitting on the couch by her father, she fiddle with folding a handkerchief while answering her father's question, about what she had wanted to say before. Briefly reminding him about what she said, Nuala elaborated on her thoughts.

"Just why would a guy like that come back? John doesn't look the dim type, Pa, or..." Nuala huffed, she wasn't getting her thoughts straight. "I mean, I wouldn't do that. Go back to a place where no one wanted me. Risking your life, other peoples lives. Would you?"

"There's also that stranger." Nuala spoke. "He looked weathered, Pa, like an old wagon. Seemed kind of nice though. He didn't say much, but he seemed nice. And, guess I should say John was polite, for tippin' his hat."

"He might be a Gunslinger, but the job doesn't make the man, huh Pa?" She smiled. Rose didn't like Nuala judging anyone. "Cain't hate the person. At least before knowin' em."

"I wonder why Mitchell took them to the Merlin..." Naula's words trailed off in her own wonderment.

Angus remained silent as he listened intently, frowning in thought about John and smiling at the stranger being described as an old wagon. You sure do have a way with words darling, Angus thought and considered saying it as well, but did not want to interrupt.

When Nuala seemed to have finished talking, Angus gave his input: "You spoke well and truly, pumpkin. Don't know em, don't judge em, that's the way."

Angus smiled to show his pride and gave Nuala a paternal rub on the shoulder, but leaned her in close as he continued, "At least not personally. You see, as you grow older it becomes more important to judge, but only so far as to what matters, what you should be alert to and all, understand?"

He drew back and looked his daughter in the eyes as he said, "It's a dangerous world, darlin', and don't you forget it."

Then leaning back and dropping his tone of seriousness, Angus went back to the matter of the Gunslingers: "But anyways, I don't know about John and the strange fella. I do however know about Mitchell and I reckon that if he's keepin' company with the likes of John, it's probably for a good reason. Boy used to be one of my squires, did you know that?"

It felt good to be praised, but there was something different about it this time. Maybe it was how Angus phrased things, or that he frowned when he said that the world was dangerous. For the briefest of moments Nuala caught something else hidden in her fathers eyes. Some knowledge of his that would validate his words, more than just because he said them or because he was already so intelligent. It was there for so short a time, that Nuala brushed it off. Nuala was curious about Mitchell having been a Squire to her father.

"I didn't know that Pa." Her smile seemed less than happy, but she didn't want him to think it was because she thought Angus wasn't a good, no, great mentor. So she added to her words with truth. "He must be better than most, to be taught by you."

The slight disappointment had nothing to do with Angus being a mentor, no. It was that Mitchell was more than acquainted with Angus. For Nuala, anyone and everyone should know her amazing father...Except for the guys she wanted to be on speaking terms with. The only friends she had that were guys, were the Gibbs. Jay and Gale knew her from childhood. Taj, Alicia's brother, was...well, Alicia's brother. So that's how she knew Taj.

Thing is, if you asked Nuala who her first boyfriend was, she'd shrug her shoulders and say 'Never had a beau' . The girl had never even been kissed. It wasn't because she was as awful as Hilda Hoover liked to think. It was because every time a guy did find out that Nuala was the daughter of Angus McNair, they seemed to just throw up their hands and walk off.

Once, she had actually been pulled out of her shell, in public, when a guy named Taylor came up to her wool wagon. Nuala even laughed and she could see he wanted to go out for some lunch or something. Then Hilda Hoover walked over and said, 'Nuala McNair, your feet are as callous as your face is plain. Why don't you wear make up?' At that moment, at that very second, Taylor flushed red and apologized for bothering Nuala. Then left. It was three times that this had happened so far, and now Nuala guessed the reason. No one wanted to date the McNair girl. Ryan and James didn't seem to have that problem. Just Nuala.

For whatever reason it was, she was sure her father wouldn't tell. No point in asking him what the deal was. Nuala just took it as a sign that she was either never going to get married in Camelot, or nowhere at all. But, she still had a little hope for love. All girls did.

So if Mitchell ever finds out that she's Angus's daughter, he'll probably do the same. Nuala was beginning to think she would become and old spinster woman, with cats for company.

"I don't feel so good right now Pa." Nuala admitted. Trying to say it was th hot day, or maybe she got a cold. "Think I should go up to bed. I will eat dinner, if it's important to ya though."

The change in Nuala was subtle but sudden, and Angus's first reaction was concern. When his daughter started saying that she didn't feel so well, it was a little more than concerning. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but then he considered that maybe Nuala was just feeling a bit peckish. She had been walking around all day after all, selling wool and then going about the city, looking for her father. Angus determined that a bit of high spirits was in order.

"Now, now, nothing's more important than your own health. One ought to look after oneself, huh?" Angus said. "If you're so tired, I'll let ya retire early. It'll just mean more stew for me, ha!"

He took a deep sniff and made an exaggerated noise of satisfaction. "Mm mmm! Oh, that's a delicious smell! I tell ya, the weariness of a whole day just vanishes whenever I have me some stew. It's like magic!"

Almost as if on cue, Desmond appeared in the doorway of the dining room to announce, "Dinner is ready."

"Speak of the devil, here it is. Well, pumpkin, I suppose I'll just have to divide your share between me and Des. It might prove to be a bit too much for the both of us, but oh well, it'd be worth it!"

"Night Pa." Nuala hugged him and walked up stairs.

When she got to her room, she sighed and plopped down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Very unlady-like. Hilda came to her mind. 'How sad. You don't have much grace do ya dear? Tsc tsc.' Nuala narrowed her eyes. Hilda hadn't actually said that before, but she sure would have!

If Angus's reputation as a Caliburn Knight had been shying away any suitors, Nuala was sure Hilda could be another reason why. That old crone.

Feeling sleep taking over, but feeling a grumbling stomach, Nuala ignored her hunger and forced herself to get changed. If she was going to be in her room for the rest of the evening, might as well get ready for bed now. Finding a long linen gown, loose and wrapped around the bust with a pretty black ribbon, Nuala slipped that on and curled up on the bed. Pulling out a book from a shelf near by, she fell asleep while reading. Didn't even remember to pull the covers over herself.

"Huh, she must have been really tired," Angus muttered as he watched Nuala disappear into her room. His sense of concern returned and he had to wonder if there was indeed something wrong, but if Nuala didn't want to talk about it then she had a right to her privacy... but what if she did want to talk about it and one simply had to ask?

Women, Angus concluded with a mental shrug. Perhaps when there was time for it, he'd go back to the farm and see what Rose would think. Gods willing, it wasn't one of those dreaded phases of adolescence. Angus had no idea how such matters should be handled, and the thought of having to was honestly somewhat unnerving.

Sitting down at the dinner table, Angus thanked Desmond for the stew and eagerly dug into his bowl, relishing each spoonful. "Mm, as tasty as always," he said as he reached for seconds. "Some day, you're going to have to tell me how you make it this good."

"With practice and the right ingredients," Desmond blandly replied.

"Er... good advice I suppose," Angus muttered, and then a thought crossed his mind. "Say, did anything happen while I was gone? Nuala don't seem her usual self."

"Her friend Becky came over for a chat."

"What did they talk about?"

Desmond looked up at Angus and said nothing for a moment. Angus didn't know what to make of it until Desmond finally said, "No idea."

"Hmm... well all right." Angus finished his second bowl of soup and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Guess I'll go to sleep now, unless you want help washing up."

"I'll be fine," Desmond replied, already taking his and Angus's bowl for cleaning.

"Well good night then."

Angus walked up the stairs and entered his room. After cleaning everything up, Desmond eventually went to his own room, which was at the lower level of the house, and soon went to sleep.

Nuala woke with the sun and refused to yield to it's light. The girl wrapped a pillow around her head and sighed. Dreams were an escape from silly troubles that were no trouble at all to anyone besides Nuala. But they pass. Nuala didn't even think the dream was that fun anyway. What was it about again? Shrugging, she sat up. It was dark under the shield of the pillow, but the sun was warming up the room now. Not so great if you want to sleep in. And it was Sunday too! The only day she ever gets out of wool work, and farm work. The only day she's technically allowed to sleep longer and here comes the sun to ruin it.

“Hm..” She grumbled, as did her stomach.

Feeling a bit childish to get so upset to have left dinner uneaten, Nuala wondered what Desmond was making for Breakfast. So she threw on a dress and stomped down stairs. Mentally kicking herself, she forgot that Desmond didn't like that. It was too late, though. Nuala had already tromped down all the way to the end.

If he hadn't mentioned Becky already, he might feel inclined to do so now. Because it was that loud.

Desmond was in the dining room getting breakfast ready when he heard Nuala coming downstairs. He had been dreading this moment ever since a Gunslinger came to the house, just at the crack of dawn, to fetch Angus for some dangerous mission.

"Don't tell Nuala about it," was all the Caliburn Knight had to say about his daughter before leaving.

Well what in the blind heck AM I supposed to tell her? Desmond had been thinking to himself over and over again since that moment. Even now, he had no idea what he was going to say to Nuala when she'd inevitably ask about her father. Was there any point in trying to hide the truth anyway? The man McNair was a Caliburn Knight for God's sake, danger was his very business! Such matters were only to be expected.

It was decided then. Desmond was going to tell Nuala exactly why her pappy wasn't going to be around for breakfast, and she'd take it like a Gunslinger's daughter because that's what she was.

"Breakfast's ready," the house servant called out as he sat at the table, ready to eat his own meal of grits, eggs and bacon. Nothing finer for a coming moment of truth.

"Breakfast's ready," the house servant called out.

“Smells great Des, like always.” Nuala smiled after saying good morning to him. The worried feelings she had, about maybe Desmond telling Angus about Becky were put on hold. Nuala saw only two meals set out. She tilted her head, then walked into the living room. Where was Angus? She walked back to the table, sitting down. A new worry on her pretty face.

“Pa isn't here is he?” She asked. Her father was always there on Sunday. Always. It was supposed to be his day off. He's never not there. Not unless something happened. So what happened?

Nuala loved Desmond's cooking. She really did regret going to bed without eating that stew from the night before. It was decided by her to eat the breakfast. Now she couldn't even look at it. She was staring right at Desmond. Locking her blue eyes with him.

“Where is Pa, Des?”

Seeing the look in Nuala's eyes and hearing the worry in her voice, Desmond was beginning to think that perhaps this wasn't going to be so easy after all. What were you supposed to tell a girl whose father had left without leaving any time for good byes?

Without realizing it, Desmond stared down at his food, no longer able to look Nuala in the eyes. He had hours to think about this, but no idea of how to begin. There was simply no easy way around it, no good words to frame it, none that Desmond knew anyway. Damn it, Angus, why'd you leave me in this crap hole of a situation?

Looking up at Nuala again took a concious effort, and as soon as Desmond got that far, he had no idea what he was going to say. He only knew that he was going to say it.

"There was a Gunslinger who came around in the morning. He said he was here for your pappy on the Merlin's orders, but wouldn't tell me more than that. Your pa did though, soon as he was done talking to the other fella. He told me there was a vampire attack in the night and now he has to go rustle up a crew, to get to the frontier and kill any vampires he can find. Your father had to leave immediately, so there was no time to... say good bye. He's a Caliburn Knight, y'know."

Desmond actually looked away. He looked away! Nuala always found Desmond to be to the point. He was a good man, an honest man. Uneasiness was a rare thing to see on his face. So Nuala's heart clinched a bit at that. Then the words he spoke made her slouch and stare at her plate. It's Sunday, and her Pa is going to go off on a mission? On their Sunday? With who? For how long?

“He didn't say goodbye...” She breathed. How DARE he! Angus was off, to who knows where, who know if he's coming back alive! The frontier was no walk in the park, it was no simple stroll around! Angus wasn't just going to a mission. If vampires are involved, then that bodes ill. He may be in serious danger. That was expected of a Gunslinger; A Caliburn Knight. But hell, that meant he should know to say goodbye!

“He didn't say goodbye.” Nuala spoke with a little bitterness. She didn't have to sleep away the morning! Dam her! She didn't have to go to sleep so early last night, she should have stayed. Talked. Sang. Moments, that's all you get. Moments with those you love.

“I have to go.” Nuala sprang up from her seat. She didn't bother to take a bite of food.

The grumbling in her stomach was not as strong as her will to find her Pa. He wasn't going to leave without saying good bye, dam it! Running as fast as her feet could take her, Nuala rushed to the stables. She didn't even check to make sure everything was there. Mounting Clover, Nuala rode out of the stables after paying the owners for their good work. The cart was attached, she had all her things as far as she could tell. At the moment, that wasn't her biggest concern. Nuala just hast to find Angus. He can't leave without a goodbye.

“Where are you?” She whispered to herself as Nuala rode down the streets, her eyes flicked around. Where was her father? Roaming onward, she was met with Elizabeth. Nuala asked her good friend if she had seen her father. Elizabeth nodded, and was pulled up onto Clover. Liz was never much of a talker. Barely spoke with Nuala. As she pointed to where to go, a commotion caught Nuala's eye.

A guard stood off to the side near one of the buildings, berating and questioning one of the Avalonian refugees, a scraggly looking one at that who should not have been in uppertown to say the least. Her bare feet had developed a crust from the dirt road and her nails hadn’t had a good wash or cut for a while. Maroon, cotton pants road too high, too short, too tight, even on the petite thing, with holes announcing themselves wherever they had rubbed or ripped. Loose strands threatened to further unfurl the attire, but a long green nightgown could have taken up the slack. It currently tucked into one hip of the pants and draped nonchalantly on the other, possibly long enough to reach the top of her ankles. It had puffed sleeves with rips along the armpit and wide, flowered neckline, the latter of which someone attempted to stall by stitching, but it continued to cut its own seams.

Her hair had better knots. Sun-bleached auburn hair twirled in a rat nest of tethering down to her waist, broken and split ends sticking out like stiff straw. Some of it stringed onto her front around several tiny scars about the collarbone and the rest over her back, preventing the sunburn that had colored her forearms. She kept pinching a piece between her dirty, uneven fingertips anxiously, the dry fibers crackling like dead twigs. Her head tipped low on her short stature and the brim of a hat far too large for her head settled low on her brow, hiding most of her face, save for a chin.

Little pins glinted in the sun from the hat’s face: a shield with a Christian cross, a seal for a United States navy retiree, their flag and a ground-pointed golden sword. She wasn’t an Avalonian and she was too young for that to be her hat. She might have stolen that and even been in uppertown to do the same to the people there. Her jaw didn’t move once during this guard’s interrogation and, as he bent down to make them meet eyes, she turned away, bringing on more suspicion. His increase in energy and volume attracted a few others to the confrontation, not because they liked to pick on little girls, but because it was standard to assist another guard in case of a skirmish. It didn’t help her apprehension none and she clammed up all the more, stiffening and jerking away when one laid a hand on her shoulder.

That was resisting. The others stretched out their arms this time and she retreated out of reach, situation worsened. She had released her hair, but her stance was nothing if not tensed for a confrontation, which the guards responded to in kind. They didn’t think that she wanted a fight, but she was fearfully aggression, defensive, and that bespoke of criminal activity or guilt. There was no excuse for not knowing the rules, not that they were aware of, and she clearly knew English, as she had bobbed and shook her head for some of the inquiries. “Ma’am, please, come with us; you are not permitted to the area and you need to leave,” the initial guard spoke calmly, but firmly.

“What the- Hm...” Nuala shook her head at the scene before her. The poor girl, obviously shaken up and alone, was being treated ill by the very people who were meant to be there for Camelot. To help. Elizabeth fell silent as Nuala steered Clover over to the people drawing all this attention. Liz wasn't one to go against the grain. She kept quiet, even though she would rather have Nuala change course.

“What are you doing? Can't you see she's scared?” Nuala spoke as she halted her horse at the side of them. She jumped down off of Clover, stepping too close for their comfort. Her arms crossed and her lips pressed together as she narrowed her eyes at the Gunslingers. One man in particular didn't like that she just walked up to them.

“Go on and get, this is none of your concern.” He waved his hand at her. “And you, ya street Urchin, you're coming with us. If you aint a suspicious looking thing, I don't know what is!”

“Suspicious? Why? Because she's frightened? I'd be too, if men who are supposed to be looking out for Camelot started in on me!” Nuala wasn't leaving. She wasn't going to be ignored either. “Besides, just look at her! She's just a thin wisp of a girl! Wearing mismatched clothes! The poor dear doesn't look like she's had a bite to eat in weeks. Let alone a proper wash! Probably been traveling with the refugees. Give her a-”

“Well aren't you a busy bee, talking on and on. You scolding me?” The man glared at Nuala and some of her spark faded. He griped the girls arm, wrenching her over to him.

Scolding him? Was she? Nuala wondered what her Pa would say about Nuala talking like this to a Gunslinger. The girl steeled herself. She puffed out her chest and stood straight. Pa would tell this man to stick it where the sun don't shine. Angus didn't have patience for bullies and neither did Nuala.

“That's right, and you know why? Because she's a human being and deserves respect!” Nuala felt her eyes twitch. She blinked back tears. How could they treat this girl so cruelly?

“She's just scared and hungry! If you took the time to care you'd see that!” Nuala twisted the mans hand from the girl and he didn't like that. The man gripped Naula's wrist now and was eye to eye with her. Mad as a bull. She didn't look away, or flinch. Only glared. Elizabeth was wide eyed. When Nuala was being protective, she always threw caution to the wind. This made Liz nervous. She gripped Clovers reigns, hoping for the best.

“Just who the hell do you think you are, interfering like this?” The Gunslinger didn't want to give attention to the girls words. It was making people around him nod to Nuala, like they approved of what she was saying. “Do you want to be taken to?”

“Finnuala McNair.” She bit back with her words. “And I don't care what happens to me! You just leave that girl alone!”

The man visibly gulped. His eyes glanced at the grip he had on her. He dropped his hold and stepped back a bit. Nuala's wrist had a red band around it now. All from him. He felt small and the Gunslinger darted his eyes around, as if checking for something. When he took a breath of relief he rested his eyes on that wrist of Nuala's.

“And who are you?” She asked sternly. The man merely shook his head, not willing to give that information. He made a hasty apology and walked off with his hands stuffed in his pockets. On lookers were stifling laughs or staring with an expression one can describe as 'Oh shit'. Naula had no idea why the man ran off so suddenly, but she guessed it had to do with her name. One day, she was going to corner one of them and ask them why they acted so strange after hearing it. At the moment, Nuala turned to the girl, a soft smile on her face.

“Are you alright?”

The stranger nodded, glimpsing up for a twinkle’s worth of time and then down at Nuala’s wrist, and finally spoke up. The brunette deserved that much. “Yes, I am,” she answered hoarsely with a strong southern American accent. “I’m just—Got lost.” The explanation was a bonus, more than the guards could ever hope to pry out. Nuala’s unimposing physique and possibly just the fact that she was a woman calmed the girl, slightly.

On the ground and Finnuala being shorter than the men, she had a better view, spotting a plump lower-lip, split open and dry, and a featureless upper that probably thinned to nothing whenever, if ever, she smiled. The other shuffled her feet and lifted her face, squinting into the light, an act that did nothing to make her small eyes bigger, and neither did the charcoal colored about them to guard the sun’s glint off her cheeks from blinding her. Her sardonic eyebrows, deep-set eyes, frown and poorman’s makeup brought out the harshest part of her gaze. Meanwhile, she perused meticulously up Nuala, Clover and Elizabeth’s forms, those pinpoint eagle eyes taking everything in to the tip of intimacy. The hard contrast between sunlight and its sharp shadow, and the intensity of the girl alone, unnerved anyone who caught a good glimpse of the stare.

Still, the rest of it compensated, even the flustered blush on her face from the encounter, something that still had the hackles on her neck praising the sky. She had a diamond-shaped countenance, cheeky, and a concave nose with young, sun-shy skin. She looked like a child, one of those faces that seem so familiar, whether male or female, that it confused the brain, someone who could get lost in a crowd or take up another’s life without anyone being the wiser, if they knew enough. The irises were a blue-green-gray that actively switched in hue and saturation with every twitch, dull enough to escape notice, and held a copper-ring about each pupil, the like of which were so tightly pinched into points that she surely had to feel her way around. No wonder she was turned around.

“Thank you,” she murmured in a near whisper as her study stopped and dropped her hat back down. She brushed a hand over her arm as if to erase the man’s touch and she went back to her nervous tic. “I’m sorry,” she added and the angle of her hat allowed her to shoot a glare out of the corner of a crazy eye at the man, something he clearly inherited when he had laid his paws on the guest to begin with. She tilted her head forward again and started picking at one of the flowers falling off of the gown. Nuala knew she hadn’t bathed in a while, but there was also a hint of vanilla coming off the clothes.

She reached into a pocket after some contemplation and tugged to pull out something rather large. Pieces of dirt spilled out of the liner and out she held a piece of warped silver the size of a large coal, a peace offering. It explained why she had part of her nightgown planted into her pants. It looked like the only possession she had on her other than her clothes and hat. None of it fit together into a plausible story, but the heaviness of the block said it had some value. Nuala was either very appreciated or the woman was clueless about the worth of precious metals, but she could very well have mined it herself for the layer of dust.

“Oh, dear.” Nuala frowned a little to hear her say she was lost. Lost from where? The poor thing was lost and then she was harassed. Such a tragedy. Nuala was about to say more, but she took a moment to let the girls entirety sink into her memory. She noted that Liz was still quiet, sitting up in Clover, and that the stranger was also taking in her own image.

“Thank you.” The girl spoke, and it sounded like sand, if you can call it that. Following this, she actually apologized. But for what? For the harassment? For causing a scene? Nuala shook her head and smiled warmly.

“No, it's fine. It's not your fault. You're very welcome, I'm glad I was here to help.” Nuala spoke softly. Then a silence fell for the moment. Nuala looked up at Elizabeth, who shrugged. Liz knew Nuala was feeling awfully bad about what had happened to the girl. Nuala was asking with her eyes, with her body language, if Liz wouldn't mind the girl being offered to come with her. Elizabeth was not one to argue with Nuala, or anyone really. So she left it up to her friend.

When Nuala turned her attention back to the girl, the strange lost girl pulled out a nugget of silver. It was a lovely gift. Nuala wanted to refuse it, it was pricy. But she didn't want to insult the girl. It wouldn't help to glance up at Liz for an opinion, who would just shrug. So, Nuala took it gently, using the hand that had been held tight by the man who left.

“Thank you, this is very nice.” Nuala didn't feel right about just leaving the girl. It was hot today, a strange thing for Fall, especially where they lived, and the girl was in need of a friend. The girl was lost, its what she said. So maybe Nuala could give her a place to call home. For as long as she wanted to stay.

“What's your name, sweety?”

“An—Marianna,” the other corrected herself. She didn’t proffer a surname, but by the glimpse to the side she wasn’t too fond of “sweetie”. Marianna’s glance returned to Nuala and she repeated, “Finnuala McNair,” as if she were memorizing it more than acknowledging. There were crumbs on her chest, so the Arthurians had provided her with a meal and probably a drink as well, more than likely bread or vegetables for the horde of new arrivals. The longer she stood there, the more she fidgeted, and she seemed hesitant to move out of the little corner she had been boxed into. None saw her ever away from some sort of structure before the encounter, and she flicked her eyes behind her every now and again, as if to check that it was still there. It was much like a blind rat running along the molding.

The guards stood off to the side and observed the scene. They worried not about who got her out of uppertown, so long as someone did and this was a load off of responsibility on them. Should any ask, then the daughter McNair intervened. There was still the matter of her safety, since nothing was known about the scamp, but by first impression she was nothing Nuala couldn’t handle, if things got messy. The clothes were either too loose or too tight to hide a gun, and, if she had a knife, she would have used it against the line of armed men, rather than a benevolent girl. If she was anything like her father, then the half-dead thing before her was more in danger than she.

“Can you show me where I should be?” Marianna asked with a clear desire to avoid more altercations and an escort just might do the trick. “The ground is so light that it is hard to see,” she confided and rubbed more charcoal onto her cheek, but it did no good. The ground was not her cheeks and reflected the light up into her pale eyes. Her eyes were almost closed and probably watering from the pain or curling up in their sockets. Perhaps she had never walked on a road, especially not one with a clear, sunny sky above. The borderlands and wilderness were big places.

“Marrian? That's a lovely name.” Nuala noted the girl seemed to have some sort of food from earlier. It made sense. The Guns of Camelot were not a heartless bunch. Maybe a bad apple here and there, but that's expected. People aren't perfect.

“Can you show me where I should be?” Marrian asked her.

“Oh, well, I'm not so sure they have places provided where one can just bunk. I'm terribly sorry about that, but you know what? You can come with me if you wish it.” Nuala pulled Clover's reigns, and positioned the cart so Marian could see the soft mounds of quilts. “You can sit here. I'm heading home right after I find my Pa. You can wash up there, get more food. You can stay as long as you want.”

“Oh and, here.” Nuala had always kept her long, hip length, black curls in a braid, lest it ebb and flow with the wind. However, she saw that the girl was indeed of a hair tie more than she was. Nuala was washed, and wearing a lovely red dress with a white blouse and soft cream sash. Marrian can at least have a descent hair tie. She pulled her braid to the front, undoing it. She handed Marrian the tie, and got the idea that Marrian wasn't sure what to do with it. Gently, Nuala explained with her words. She was understanding that Marrian was a little skittish.

“You can keep it, Marrian.” Nuala smiled. Then she motioned to the cart. “So, would you like to come?” Her hair was already unraveling. The long dark hair tussled a little around her shoulders to her waist, some falling in front of her face. Nuala ran a hand through her hair, absentmindedly. But this was not use. Her curls falling around her in odd directions, but it was still pretty. Nuala may hate her hair down, but they were lovely all the same.

“Naula McNair, are ya trying to scar our eyes with your unkempt hair?” An irritatingly familiar voice spoke from behind. Hilda Hoover stepped up to tug on Nuala's hair. Then she took a double take on Marrian. “Good mercy, what is this thing?”

“She's a friend Mrs. Hoover.” Naula pressed her lips together. She wasn't going to comment on what the old hag had to say about her hair. But, Nuala did slouch her shoulders little because of it. Hilda saw this.

“And now you're slouching? Sad, just sad. Well, take the rag-nymph home if you must.” She waved her hand, talking like she had to approve it. Hilda Hoover hobbled off, a prissy smile on her face. “Good Day, and best wishes for your Pa.”

“That woman!” Nuala scowled. “Don't pay attention to a thing she says, Marrian, she's just...an old hag!” Nuala just knew that Elizabeth might have fainted. Liz was sweet, and could be shocked easily by those words.

Marianna took the bond carefully from Nuala and, after listening to the instructions for its use, pulled her hair through the bond with some difficulty. It took practice to manipulate it between the fingers without seeing from behind. As her mane hauled through the link, it rustled like dragged dead branches and she only put it through once. She scratched her neck as the tips tickled her throat and thanked the other, analyzing the locks cascading down Nuala’s form. For what little her pupils could spare, they enlarged before nipping taut again as an older woman came squawking at Nuala. She flinched when the witch gave her a brief summarization for a greeting and then glowered with that bottom lip puckered out in a pout.

The girl muttered, “Rag-Nymph,” under her breath and, “Mrs. Hoover.” She gave a small smile at Nuala’s language and uncertainly walked over to the cart. She didn’t bother with the hatch, not feeling up to pulling the back into position again, and crawled inside, though tumbling might have been a better description. She flopped back onto the pile, and slipped into a crevice between it and the edge for a handhold and security. Her hands ran across some of the quilts, surprised by the plush feel, and she rolled her face back toward Nuala, enough for one eye to be fully rendered by the height. The bowl of the hat sat right above it.

“I’ll hide so none else can see,” she offered, though it wasn’t from some lack of confidence there. She just didn’t want herself or Nuala to be bothered by anymore Mrs. Hoovers along the way. It was easy to conclude as much as that spare eye trailed after the crone, mildly irritated. Her father also might not approve, considering that she was clearly a vagabond and already involved in disturbing the peace. Marianna knew enough of small towns to know how rumors spread like wildfire. In her own family, those discussions sometimes included wildfires.

She laid back to avoid being a nuisance and added, “It’s soft and it’s easier to sleep,” than to fight the glaze of the sun or agitate the masses with her presence. Her hat pushed up from the quilt and she rearranged it to sit flat on her face, lacing fingers together on her stomach. While the daylight hindered her progress, it bounced off like a mirror on her skin and warmed her contentedly. Thankfully, there wasn’t any more loose dirt to soil the merchandise enough. With such a defenseless pose, Nuala already had the other’s trust and her assurance at warding off unwanted guests. Her only concern might have been the cart falling apart on her, but it was steady.

She’d have happily stayed like that until Nuala’s destination, conscious or not, but she took a quick peek at Liz to check out again and then at Nuala for permission. She wouldn’t completely settle without such, didn’t want to seem like a moocher or assumptive. Something about her eyebrows allowed her to appear decisively dark or naively open, of which she was now, blank-faced and awaiting Nuala’s go-ahead or even for her to jump on. The proximity might make her rest better all the more, especially with her silent friend sitting on their steed. The eyes' colors managed to still, so long as nothing shifted about them.