Landarin looked over at Mitch confused. This boys brain must be running faster than his mouth. His thoughts turned to Avalon. He tried to remember all he could about the land although truthfully he never spent much time in the civilized parts. What a strange thought it was to think that a man could call the wilderness more of a home than his actual home. After contemplating it for a long time and pulling out another cigarette and lighting it Landarin finally came up with an answer that suited him.

"Well, I remember when I was a kid my ma used to make this wonderful pie from the winter berries that grew just outside our house. The berries were sweet yet sour at the same time, it would probably be wild for someone from Camelot since you're not used to our food. But, I tell you thats the best dang pie you'll ever have. She would also make alcohol and mix those same berries into it. As I got older she would let me taste it and even then I have to say it was the best damn brew I've ever had."

Landarin took a thick inhale and let the smoke out thinking about home and wishing he could go home to have some of his mothers pie and brew. He never thought he'd see the day he would miss home. Then again he never thought he'd see the day he'd talk about it either.

"On another note, the forests are big and thick. The trees grow taller than you would believe. Such wonders don't stop there in Avalon. The whole country is crazy and completely different from Camelot. Long beaches with fine pink sand, strange creatures that are just as likely to attack you as to befriend you, old ruins that nobody knows the origin of, the place is magical."

Landarin stopped as he noticed himself rambling one. He didn't miss his home but then again nobody really cared to ask him about it.

"That's about it son. If you're interested I can tell you some stories of my exploits later."

Walking along the streets of Camelot, her bare feet slapping softly against the stone ground, Nuala headed to a tavern she thought Angus would be. Not that he goes to them often to drink. In fact, surprisingly, Angus wasn't a big drinker. Rose was considered a drinker. A shot here, glass of wine there, but she was controlled about it and never got raging drunk. Knowing Nuala's mother liked the sauce was a curious thing for most to hear. Even so, Rose didn't visit bars either. She relaxed at home, smoking a pipe Nuala carved for her, and sipping a shot of 'Tullamore Dew', a favorite whiskey of hers.

No, Nuala looked for Andrew Jax. He was the drinker. The kind of man who drank too much. But, Angus and Jax had a history of friendship. If her father was at a bar, it would be Jax's favorite place, the 'Black Stallion'. So that's where she headed. Nuala would check there first. Then of course she would go to his other haunts. Her father liked books and no one in Camelot had better books for reading than his pal Christopher Sam Lewis. Maybe this late in the day, he would be relaxing at the fireplace with a book in his hand. Or Angus might be winning or losing poker games with Maverick and the rest of his friends. In that case he would be in the Caliburn hang outs where the Old Guns 'dueled' with cards and money. Instead of lives and bullets.

Where ever he was, Nuala hoped to find him soon. She barley got to see Angus the day before, when she came riding in on Clover with her wagon. He was busy, as per usual. And all he got to say to her before running off from Aunt Jane's, where he stayed for free, was, “Cain't talk now Bug, got to go see to some business talk'n to a highflautin'-slick-heel, take care and I'll see ya tonight at sup.”

Nuala did see him later, and the two of them spoke a little more before bedtime. “Night, darlin'.” He called to her when she went to her room. Angus only ever used their given names if he was talkin' serious. Most of the time he had nicknames for his family. Rose was 'Honey', or 'Boss' for fun. 'Buck' referred to Ryan, who loved horses and James was called 'Scuff', because he was once smudged with ink for a week. His messy inky face reminded Angus of his scuffed boots. Then it just stuck with James. Nuala had the longer list of names.

Among the terms of endearment Angus used for her like 'Snickle-Fritz', 'Snickers', 'Bunny', 'Dove', and 'Pumpkin', he has used 'Toot' (like a train), but only once. Nuala's mother hates that name. Says it reminds her of cutt'n the cheese, and no daughter of hers was going to be called 'Toot'. No matter how often Angus explained that it referred to the noise a train made, Rose refused to keep it. He thought of it as a joke really, since Nuala used to run around with her brothers and yell at the top of her lungs. But Rose put an end to that nickname. She didn't mind the other ones though.

Nuala brought her attention back to her search, dragging her mind away from thoughts of nicknames. She never knew where Angus would be on a Saturday night. As many times as she has visited, Naula learned quickly that some nights were unpredictable. Angus could be anywhere. So she checked the 'Black Stallion' and left for Lewis's, but when he wasn't even at the hang out, she knew there was one place he would be. The Merlin's work shop.

“Well, come on feet.” She grumbled. It was never fun taking a walk up to that place. The stairs were murder. The fox hunt turned into a tired hike and passingly empty 'Good Evening's were said to the residence of Camelot she ran into.

"Interested? Heck man, I'm upright intrigued!" Mitchell replied with zest. He closed his eyes as he tried to imagine the place Landarin described. Avalon, the island of magic, the island of fruitfulness, a pocket of everything strange and wonderful in the world, distilled into an island beyond the sea. Such a fantastical place... such a pity of its current state.

"It would be very well of you to tell your stories, friend," Mitchell said, veering his thoughts away from the war. "Later of course, and in your own time. Look, here we are."

He stopped at the top of a staircase and pointed up at the tall statue of Arthur Pendragon, king and founder of Camelot, standing sentinel over the city with hands clasped over the hilt of Excalibur. Carved from grey stone, it was somewhat weathered here and there, but centuries after its making, it was still a mighty and imposing figure.

The statue stood at the back of a wide and open quadrangle which created the gap between the upper and lower halves of the city, accessible to each other by ramps and staircases. Everywhere else were walls, towers, large houses, winding staircases and streets. It was almost as crowded as the lower half of the city, but from the statue of Arthur, the path to the royal castle and court was clear.

"The Merlin's workshop will be next to the castle," Mitchell said as he picked up the pace again and walked towards the statue.

"Well then, lead the way Mitch."

Landarin was excited to meet the merlin. If what he had heard was true Camelot was full of interesting places and such. He was so excited to get back to exploring his fingers were moving around erraticly as if he was looking for something to grab. If he wasn't walking in a group he might take off and run. Landarin though about his house and all the things inside it. It was stuffed to the brim, he was actually surprised he kept it all secret for so long. What am I thinking. I can't hide anymore stuff.

"Are you sure the Merlin can help? Don't forget I need a plot of land also," He asked sort of doubtful. He needed a place to store all his things. Someplace safe where he wouldn't have to worry.

"Relaaaax, the Merlin will accommodate any needs you'll have," Mitchell replied in a jovial manner. "I'll vouch for ya like I did at the gate, except I probably won't have to lie to the Merlin. He's a good man and he'll see that you're a Gunslinger. A man of worth."

And then to John Reduns in frosty tones, "You on the other hand, I'm afraid I'm not so certain."

While all the duels the man had fought weren't illegal, strictly speaking, they had certainly caused unrest. In Mitchell's mind, such a presence ought to be as unwelcome as possible here in Camelot, but John was in a right fix and perhaps not entirely of his own doing.

A right fix? Yeah, four years long and eight bodies deep, Mitchell considered briefly, but as far as he knew, John wasn't the sort to seek out trouble anyway. Only someone to whom trouble was attracted to. Little difference, but enough to warrant a friendly hand.

"Oh well, guess we'll find out," Mitchell said as he walked past the statue and continued along the path to the castle.

Along the way, he split off the path and directed his fellow Gunslingers to the Merlin's workshop, next to the castle but not exactly on castle grounds. It seemed as though it was built directly into the side of the wizard's tower, once the main office of the original Merlin and all others thereafter, now a dusty old archive of ancient knowledge, devices and magic.

The tower was marked by its blue peaked cap, and the workshop by its gilded roof and purple banner, marked with a golden 'M'. Guarding the entrance was a single Gunslinger who looked no different from any other, though he was perhaps older than some, yet his weapon marked him as a Caliburn Knight; that elite fellowship of captains, veterans, royal guardians and the king's very own men and women. The Guns of Camelot, the wielders of the fragments of Excalibur.

"Master McNair," Mitchell greeted politely with a bow.

"How d'ye do," the Caliburn Knight replied with a tip of his hat, then as he glanced at Landarin and John, "Got business with the Merlin?"

"Aye, that is so. May we proceed?"

The mention of the word 'we' was enough for Angus McNair. He had known Mitchell from squire to Gunslinger and had witnessed the young man's anointing himself. He knew his student well enough and said, "You may."

Motioning for John and Landarin to follow, Mitchell stepped into the Merlin's workshop.

John looked at the older man, Giving a tip of his hat as he walked by him. You had to pay respects to someone like that in a world like this. Catching up to Mitchell he took note of the young man before speaking.

"You don't seem to be very fond of me." Stated John, He might as well confront the kid about it, "I don't want no trouble but don't judge me kid before ya know me."

He began to think about the Merlin weather or not he would be hostile towards him or just treat him like a stranger, Only time would tell as they approach the building.

The workshop had an odd air about it. Yet it was not what one would suspect when they looked at the outside. To anyone else’s eye it was a massive structure that was keenly decorated in the banners of The Merlin, and by all means meant to be respected. That might give one a fleeting fantasy that the inside was alight with some elaborate decorum that was both a feast for the eyes and mind. Unfortunately disappointment would follow shortly afterwards if that was one’s idea of the place.
It was just like any other gunsmith’s shop- well lit, but with tendrils of smoke wafting over one’s sight. There were work benches strewn about with countless gadgets, tools, and resources. Racks were mounted against the wall that had both finished and unfinished projects resting somewhat pleasantly in them. The ceiling was low, the wood flooring creaked when you stepped on it, it smelled of wood and sauntered metal, and by all means there was the a pleasant symphony of metal against metal that resounded throughout the place.

Currently Roland was paying no heed or mind to the traffic of the other gunsmiths throughout the place- as he was propped upon his stool with a long barreled rifle over his knee. Spectacles adorned his face, and in his hand was a small delicate file, and a miniature ball-ping hammer; currently he was carving a design into the side of the metal-laden stock. While it wasn’t the most needed of characteristics for a gun it was by all means an aesthetic that branded the weapon theirs. Roland liked to visualize that it gave an feeling of individuality amongst all the other low-grade weaponry that existed out there.
“Roland,” a voice crisped his concentration.
The blonde looked up from his work. His hair was pulled away from his face, beard neatly groomed, and well defined nose was covered up by those thick glasses. “This better be important Tobias, because I really have no time for any more of your shenanigans. ‘Oh but Master Roland I singed my eyebrows. Oh but Master Roland I broke a bone. Oh but Master Roland I seem to have gotten my apron caught in the press again.’ And I swear if it is that last one, you will walk around here with your arse shown to the world until you learn to keep your garments under check.”
Tobias- a fresh faced apprentice that was sadly not his but kept coming to him for certain problems- blanched and pointed the way towards the door. “No it looks like we have some gunslingers.”
“Oh,” Roland pushed up his spectacles to get a better look. “Oh. Why didn’t you mention that in the first place.” It really wasn’t a question- but a statement. One that he didn’t much figure Tobias would grant with an earnest answer.

He set the gun gingerly down on his bench along with his tools and approached the three men, and their female compatriot. “So Angus let you- fine- I suppose that is well enough and good. So what are you here for? Can’t say we have any orders for the general lot of you. And just because you are gunslingers doesn’t mean you can just waltz in here and take what you wish.” It was then Roland grumbled, “they get younger every year. Before we know it- we’ll strap young Tobias here with a gun and tell him to protect Camelot.”

Feeling like her legs were made of led, Nuala continued up the stairs, then finally let out a sigh of relief when she reached the top. Turning away from the Castle, going past the impressive statue, she made her way off to the Merlin's workshop. How interesting it is to see it now and then. Her mother Rose liked to visit the Merlin when she was a Gunsmith. But those were simpler times, and Rose hadn't been up there since she had Ryan.

“Nuala!” A voice called to her. Nuala recognized it as her friend Becky. A short brunette who makes up for her height with a towering personality.

“Oh, Beck. Hey there.” Naual was almost to her father, she could see him talking to, well wadda-ya know, he was talking to them three from that morning. Mitch, John, and some guy she didn't catch the name of. After a nod from Angus, the three went in, and she locked eyes with her father. Realizing who she was talking to at the moment, Nuala's cheeks flushed and she tried to shoo Becky Gibbs away.

“Cain't talk now Becky, my Pa can see you.” Naula said, nudging her friend away a little.

“But I wanted to know if you were still coming to the Mid-Race, this Wednesday.” Becky protest at the shoving was no use, Nuala pushed her along. “And why does it matter if your Pa sees me? He's got to get over that whole 'tar and feather' thing we did to Scuff. We were 8 years old, for heavens sake!”

“You know that's not all he's got to worry about, you scamp.” Naula growled. “But your my friend and I forgive you, but now's not the time to argue, now get!” Grumbling and being prissy, Becky walked off from Nuala who turned to greet her father. Running over with a smile on her face.

“Hey, Pa!” Nuala flung her arms around him, giving him a bear hug. The first kind of hug she ever learned.

"You're right, I don't know you," Mitchell said to John as he entered the workshop and left it at that. The place was as industrious as ever with several Gunsmiths working here and there. The Merlin's apprentices, and their own apprentices as well by the looks of who was in charge of whom. Some so engrossed in their craft that they didn't realize there were visitors.

Upon being addressed, quite rudely as well, by a blonde haired Gunsmith, Mitchell replied, "We're looking for the Merlin. May we speak to him?"

Even as he asked the question, he couldn't see the Merlin anywhere. There was a wooden door in the back of the workshop, which lead to the wizard's tower, this Mitchell knew, and he guessed that the Merlin would be in there if he wasn't here among his students. Suppositions aside, he waited to hear it from the blonde haired Gunsmith.

~~~

Angus was surprised, but not so much, to see his daughter approach. It was what he had been looking forward to for the entire day after all. It had been two weeks since the beginning of the war in Avalon and his relocation to Camelot, and Nuala had made it clear that she would come to the city every weekend for a visit.

"Well hello, pumpkin," Angus said as he returned his daughter's hug. "How did you find me here? It's uncanny how you always show up when my day's at its dullest."

He did not let go of the hug until it was a good one, and then he said with a smile, "So how much wool did you sell today?"

Letting go of her father, Nuala was glad he didn't ask about what Becky had said to her. Maybe seeing his daughter shoving her mischievous friend away did the trick. If Nuala had any hope of going to the midnight hay races, she was going to have to keep things quiet about it. It's not like she be fibin'. Angus didn't ask about it, so she wouldn't tell. Relocating to Camelot was a burden on the soul of her family, but now she had the perfect opportunity to hang with her friends at the Gibbs ranch. Nuala hadn't been able to go in a while, ever since two young adults were caught..well...let's say they were in serious trouble. But that was only once. S'not like it's happening every Mid-Race!

So the disappointment of Angus staying away had a little bit of an upside. Naula was dying to run Clover in a hay race again. It was so much easier to sneak out of the house when Rose was asleep. Her mother was a deep dreamer. Ryan and James weren't there to enjoy the night races with her, but she would tell them about it when they came back.

If they come back. The melancholy thought stung her heart. Her brothers were new squires, off to help Avalon. It wasn't a surprise that they became squires, but it was hard enough with Angus going off to Camelot with out Ryan and James heading to war.

“Not hard to find you Pa, you can only be in so many places.” Naula answered him. “As for the wool, we are 243 coins richer. Mama's gonna be happier than a kitten with a ball of wool yarn.” she beamed, telling Angus that Rose sent her love, saying she'd visit as soon as she could.

Thinking back on that morning, she went on about her day. Nuala left out the part where she snatched a hot pie from Cook, and about waking up late. Her father wasn't one for lazy bones. But Nuala mentioned seeing John. Nuala told her father she saw how John Redun had shot Steve, a man who knew about him from four years ago. Nuala said Mitchell had been the Gunslinger to commence the duel. A little blush of pink came on her cheeks when she said his name. It was habit by now, since she's been coming to sell wool, so Nuala didn't cover it up. Unaware of what her oversight might mean for her father, she commented on the duel.

“It was a hot-shot move John pulled, Pa. It made such a mess too.” Nuala told him. “John didn't stay long. Before he walked off with the other two he tipped his hat to me though. I didn't smile, but I gave him a nod. I reckoned you wouldn't want me to be rude and ignore him.”

“What do ya think he's back here for Pa? You think he's lookin' for trouble?” Nuala leaned against the stone walls of the Merlins work shop, swishing her skirt a little absentmindedly. The day had been hard on her feet. “What do ya think he wants the Merlin for anyway? And who do ya suppose that other strange lookin' feller is?”

Roland eyed the blonde gunslinger with a bit of trepidation and uncertainty. Yet who was he to deny the Merlin company? He hadn’t seen the old man poke his head out all day, and that was quite uncommon for their head gunsmith. And while the man would love to intrude on whatever ruminations the ‘great and power’ Merlin was up too- he really didn’t have a feasible excuse to enter his private quarters. “I suppose I need to check to see if the old man is alive. He is getting up there in age- I keep expecting there to be a foul odor waft from that door.” Roland stated plainly. “Well more foul than usual.”
With that he waved the others with him as he made his way to the back of the gunsmithy to a large wooden door that seemed somewhat askew amidst the workstations and their countless occupants.

Roland rapped on the door, but gave no pause for someone to welcome him in. Instead he barged through the threshold and announced his presence in his usual fashion. “You have guests,” he stated loudly- unnecessarily so. “Also I’m doing my daily check to make sure you are still kicking, and by all means if you are not- please don’t respond. I would like to suceed you before I inherit your terrible elderly condition of growing your nose hair into a feasible mustache.” There was an heir of indelicacy there that almost seemed warm- as if Roland wasn’t at all saying this to be derogatory but instead had no other way of relaying his thoughts.

The Merlin was completely focused on the glass ball embedded in the pedestal before him, but even so, he heard the insufferably familiar voice of Roland, loudly spouting his irreverent remarks as usual, and his entering the room with several other people. "Just be quiet a moment," the Merlin said above the voice coming from the glass ball. "News from Avalon."

To Mitchell, who had never been in the wizard's tower before, it was a most bewildering sight to see a woman's face in the ball, her voice clearly audible as she continued speaking like there were no interruptions at all. Later, Mitchell would realize that it would of course seem that way to the speaker, but for now he was struck by the strangeness of it all. He had the feeling that much had been said before his arrival, but the seemingly one way palaver was coming to an end.

"-every soul from Avalon has been fully evacuated now. We are ready to fight this war in earnest." The woman looked to the side as though someone else was talking to her, and then she looked back to whatever she was speaking into. "Take care of my people, Merlin. I leave them in your hands."

Morgana, Mitchell thought with wonder as the face in the ball gradually became the Merlin's own reflection. Bless my eyes, the actual witch queen of Avalon herself!

For a moment, the Merlin remained silent as though he was ruminating on everything he had just heard. Then he turned to address the people who had entered the room and said with a mildness that did not at all match his stocky appearance, "It's awfully rude to come in without permission, you know."

His statement appeared to be directed at the blonde haired Gunsmith, but Mitchell felt somewhat guilty all the same, as if he had walked in on something he shouldn't have seen. Not a place for Gunslingers, that's for darn certain, he thought as he looked around the ancient room at the bottom level of the wizard's tower.

~~~

"John Reduns, hm," Angus said as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So that was John... and Mitchell you said? The kid's just two weeks out of squireship and he's already signalling quick draws? That's a little concerning."

And more than a bit surprising. As a squire, Mitchell seemed no different from the rest. He was a quick study, like all the others; eventually learned how to shoot true, like all the others; and had the insolence beaten out of him as early as possible, like all the others. He was a good kid though, Angus had to give him that... and maybe good looking as well judging by the blush on Nuala's face as she mentioned his name.

Oh darling, you should know better, Angus thought, but didn't say anything on the matter. He merely smiled and said, "Well you know what, I think that's all something we can discuss later on when I'm not on guard duty, you silly toot!" Angus said as he ruffled Nuala's hair and then added in a hush-hush voice, "And don't tell your mother I called you that. Now go on to the place where I'm staying at and tell Desmond that I'll be back in a bit to help him get dinner ready."

If he hasn't already got it sorted out, Angus thought, considering how devilishly efficient Desmond was in his housekeeping duties. Ever since Angus had moved into the manor belonging to his friend - a fellow Caliburn Knight by the name of Lowan Grimm, who had gone to the war in Avalon - Angus could have sworn that Desmond was working harder than usual as if to say, You don't have to be here and I don't need your help doing my job.

Well that was understandable. The man had more pride than sense in his duties as a servant. It was something that Angus never particularly sat well with, a man should be his own master after all, but he was able to comprehend it.

As an afterthought, Angus continued, "Oh, and keep your hard earned money safe, y'hear? Don't want some street dweller getting all greedy eyed. If that happens, remember that you have my gun and you know how to use it. I'm hoping that you won't have to, but you will if you do, understand?"

While Roland was the type to continue on with his yammering despite the rather stern plea not too- he did quiet down at Merlin’s mention. It wasn’t from something as simple as just being ‘commanded’ too, but instead when he caught a glimpse of who was on the crystal ball he found his lips sealing. So instead of his preoccupying his mouth by asking the multitudes of questions -that he felt form in his brain with a wish to be answered- he instead turned the shelves and began glancing over the tomes that rested there.

A powerful silence came shortly after that, and then a quaint but powerful reprimand for his sudden appearance. “Ah right I needed ‘permission’ not a ‘reason’ to barge in. Well noted. I’ll try again some other time.” It was then he turned around and gestured to the three gunslingers that crowded the doorway. “Anyway these came for you,” he stated as if they were parcels. “I don’t know for what reason they came, or their names. But I’m assured that they have mouths to tell you both of those little important facts.” Roland hesitated for a moment as he glanced between the two parties and then inched towards the door. “Either way my job is done here, and I’ll get back to my work. Have a good day Merlin.” With that Roland made his way to the door assured that he was not further needed. What was the point of him lingering about in gunslinger business? While he much rather enjoyed intruding on Merlin at all hours of the day, and sometimes night, the general bravado that followed the gunslingers were not something he would call ‘interesting’.

Questions kept popping up Nuala's head, but when her Pa said they would talk later about it, well, that's what she'll have to do! It was like being hungry and a fresh meal was right in front of you. But you can't take a mouthful. Her disappointment was turned around by use of the forbidden nickname. Naula shook her head and giggled.

“Don't worry, Pa.” Nuala chuckled. “It'll be between us rebels.” For indeed it was rebellious to cross a line Rose drew. But little things like that were fun to share and made good stories for later.

“Now go on to the place where I'm staying at and tell Desmond that I'll be back in a bit to help him get dinner ready.” Angus told her, ruffling her hair.

At first Nuala scrunched her nose at having to talk to Desmond. He seemed so grumpy. But then the thought that Cook was still at Aunt Jane's house, with her scorching spatula and temper to match, she was visibly relieved. By the next weekend Cook should forget her blasphemous thievery. Nuala would be scott free of repercussions. Hooray for another place to stay! If Aunt Jane didn't want to see Nuala too, every weekend, she'd just bunk at the Grimm's Manor every time.

“Oh, and keep your hard earned money safe, y'hear? Don't want some street dweller getting all greedy eyed. If that happens, remember that you have my gun and you know how to use it. I'm hoping that you won't have to, but you will if you do, understand?”

“Yes Papa. I know.” Nuala sighed, and slumped her shoulders. But then immediately stood straight. Angus didn't have his kids slouch!

Although she has agreed to use one if need be, she still didn't wear one on her hip. To Nuala, doing that was a beacon to all gunfighters that this girl can shoot. What person wants to advertise that? Yet, Angus pointed out that not everyone just wanted to duel. Some people would attack you weather or not you carried a piece. So the argument goes round and round.

“See you Pa.” Nuala parted with a hug and a quick peck on the cheek, waving good-bye as she walked off into the darkening sky.

I'll tame your insolence yet, boy, the Merlin thought as he watched Roland leave. A promising candidate for succession that one, but imagine him mouthing off to the king if he became the next Merlin. Not that Gunther or his son were ones for beheading, but if they were...

Turning his attention to the three Gunslingers before him, the Merlin picked out the one in front, the youngest so it seemed, and asked, "So who are you and what'll you have from me?"

Mitchell, feeling somewhat nervous in the Merlin's presence, replied as he gave a deep bow, "I am Mitchell Landerson, son of-"

"No need for formalities, young gun, I can see you're all Gunslingers. Just tell me your names and why you're all here."

Burning with embarrassment, Mitchell straightened up again and coughed as though to clear his throat. "Uh, right. As I said, I am Mitchell and I come to bring my fellows here to your attention. I have no business here with you myself, but they do."

He turned and indicated with his hand as he introduced them, "This is Landarin Ellenmyer, and this is, uh, John Reduns."

The Merlin raised an eyebrow at the mention of John but made no comment. He simply looked from one Gunslinger to the other and said as he pointed at Landarin, "You, what business have you here?"

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.

Meredith had been thoroughly engrossed in her work when the Gunslingers came into the workshop, but not so much that she didn't notice them at all. She was in fact quite intrigued by their arrival, but made an effort not to show it. It took even more of an effort to ignore the urge to see what guns they were wearing, before they followed Roland into the wizard's tower.

Perhaps it was a quirk of ego, but whenever she saw a Gunslinger wearing one of the revolvers that she or anyone else of her family had made, it was just a bit more than satisfying to see. The illustrious Caliburn Guns had of course been created by her many times great-grandmother, Samantha Colt, and every other revolver since then had been modelled on those enchanted guns. To Molly's thinking, this was more than enough to qualify her for becoming the next Merlin. After all, where would Camelot be right now without the Colts? Still, she knew it was going to take a lot to impress the current Merlin and the old homunculus was indeed hard to impress.

As she put the finishing touches on her latest project, engraving the name of its owner-to-be on the barrel, she turned to see Roland coming out of the wizard's tower with a thick tome in his hand. Brushing up on his magic, no doubt. "You're wasting your time there, goldilocks," Meredith said in an unashamedly taunting manner. "You should stick to reading the fates of insects in the old looking glass. It's probably just enough for you to handle."

"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.

The book felt heavy in hands. Roland eyed it with a peculiar interest as he made his way back to his bench. The man may have been ostentatiously vocal about his opinions and their expression thereof, but his true passion lay in the furthering of knowledge and all its’ exploits. Currently he was interested in the theory behind certain alchemical properties of metals because he believed that there was a potential there that remained heavily unused. Yet now wasn’t the time to delve head first into such fantastical thoughts, and so he pocketed the book in one of massive pockets on his apron. Of course he hadn’t moved quite enough because he heard one Meredith Colt comment on it.
Out of everyone here- he didn’t much care for her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t talented because she wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t, or that she was even hard on the eyes because she was quite attractive. It was her damn ancestor, Samantha Colt, and the fact that Meredith figured that made her the Merlin’s replacement almost by default.

“Ah Mere, and here I thought that you would grace us with silence today. Ah well- maybe someday I’ll have that luxury of not knowing the sound of your witchy voice.” Roland stated in a bored manner. “And yes I am brushing up on my magic- we can’t all lean on legacy around here. I mean some of us do like to engineer something new instead of leaning on their great ancestor’s design again and again.” It was then he sighed audibly and with extreme exasperation. “I mess up with scrying only a couple of times and I can’t hear the end of it. When was the last time you scryed? Or did anything magical for that matter?”
With that he pulled his rifle up again and started whittling away- attempting to finish the design in the side of it. “Now why don’t you shuffle off and be a bitch somewhere else.”

"Love you too Roland," Meredith replied with false sweetness as she hopped off her stool and stretched. It amused her to think that Roland was serious about becoming the next Merlin. His family was virtually unknown in the world of Gunsmiths, perhaps Roland was the only one to accomplish such a role, and she had never heard of any Gunslingers clamouring for his works. He wasn't a nobody, being one of the Merlin's chosen, but close enough.

"And although I do like the idea of being rid of your country bumpkin ass, I've got work to do. A lot of people seem to like my guns, you know. As for scrying," Meredith cocked a thumb at the door of the wizard's tower, "Haven't you noticed that the old man's been in there more and more lately? I've thought about telling him that staring at a glass ball for too long is gonna ruin his eyes, but he's already half blind, so..."

Meredith gave a dramatic shrug as if to say 'what can you do?'. "Anyway, what's up with those Gunslingers? Three of them coming in to see the Merlin at once, that's a bit strange innit?"

"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.

Roland pantomimed a kiss to Meredith’s direction as she sarcastically stated her affection for him. It was a game they played, and had played for quite some time. Considering all the contenders for the spot of the Merlin they were honestly the most prolific in their personal conquests. It was a rare sight in the smithy not to hear their bittersweet engagement as they made their feelings for each other known on a daily basis.
“Country bumpkin ass?” That brow rose up quicker than a whore to the sound of money. It was the truth. Unlike a lot of gunsmiths here Roland lacked the heritage to make his guns a rather popular item. Of course that didn’t mean they were poor work- considering his place in the smithy they were up there- but very few of them found homes in gunslinger’s holsters. It also never helped that the man was more fond of riles than pistols, and considering the swaggering ideal of shoot-outs at dawn- well- many a man wanted a pistol. Why keep the enemies away when you get them in killing distance of you? Roland always thought sarcastically. “Cheap shot today Mere- thought you had a bit more class in yah with you being a woman and all. I think you’re a woman anyway. Sort of hard to tell these days considering your physique is starting resemble Martin over there.” Roland stated as he brought his small chisel up and pointed towards one of the bulkier gunsmiths who was currently handling the oven. He obviously didn’t hear the blonde’s jab, or just chose to ignore it because there was no acknowledgement from Martin that Roland even existed.

“Awe you care about the old man- how sweet.” He stated in a saccharine tone before turning his eye away from Meredith. “But yes. He hasn’t been poking his head out as much recently, breathing down our necks, and informing us of smallish mistakes that he can see in an instant and we have to stare at for years to notice.” He shrugged at her question, and screwed his lips into a tight frown. “When I walked in- of course Merlin would say ‘barged’- he was talking with Morganna. If you want to know my thoughts- which I know you don’t- I’m thinking that the goblins are a bit more out of control than previously thought.” He paused and went to change gears, “and as much as the gunslingers- I don’t know- they just wanted to talk to him. Are you suggesting Mere that we eavesdrop? How could you. Do you not have any honor?” So Roland was also interested at learning why three gunslingers would show up as well, but he hadn’t had any excuse to linger about. “Though I’m sure you just want to loiter about so you can hear them claim ‘golly gee Mister Merlin I sure do love my Colt- so much so that I clean it every night real real good. I’m never not going to have anything else. So make Meredith the next Merlin’. That’s what goes on in your head Mere- I’m almost a hundred percent sure of it.”

"Ayep, you know me too well, blondy," Meredith replied as she held her hands up in mock surrender. "And other folks too it seems. How did you know they just can't get enough of the good old Colts? Then again, I do suppose it's just common knowledge. Only the best for the best, eh?"

Now that she had finished engraving her customer's name on the barrel of the revolver, she moved onto making sure its belt and holster were ready for wear, having been dyed a day ago then left out to dry when the creation of the gun was also entering its final stages. The speed and accuracy of her work was something Meredith prided herself on, particularly since she did it all on her own, with no assistants or apprentices to get in the way and make a mess of things.

Of course, it still took her longer to fulfil an order than other Gunsmiths who did have helpers, but to her thinking - and she made sure to let customers know that they were expected to think the same way - good things took time. She knew the standards, knew how to do a job right and make things that could only be recognized as the work of a proud member of the Colt family. No apprentice could be allowed to pollute her creations with amateur handiwork.

Satisfied with the feel of the belt's leather, she strapped it around her waist then slipped the revolver into its holster. "So how do I look?" Meredith said as she turned towards Roland and drew the revolver with a flourish. "Reckon I could pass for a Gunslinger?"

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?"

Roland finished the detailed engraving along the metal lined stock, and went to apply a bit of stain to the shallow inlay to give it some character. His mind ruminated over black or brown for a moment before Meredith’s voice perked up. “Of course of course- best for the best.” Roland offered a stern rolling of his eyes as gently dolloped the stain in and brushed it away with clean cloth. “Practicing your new slogan on me Mere-? I don’t think it is going to convince me to own one.” As he finished both sides of the stock he just gave it a once over. It was apparent that he spent a good amount of time handling his own creations. Maybe he wasn’t as solely dependent on just his own hands like Meredith was, but he left a lot of the final touches to himself. The metal chiseling started at the stock went around to the trigger, the magazine, the forestock, barrel, and muzzle. It had a deep red gem in the forestock that seemed offer a sweet luminescence that was devoid of needing any light around it. Roland like to think it was the heart of the gun- what gave it its’ magic. Of course the magic was worked into the entire creation, but it let the user know that the weapon was very much so enchanted even for the fact that it didn’t seem any different than any other rifle out there.

When Meredith swaggered back up to him he was offering a somewhat paternal polish to the piece. “Where are you aiming that thing Mere?” He stated as he glanced at the angle of it all the way down- and his eyebrows lifted. “Going for my goods I see.” Slowly he sat his rifle down and approached her with a once over. “Maybe you would- but I think you are a bit to clean for it.” Without much provocation he went to take his stain covered digits to her face to offer a bit of blackening to her cheeks.

Landarin stepped forward to address the Merlin. This man seemed so strange to Landarin. Although he had some very interesting things in his life this man intrigued him. There was an aura about him that just felt like it held mystery in his presence.

"Well, I'm looking to get some land here in Camelot," Landarin said quite bluntly. Clearing his throat he lowered his voice. "Also, I wish to know of any strange happenings lately in Camelot, or any legends or stories that may be of interest. Anything at all really."

Leaning back he looked the Merlin in the eyes waiting for an answer. This was the moment. If he was going to find anything of use this was the place. If he couldn't get what he needed here he would have to spend a large amount of time wandering aimlessly, and he hated doing that. Adventure was in his blood. He needed action. The sooner this little phase of his life was over the better.

"You want land, eh?" the Merlin said as he looked at the Gunslinger's firearm. Certainly not from around here, he thought, recognizing the gun as being of American design. "Well if you're as much of a Gunslinger as you look, you can either pay in gold or deeds. Usually when foreigners ask for things, I'm supposed to offer them a chance to be at the king's service. If they accept and the king likes what he sees, they'd be provided with whatever they needed. Food, house, if you can earn your stay, you got it."

Stroking his beard in thought, the Merlin paused for a moment to ponder the appropriateness of taking over the king's duty in this regard. "Seeing as he ain't around right now, the king that is, I... suppose I could do the same thing. You swear to serve the kingdom of Camelot and do whatever is asked of you, then you'll get your land, otherwise you can pay for it. As for stories and legends."

The Merlin waved his arm in an expansive gesture at the room of the wizard's tower. "There is much to be learned of that here. There are tales of the first Merlin and his travels; the rise of Camelot and King Arthur; the Knights of the Round; Excalibur; the traitor knight Mordred; the witch sisters of Avalon; the making of the Caliburn Guns; the rout of the vampires, and many other accounts, historical or otherwise."

He turned back to Landarin with a look of appraisal. No mere killer with a gun, this one, he considered. "If you want, I can lend you a few books for you to borrow, but back to that matter of land. As I've said, you can either pay in gold or deeds, so what will be your currency?"