Day 4 - Promised Victory (aka: pain hurts)

[lesgeois]

[They'd found King Arthur. Lancer Class. It had just happened on one of their patrols - from the rooftops, they could see most of the city. They'd been joking and laughing, just like they had yesterday.

But then they'd seen Lancer. More accurately, Mordred had seen Lancer, and Diana has spent the past forty-five minutes chasing after her, trying to keep her from killing herself. Diana had wondered, in those first few moments, why Lancer was even walking around openly.

Then she'd realized. It was King Arthur. What did they have to fear, even from Saber? Diana had barely any time to focus on their duel, though - Lancer's Master was also there. Diana was a skilled Magus, but she wasn't one built for combat. She was a healer. At best, she could do illusions to keep herself alive, nothing with the possibility of actually defeating an opponent. So she was running away from a man who could shoot curses from his cane like a machine gun.

She could hear Mordred swearing as the duel went on, Lancer quiet in response. Mordred's screaming indicated it probably wasn't going well.]

Saber, wait! [Diana called out, but there was a building between her and her Servant, and when she tried to round it, the enemy Master was hot on her tail.

And when she finally caught sight of them, they were going far too fast for her to even keep track of. Neither of them were especially agile servants, relatively speaking, but this wasn't simply a battle in the Holy Grail War. They'd recognized each other instantly. What they were 'supposed' to be didn't matter anymore. This was a duel with nothing but hatred driving it. At least in Mordred's case.

She couldn't give the blow-by-blow even if she wanted to. It was like watching a hurricane hit another, large hurricane. The cobbled street had its stones dragged up by the hundreds.

And then she'd felt that telltale burst of magic. Could feel it in her bones. Mordred's sword was glowing, that much she could see. Was she really going to -]

Saber! We're in the middle of the street! [Mercifully, it was late at night, they were in a near-abandoned part of the city - but near-abandoned wasn't actually abandoned.

At least Lancer seemed aware of that. Instead of activating their noble phantasm in response, they'd surged forward, piercing Mordred's shoulder deep with their spear. The two of them were near face-to-face now, even if they both had their helmets on. She could only imagine what kind of looks they were giving each other.

Mordred's sword was still glowing, even with that massive wound.

And then there were arrows - not quite arrows. More arrow-like bits of magic, curving as they went. Archer - Tristan? Was that the ally King Arthur had? - had targeted Mordred as well, apparently trying to kill her before she could activate her Noble Phantasm. Diana wasn't quite sure how that went, considering that Master from before chose this chance to hit her upside the head with his cane. She could hear the arrows hitting something though.

The Master pinned Diana to the floor, cane pressed tight to her throat, so tight she could barely breathe.

And then a jaguar pounced and tackled him off of her. She could hear the Master swearing, a quick curse knocking the cat off of him. It was those familiars from before - just higher grade, in bigger numbers.

When she looked this time, Mordred looked near-dead.

And when Diana tried to stand, she realized that her leg was broken.

And Archer was lining up another volley. She could hear the - strum? - of his bow.

Her command spells flashed without her even thinking about it.]

Saber! Get us out of here!

[And Mordred, for all her injuries, gritting her teeth and looking at Diana with blood in her eyes, had immediately turned her back on her father, unimpaling herself, sword fading back into its usual form, and seized Diana by the collar, dragging them out of there. Distantly, Diana could hear the roars of the jaguars, panthers, and whatever else, Archer's bow strings. Those big cats were barely a threat to a Servant, but they'd at least covered their escape.

And Mordred, still holding her by the collar, is bloodied. She'd taken hits during her duel with her father, she'd been hit by Archer. Her armor has chunks of it missing, torn out by her father's spear. Her right arm, where her shoulder had been pierced, seems to be staying on more by force of will than any act of physics.]

'Out of here,' apparently means 'somewhere dark.' At some point, they'd entered the Underground, the subway system. They're literally hiding in the dark, but at least those cats, minor threats as they are, will keep Lancer and Archer off of them. There had been dozens of them pouring in as they'd fled.]

I think - I think we're clear of them, Saber - Saber, are you alright? [Diana coughs, reaching up to massage her throat. Her leg is killing her, but that's hardly anything compared to what had happened to Mordred.]

Se, set me down, I'll try to help you with my magic -

Comments

[lesgeois]

I'm fine. My leg's just broken, I'm not losing any blood. ['My leg's just broken.' Let it never be said that Diana doesn't have any fight in her.

And so, despite Mordred's yelling and threats, despite that 'one use' line, something that cuts Diana deeper than she lets show on her face, she scoots closer to Mordred, hissing between her teeth whenever her leg makes any kind of contact or movement with the floor.]

At least let me see your arm. [And suddenly, Diana realizes. Those cats won't keep Archer and Lancer busy forever. And they're essentially stuck here. Mordred's burnt up most anything she could taking them this far, and Diana's leg is. Her leg.

Even if Archer and Lancer have lost interest, the master of those familiars (Caster?) might not have.

Her lips purse into a thin line, and she leans forward.]

Those familiars were there. Caster might come after us. We need to be able to pretend to put up a fight. Or do you want to die to them instead of Lancer?

[bloodings]

[ Muttered: ] A broken leg isn't something a human should dismiss, idiot.

[ Now she is just grumbling. They both cut pretty pathetic figures — without the energy to fight, or even to yell, some of the rage is dissipating from her. She glares at Diana with her good eye, but doesn't move to stop her, or worse. ]

I only need one arm to finish off a weakling like that. [ Which would be all well and good if she could actually summon her sword at the moment. Mordred seems to realize as much, in a rare moment of logic, and scowls. ] Tch, fine. But then heal your leg.

[ She turns to give Diana a better angle on her arm — she'd hold it out, but she can't even raise it. Besides the wounds from the lance and arrows, there's what seems like a dislocation from the force of the blow, and half of her shoulder looks sliced apart. If she was a normal human, she'd be in shock, or dead: she's hiding the pain as best she can, but her teeth are clenched, and an occasional tremor passes through her body. ]

[lesgeois]

Caster isn't going to be swordfighting you. They'll send more of those big cats after us. [And they might only barely be a threat even to Diana, but in their current state even three or four of them would rip them to pieces. Literally.

And Diana might have accepted death, but being eaten alive doesn't sound fun.]

Hold still. [As if Mordred can really move her arm, anyway.

The Cavendish family crest is the unicorn - even Diana's command seals look like one. Or looked like one, anyway. With the horn gone, it mostly just resembles an abstract horse now.

The point is, their magic follows the unicorn. Pure, filled with light, ephemereal. She reaches into her coat, pulls out a vial of some reagent or another, sprinkles a handful of it on Mordred's arm, then begins to rub it in. There's a subtle glow in Diana's palm, the magic working in the medicine that's activating the magic. Complicated stuff.

Unlike an actual salve, it doesn't sting. If anything, it feels light, airy. Almost hopeful, if hope was a physical sensation.]

I'll heal my leg, yes. You're too heavy for me to carry, but I should be able to support you far enough to get us home. [But Mordred needs to be healed first.

She purses her lips, then spreads another fingerful of the reagents into the wound proper, the point where Mordred's arm is physically falling off. It's pure white, but crystaline, almost like salt, and even though it doesn't sting like salt as it goes in it's still not a pleasant sensation, no matter how cloying it tries to be.

Then, slowly, she begins to push Mordred's arm back together. Physically. It's an incredibly odd sensation in her hands, like reassembling a broken toy. And of course, her magic isn't strong enough to fully reseal the wound. All she's doing is reminding Mordred's arm what it should look like, encouraging her natural healing to do the rest over time.]

... I know you aren't exactly in the mood for it, but try thinking of something that makes you... not happy, exactly. Content. A peaceful, quiet memory. That'll help the magic.

[bloodings]

[ She snorts. Diana's right; she isn't in the mood. ]

I don't do quiet or peaceful.

[ Because nobody could tell. Mordred sighs, still grouchy, but decides to at least try — if she's letting Diana heal her, she might as well make it work as best as possible. The sooner they get out of here, the better.

So she closes her eyes; thinks of the long marches, days on horseback, with nothing but the vast plains and bright sky to look at. Most knights were far too afraid to talk to her, but there was a contentment in knowing she was spreading the king's peace, keeping the land safe. A frown creeps onto her face at the contrast between that and what came later, but for the most part, she keeps herself calm. As calm as Mordred can ever really be, anyway.

Eventually, though, the later memories start to take hold more and more. Fighting under Arthur's banner even as she plotted against him. A kingdom torn apart by her own hand. Her expression darkens, and she speaks up again. ]

Okay, that's enough of that, Master. It's your turn now. [ Trying to sound casual, she tests her arm out. It... well, it moves, which is a step up, but there's clearly still no strength in it, and she lets it go limp again after a moment. ] But supporting a Servant... what kind of bad joke is that? I'm supposed to be the one supporting you.

[ That's almost nice. ]

[lesgeois]

[Diana wonders what Mordred's thinking about. Eyes closed like that, she looks almost... serene. It's an expression she'd never associate with Mordred, even if it isn't exactly perfect.

Especially when she starts to frown. Diana frowns herself, and when Mordred speaks up, she doesn't stop her from subtly pulling away, testing her arm out.

She winces in sympathy, then gives it one last stroke, lets her hands rest at her sides.]

A practical joke. You're weaker than I am right now, even after that. [Without much shame or reservation, she hikes up her long skirt, begins to rub the balm into her leg.

Her leg's bruised blue and black, bent at an odd angle - subtly, she pushes it back into a more sensible position, pursing her lips as she tries to breathe out. She lets her eyes drift shut, herself -

She's done this plenty of times, and knows exactly what memories to focus on. She's a very young girl, five or six. It's one of her earliest memories, or at least one of the earliest ones that she can remember clearly. She's got a slight cold, but nothing serious. Her mother is by her bedside, stroking her hair as she drifts in and out of sleep.

She's smiling by the time she's done, despite the situation. She gives her leg a more forceful push, hisses at the physical sensation of the bones popping back into place, leans back, lifts it experimentally, bends it at the knee. It still feels like she's twisted or sprained something, and if she puts too much pressure on it over the next few days it'll probably break again, but at least she can walk.

Hesitantly, she pushes herself up, palm flat against the wall of the subway station. She's still putting most of her weight on her other leg.]

... Saber. I'm sorry for making you run. If I'd had any other choice, I wouldn't have done that.

[bloodings]

I'd never be as weak as a human.

[ Obligatory. Mordred flushes a little when Diana pulls her skirt up, finds a spot on the wall to stare at and give her some privacy — she feels embarrassed at her own peaceful moment, and has no interest in prying into someone else's so soon. It's not exactly respectful, but it's close.

She looks back when Diana starts to stand, though she doesn't attempt it yet herself. When she does, she wants to make sure she won't stumble, won't show weakness, even if normally she'd rush into it. Some of her lesser injuries are already starting to heal; a broken rib piecing back together, a wound on her side stitching itself up, but it's mostly superficial. ]

Forget it. I should have already won by then. [ Most of her murderous aura is gone, though not all. It never dissipates completely when talking about King Arthur. ] Next time, neither you or father will have the chance to run. I'll finish him off right away. His Master, too.

[ It's an advantage they could both do with. She flexes her left hand, testing, wondering if she could wield Clarent if she had to — probably not. Slowly, wincing, she gets to her feet much more tentatively than she'd like, and ends up stumbling forward anyway. So much for taking her time. ]

[lesgeois]

The problem is still Archer. Did you recognize those shots? I thought he might have been Tristan, but obviously you'd know better than me.

[When Mordred stumbles, Diana hurries over. Or, well, hobbles over. She can just barely push herself off the wall, basically hops on her good leg to where Mordred is. Slowly, she slips her arm under Mordred's, wraps it around her waist.]

We'll support each other. I told you before that I intend to keep up my end of things, didn't I? [Is what Diana says, but reality is she's a scrawny nerd, and Mordred is - not tall, but muscular enough to be an issue. Diana has to keep shifting her weight to really accomplish much.]

[bloodings]

It was definitely Tristan. That stupid bow of his that isn't even a real bow... tch, but it still hits like one. If I can just get in close...

[ But there's the rub — between his arrows and her father, she's not going to get that chance easily. She grunts in pain when Diana touches her, fingers inevitably brushing over somewhere sore, but quickly plays it off. ]

Don't be an idiot and hurt yourself. [ ... A little late for that. More hurt, then. ] Dammit, if Caster wasn't around, I could just dematerialize... this is seriously annoying.

[ Even weakened, her visible presence is more of a deterrent than letting Diana walk alone. The two of them hauling each other along looks almost ridiculous enough to be a trap, instead of just a defeated Master without a Servant, or with one too injured to take form. ]

If something attacks us, run away as fast as you can, got it? I can't protect you and fight at the same time. [ She can't fight right now anyway, but like hell she'll ever let go of that bravado. ] You'd just be a burden if you stuck around.

[lesgeois]

[Tristan, huh. At least that mentions that Lancer's guaranteed partner is a known factor. She chews on that thought as she shifts against Mordred, tries her best to rub Mordred's side.

She grimaces when she sees the stairs up out of the underground, but mercifully, there's a wheelchair ramp tucked off to the side. Not that a steep incline is much fun either.

She hobbles the two of them closer to it, one foot in front of the other and then waiting for Mordred to follow up. It's almost like they're running a three legged race.

If they were, they'd probably be in last place.]

I'm not running away, Saber. I couldn't even if I wanted to. If something did attack us, it'd probably be those cats, and I can deal with at least one or two of those even now. [And if Archer or Lancer attacks them, they're dead. Lancer might spare her out of knightly mercy, but she doubts their Master would. And depending on how efficient Lancer is feeling, even that might be questionable.

She clicks her tongue, annoyed.]

Two on one is hardly fair. We should look into an alliance. You're the only Servant that can even hope to deal with Lancer, so all we'd need is someone to keep Archer busy... [Caster? The hell of it is that those cats would make excellent interference, but they seem more interested in stirring trouble than working together.

She wonders what Rider, Assassin, and Berserker are like. Rider... maybe not, but an Assassin could take out Archer or his Master while they dealt with Lancer, and a Berserker is an obvious threat.]

... Of course, I doubt your pride could handle working with someone. [Diana says it fondly. She can relate, really.]

[bloodings]

Father must be afraid of me... yeah, that's it. No wonder he got Tristan to team up with him.

[ Or he's just smarter than certain people who refuse to cooperate. Still, Mordred falls silent as they hobble up the ramp, considering. She's trying to support Diana as much as she can in turn, even if it doesn't amount to much. Needing help is an insult to her pride as a knight, not to mention her role as a Servant, and that makes her grouchier than the pain. ]

I won't work with people. King Arthur's head is mine. [ And the tone of her voice says that's final... but: ] But if we decided to target Archer instead of each other... I could agree to that. It's not really an alliance; just playing nice for a while. And we'll take them out afterward, too.

[ The ideal would be a mutual kill between Archer and whoever else, but she's not stupid enough to count on that. A more realistic outcome would be a weakened victor that she could pick off even with any wounds from Lancer. ]

What do you think? I'll leave the judgment to you, but I won't be letting my guard down. I don't think you will either. [ Diana's not a moron, for all the bad things Mordred could say about her right now. Would have said, anyway. She's not in nearly as foul of a mood anymore. ] If I think they're plotting something, the deal's off. [ Good thing she's something of an expert on betrayal. ]

[lesgeois]

Honestly, that isn't a bad plan. [Some of Mordred's reasoning is... off, but at the end of the day Lancer is a foe they're going to have to overcome. They might as well do it on Mordred's terms.

Especially since she still feels bad for how things went. True, Mordred rushed in, but isn't this her fault as a Master for not having better control of the situation?

She leans as far in against Mordred as she can, head against her side.]

Everyone's plotting something. The only question is if they're plotting something against us. [Maybe Berserker would be the best choice, if they could find them. Get their Master to point them at Archer, and the rest would take care of itself.

Then again, they'd have to bring the fight away from Berserker. Hard to explain an alliance to one, after all. ]

We'll deal with this when we aren't falling apart. [She chews on her cheek for a second, then:]

I'm sorry things turned out like this.

[bloodings]

It's fine. [ It's not fine, but— ] We're alive, so I'll get to fight him again.

[ Diana's right: she's the only one with a hope of killing Lancer, and even then only in a one on one fight. The idea that he'd die before Mordred confronted him again is unthinkable. Retreating now is a setback, but she'll manage, driven on by the thought of a rematch.

Mordred doesn't really do apologies, but in retrospect, some of the things she said were... harsh. Thinking about it only makes her frustrated, as most things do, which probably doesn't help. She chews at her lip, looks down at Diana, leaning against her. ]

I... look, don't get the wrong idea, okay? I'm still angry. [ Even if she just looks and sounds petulant now, compared to the rage of before. ] But I get why you did it. Your responsibility as a Master is to survive, after all. Humans always struggle for their life until the last moment.

Anyway... the Holy Grail is still mine. This is just a delay, so I can forgive you. [ She turns her head away. It's probably the most roundabout way anyone's ever offered forgiveness, but it seems genuine. ] But it's a one-time thing, got it? I won't be letting you off next time.

[lesgeois]

[Diana straightens up as best she can, considering her leg, the way she's leaning against Mordred.

She's glad Mordred forgives her - feels that odd sensation of gratitude once again stirring in her chest - but shakes her head.]

Saber, you seem to be misunderstanding something. I didn't want you to die. Not... because of the war, but just because you didn't deserve to. Not there, and not like that.

[They're at least finally out of the underground. It's dark out, but the light of the stars is much preferable to crawling around in the subway system. She shifts against Mordred, lifts her arm to try and support her more than she already is.]

You're alive, aren't you, Saber? I am a healer. I want to protect life when I can.

[bloodings]

Don't worry about me. I already died once, remember? The winner of a fight keeps their life, and the loser embraces death. Those are the rules of battle.

[ She tries to sound flippant, but facing her father, the memory of Rhongomyniad piercing her chest — and how easily it could have happened again just now — has shaken her. Everything about her voice, her body language, is more serious and grounded than before. It's impossible to know how much Diana might have seen in dreams from their link, but her aversion to the lance should be obvious from legend alone.

Being out under the night sky helps, though. She never learned to read the stars, but looking at the sky, it's almost like she's back in that pleasant memory. Only she's half dead, so is her Master, and there's no tent for them to sleep in, so not quite. ]

It's weird. I don't normally like support types... but I don't normally like mages, either. [ So Diana's 0 for 2, but somehow still comes out positive. ] Most magic users have a distasteful aura about them. Yours is... more honest, I guess. I don't mind it.

[lesgeois]

[They've only been together for a few days, and they've been easy ones. Neither of them have slept heavy. She's seen some of Mordred's dreams, but only simple, mundane ones. No deep insights to be had there.

But she knows how Mordred feels. It's a simple memory, isn't it? Mordred with Clarent raised, Arthur's lance piercing her. Both of them fully intent on killing the others.

She raises her hand, gently strokes Mordred's shoulder.]

Ha. I'm better than Merlin, is that it? [Her family was around during the Arthurian age. That was their origin. It's a point of pride - she wonders if any of her ancestors actually knew Merlin, or King Arthur. Or Mordred.

She doubts it, they were simple healers, but it's a funny thought.]

Well, I'll do my best to live up to your expectations. If I were dishonest, you would have... [Killed her already. Mordred's so easy to talk to that it's easy to forget just how bloodthirsty she is. Or at least presents herself as.

She leans in against Mordred, supporting herself against her. Her leg's starting to ache, a lot.]

We shouldn't be that far from the mansion. We'll find something to eat, take a bath, and sleep like the thankfully-not-dead. Just a little further, Saber. [She sounds more like she's trying to talk herself into continuing on, though.]

[bloodings]

Being better than Merlin isn't much. You should aim higher, Master.

[ Not that she ever had much to do with him — she always got the uncomfortable feeling he knew more than he was letting on, and he probably did. But he stayed out of her business. Really, the only mage she's ever been close to is her mother, but she hates Morgan enough to cloud her vision of magi in general.

Diana's weight against her isn't an issue, but Mordred still feels her growing heavier. Keeping a Heroic Spirit stabilized in the world, even with the grail's help, is already a drain: supporting an injured one while wounded yourself is another thing entirely. She frowns. ]

If it's just a little further... I'll give this a try now. [ Turning, she does her best to scoop Diana up with her good arm. She still has more than enough strength to lift a human... so while it's not exactly comfortable, she manages to get her off the ground. ] It'll be slower going than the last time I carried you, but we'll get there. You can count on me for that much.

[lesgeois]

[Diana gasps - and winces - as she's scooped up. With just one arm, it's less like a bride or princess and more like a sack of potatoes. She's essentially slung over Mordred's shoulder - her good one, but still.]

Wa, wait, Saber! Your body still isn't - [Healed, but then again neither is Diana's.

And of the two of them, Mordred is still stronger, even when they're both beat to crap.

So, after a long pause, she quietly moves herself into a more comfortable position, wraps her arms around Mordred's neck, gingerly. She doesn't want to hurt her.]

... It better be slower going. Leaping around like before would be one of the most foolish things I can imagine.

[bloodings]

Heh. [ She stares up at the nearest rooftop, as if considering trying her luck. ] You worry too much. I'll make up for this quiet walking next time.

[ That's not what she was worried about at all, but okay. And so much for "I'm only going to carry you once." But they're still faster like this — Mordred seems to gain a little more strength back with every step, until most of her visible wounds have faded. Internally things are a different story, but that's a matter of time, rest, and a lot of food mana.

Strangely, she feels relief when they arrive back at the mansion. It's no Camelot, and she has no real attachment to it, but a home base is a home base. If nothing else, it means no familiars spying on them, no Servants sneaking up for a surprise attack. ]

We're here. [ Rather than set Diana down, Mordred just kicks the doors open. Not hard enough to break anything, but... well, hopefully she wasn't too precious about them. Talk about no respect for heritage. ] This place should still be safe right now. Try and relax for tonight.

[lesgeois]

Don't - [She sees Mordred lifting her leg, but is too late to stop her. She winces when the doors slam open, hastily squirms her way out of Mordred's arms, wincing when she lands on her bad leg. Hopping a few steps, she pushes herself to a wall of the entranceway, motioning for Mordred to close the door behind them.

Then, with a massive sigh of relief, she sinks against the wall, hand coming up to her chest. Her heart never really stopped pounding, she's realizing.]

... Try is the key word there, Saber. [She breathes out, rubbing at her leg again.] Are you going to want a bath as well? I realize you don't need one, but it might help you calm down.

[bloodings]

[ At least the abused doors close without issue. She watches Diana rub at her leg, a skeptical look on her face. ]

A bath, is it... [ Normally she'd say no — back home, the risk of someone seeing her without her armour, without her helmet, would be too great. But things are different now. ] Alright, I'll take one. It wouldn't be good to reject my Master's hospitality.

[ Don't pretend to have manners. ]

What about you? A bath alone isn't going to help with that. [ She gestures at the broken leg. ] My injuries aren't so bad... I'll keep my prana consumption down, so do your best to heal up. It's boring, but I'll stand guard if it helps you relax.

[lesgeois]

You have manners? [It's almost like Diana read the fourth wall.

She shakes her head at Mordred's offer, rubbing at her leg. As much as she appreciates it, she's already filled her mansion with cantrips. Not traps - she wouldn't be that good at making them anyway, and her mansion isn't something she wants to damage with attacks -
but things to alert her when someone's approaching. They'll be fine without Mordred physically keeping watch.]

I'll take care of it while I'm in the bath. [Her leg, that is. She squeezes it gently, partly just to indicate it, partly to try to soothe her leg.] I keep some stronger reagents in my room. Of course, it's still going to need time, but I'll be able to dull the pain.

Do you need anything? If you're still hurting, it'd be easier on both of us for me to take care of it. There's no point in being stubborn. [She already knows Mordred so well.]

[bloodings]

[ The idea of Mordred having manners is strange enough to physically shatter any wall. Still— ]

I've had worse. [ Of course, she was being killed at the time, but details. (Not stubborn.) Looking at her face, she almost seems like she's pouting at being asked, at the idea that someone might be worried about her. ] My core's intact, so it's not like I'll fade away. Pain is nothing to a knight.

[ Gingerly, after a pause, she touches a hand to her ribs. In her single-minded focus on her shoulder, it was easy to forget about everything else. ]

... Some of the bones are still healing. But once I get more prana, that should fix itself. [ Which means Diana has to be well enough to supply it to her. Or, alternatively: ] I hope you've got a lot of food, Master.

[lesgeois]

Of course I do. The only issue is cooking it. [She'd gotten rid of all the maids and such, since she didn't want them to get caught in the crossfire of the war. As such, they've a full pantry and no one to cook it.

Diana knows a little about how to make food, but -]

You might be stuck with sandwiches.

... And if pain is nothing to a knight, you might want to stop wincing.

[bloodings]

I'm not wincing! [ Mordred leaps to her own defence — literally leaps, stiffening so much her feet leave the ground briefly — and ends up... yep, wincing from the exertion. Good job. ] And cooking isn't an issue. I'm at least as good as Gawain, so I'm sure I could get the hang of modern tools easily enough.

[ This is going to end badly. But it seems like she's perked up at the idea, so... progress? Hopefully not progress at the cost of burning down the mansion. ]

A bath, then food. I'll be better in no time. [ She offers Diana her good hand. ] You, too. Let's go already.

[lesgeois]

... Was Gawain a good cook? [She never read that, but she never focused on him much in her research. Mordred was the one she wanted, after all.

She reaches for Mordred's hand, takes it - squeezes it gently, smiles across at her.

... Then there's a long pause. Diana tilts her head, slightly.]

Which of us is going to take a bath first? The other can get the food out.