It's almost silent, but in the distance, Arthur's voice can be made out if you put your mind to it.

"...Merlin, I hardly need your help to figure out this... voice... thing." A short silence, and then, much, much louder, he continues: "No, I am aware of which direction I am supposed to speak in. The question is, do you have any idea--"

  "You have reached the Blackberry telephone of Prince Arthur Pendragon. Leave a voice or text message after the 'beep', and I'll get back to you. Please don't try my room phone, as it is unfortunately deceased."

BEEP.

It was morning, and there was an Arthur in his room, poking through some foods. He was a growing boy, it was winter, he needed a bloody lot of sustenance and he was going to get to that right now.

Or rather, he had been getting to it for quite a while, which explained why he was now hunched over his desk, chewing on a piece of bread in thought as he drafted up some plans for the frat over the coming weeks. For his standards, he was in a terribly good mood: he had hockey to look forward to, he had food, and, well.

Life wasn't too terrible, barring the ever-present itch of not being at home where he belonged. For the moment, at least. (Partly because he was generally good at repressing his angst except for when bits slipped on out)

He was also trying the Teevee again, much like he had every once in a while over the past few months, just to see if it got less... irritating. It did not.

And as it turned out, Arthur also still hadn't mastered the volume controls.

[[ open door, open post, mmyeah ]]

Arthur frowned thoughtfully at his Blackberry. Then at his copy of the school directory. Then back at his Blackberry.

It took him an hour or so to figure it out, but he got it eventually (and with only three messages sent to unwitting recipients, being Wiggin, A., Of Sandover, J. and Mitchell, J. (Faculty) (also one message to Kerrigan, S. which bounced and landed back on his mailbox, finally alerting him to the problem)) and so on he proceeded.

To: Assorted Student Body (minus Merlin) @FandomHigh.net
Body: Tomorrow will be the event of Merlin's naming day. Given the care and consideration paid to such occasions according to local customs, which we choose to observe and honour, we have decided to host a party. If you are joining us, please take to the Sixth Floor during the evening hours, starting at 2000 hours on the military timepiece.

We hope to see you there.

Cordially,
Arthur Pendragon
Crown Prince of Camelot, etc.

Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile.

His work here done, Arthur rolled his shoulders and reached for his book.

[[ mostly establishy, but open if you want to bug him afterwards. if you think you got the message, you did. also open to phone calls. this ooc message will now self destruct in 3... ]]

Arthur was not always the most elegant to rise.

Especially not when he had someone's hands stuck in his armpits and the blanket was half-off the bed and the usual 'privacy time now' bowl of peanuts outside had frozen overnight (he was going to swear up a storm afterward about having to pay the squirrels extra for the privacy).

"Bloody hell," Arthur said - that was good morning, of a kind. "Who left the window open?"

The lack of lights wasn't nearly as impressive.

[[ to him who is here ]]

"I still have my trousers on," Arthur reminded him, dryly, and shot a glance towards the bath.

And then reached over and yanked on the knot of Merlin's neckerchief. That wasn't your trousers, Arthur.

[[ continued from this for Um. Prooobably NWS ]]

Bored. Bored bored bored. A morning spent in the salle had not alleviated Arthur's enormous helping of boredom. He needed to distract himself. With no weapons allowed in the dorms, it had been a bit difficult (if not impossible, but he'd put it aside after a while) to work on Merlin's not-really-a-Christmas-present-anymore, so that was out, too.

He had already put Francine's sweater away as far as he could (it wasn't that he didn't appreciate the gesture. It was just that it wasn't... well, you know. He was trying to be nice, and it was decent craftsmanship, but it kept reminding him of Merlin's absurd obsession with items of clothing his mother had made), poked around the room, tried the Teevee (still not pleasant, especially without the distraction of someone in the room) and gone through the first chapter of Salammbo.

Nothing.

Which was why, by the time the middle of the afternoon rolled around, there was a dog sitting on Arthur's floor.

"Stay. Just-- no. Stay."

[[ open post, half-open door ]]

There was a cheerful little bowl of nuts sitting out on the sill of Arthur's room with a tiny sign attached that read, in elegant, flowing script, I, Arthur Pendragon, greet you, squirrels of radio. Please take this gift as a sign of my appreciation for your work and continued discretion. Should this not be sufficient for your attentions, let it be known that I will not hesitate to show you proper reward this Thursday, would you not provide of too-detailed note. We should both wish not to deal with the necessary consequences should events follow otherwise. I hope this leaves you well-informed and you will proceed in keeping with grace and dignity.

This was, of course, a threat.

He'd set it out last night as he'd prepared for the task at hand. If the squirrels spilled and he'd have to have them strangled on Thursday, at least they'd had proper notice.

It was the winter holiday, there were no classes, no reserves, no frat. Arthur was bored out of his mind, but Merlin had eked out a challenge (or rather a request, but in Arthur's mind it qualified as one, although not unpleasantly so) in the form of spending a day in bed.

He was fully intent on succeeding at it. He was Arthur Fucking Pendragon, after all. AKA 'High-strung overachiever'

Also, on the plus side, at least he wasn't waking up with a hangover today.

[[ for merlin, and details as nfb as a squirrel would be willing to be bribed to keep them. it is very nice handwriting ]]

Winter had well and truly come to Fandom, and that meant there was even less for Arthur to do than usual. Hunting rabbits in this weather was little fun, even considering the distraction of Merlin attempting to be stealthy. His hands had been itching for something to do.

In the end, he'd decided to take Brynmor for a walk. The dog was practically ruined for hunting now, thank you, Francine and Merlin, but as a ways to keep him from driving everyone nuts by behaving like a caged tiger boredom the dog still functioned admirably.

He took a moment to pause by the pond, staring at the flamingoes sliding gracefully over the ice in ways flamingoes weren't supposed to slide, and shook his head.

Backing away from the ice, he took a seat on one of the benches, ordering Bryn to sit as well, and took a lump of wood from his pack. This was his second strategy to avoid that caged feeling: he examined the grain of it, then put the sharp edge of his knife to it, and began to shape.

[[ mainly for one, but open to others if they want to wander into Arthur's end of the park ]]

Merlin had slept the sleep of one so cruelly torn from the arms of his beloved Karla. And was busy giving Arthur the cold shoulder all day long. Because he didn't understand Merlin's love for breasts Karla. Sweet, sweet Karla...

Arthur, meanwhile, had slept the sleep of one who had been stuck playing prison guard to an idiot all day, which was to say he was doing a lot of not sleeping in the bed on the other end of the room. Listen, if Merlin remembered about his magical powers and tried to remove the door, Arthur would be quite put out.

So, all in all, it was an interesting day.

...and Merlin might end up with a thing about being tied up at this rate.

Arthur glared at the figure on the other end of the room until he could make sure he was still asleep or something. Except that glaring would imply he made an effort, which he... didn't. No.

And so the standoff continued.

[[ establishy; co-written with bigdamndestiny ]]

There were days Arthur was very pleased to have the room all to himself. This Sunday was shaping up to be one. For example, he'd managed to block off the door to the point that it could not be opened by someone of Merlin's rather lacking constitution, which was very, very necessary.

"Isn't this supposed to wear off after a day?" he snapped at the boy. Minding him had made it close to impossible to go out and kill whatever sorceror was responsible this time.

[[ for that guy ]]

Arthur woke up groggily, and strangely chilled, like there was some important element of heat missing from his bed. That was odd. What could be missing? He distinctly remembered going to bed with Merlin last ni--

His eyes flew open, blinking at the empty half of the bed. Right. Had he suffered a rare fit of action and devoted himself to getting breakfast? That would be a novelty. He skimmed the room with his eyes, but didn't find him. All right then. He turned over onto his back, making better use of the rest of the bed. And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

When even calling him didn't get a response, Arthur was forced to move, kicking his blankets away. Right. He yanked on some clothes. Where would his useless manservant be now?

Sicne it was Merlin, Arthur started by looking under the bed.

[[ mostly establishy, but door is closed and post can be open if you really wanna ]]

It was one of those boring mornings where he had little on his plate beyond early morning staff practice (done) and magic reserves and bothering Katchoo later on in the day. It made Arthur antsy, and being antsy was never a particularly good look on him.

That dartboard simply had to happen.

Which would explain why, for the first time, it wasn't Merlin, but rather Arthur who took to the internet on his phone. Maybe he could find one there. Maybe there was a store in town he could convince to deliver one to him. The possibilities were endless.

At least it kept him occupied. (Also? Why had no one told him about novelty mugs before?)

[[ door open, post open to visitors and phone calls and whatever, whee ]]

It would have seemed, at the start of the week, that Merlin had gotten his own room. Strangely enough, it had been somewhat underutilized. ...not that there had been any illicit activities. He'd just been required elsewhere.

See, Arthur got cold during the night, and he really didn't have to justify himself to you, thanks much, he could carry whatever angled bag of bones into his bed as he wanted, so phbbt, or... something like that. Whatever.

We digress.

The point is, he was sleeping. Soundly. He had a pair of hands shoved into his armpits, but that was a kind of manhandling he had grown rather disturbingly used to (even if he did feel very strongly about getting Merlin some mittens before this got any worse) and his nose was somewhere that technically no manly nose had any habit to snuggle into, but.

But.

There were no squirrels. And he was cold. So pish to all that.

[[ for the ears, dude. eta: might be going slightly nws ]]

Most of the preparations for the afternoon's frat session were already in place, so Arthur had allowed himself the, up until Fandom rare, luxury of some time to slouch about by himself. He was starting to consider investing in a dart board; if nothing else, it could make for some decent practice, right?

For now, that just amounted to fancy, though. Instead he had a book and a radio set attuned to a local news programme. The volume was very, very low, but it was still distracting enough that he was starting to find himself forced to debate whether learning about radio was more important than having some quality time with his book.

One day, he was going to run out of French sci-fi. One day.

[[ half-open door, open post ]]

So he'd left Merlin a text along the lines of need to talk to you. That was entirely ungirly. And there was nothing going on, really, besides the random bouts of thinking over the past week, and it just--

Yep. Arthur was thinking. And, right now, lying back on his bed, considering an unopened book and then his phone and, after all that, the wall.

Quiet and composed. Got it.

[[ for the ears ]]

Okay, so Merlin's transformation back to normal had not been ideal. Not that Arthur should have assumed it would be. They were talking about Merlin, after all, who managed to explore the boundaries of not ideal in ways that exceeded human comprehension (or at least sane human comprehension).

He had also been a bird for a week, Arthur had been troubled in general, and he was going to take this opportunity with both hands to restore some sanity (or the unique brand of insanity Merlin carried like a disease) to his life.

Which is to say he shoved Merlin into his room as soon as they'd managed to escape Katchoo's evil clutches and make their way here, with nary a second tarried between rooms. "You can borrow some of mine," he said, without prompting.

He was such a gentle soul.

[[ for the ears ]]

Arthur appreciated the fact that his troubles and worries tended to remain nicely compartmentalized away, only to be taken out when needed, generally. It had been a long, long time since the issues with Dinah's magic, with Liir's, and he had settled into Fandom life with the acceptance that the magic users here were, all in all, not the worst sorts without letting it gnaw too hard or too long.

At least, that's what he'd convinced himself. The past couple of days had done a brilliant job of pushing all of that back to the surface - the fact that yes, he had thought about ways to sneak out from home to visit Fandom for Homecoming already, that he had killed quite a lot of magic users simply out of the conviction that they were evil, that life when he returned was going to be... more complicated.

Brilliant. Even thousands of years and miles away, his father managed to make him feel like shit.

Merlin seemed to have picked up on that, because midway through his determined attempt at focusing on the book he was supposed to be reading (Do Robots Snore Like Electric Pigs, something like that) a pear landed on his bed. He lowered the book and eyed the thing - clawed to all hell and nearly inedible - and then the bird, who was making earnest noises at him and tilting his head.

"...Thanks," Arthur said, nonplussed, which got him an even more concerned look. The bird cooed. He sighed. "But I opened the window because it's your feeding time, you twit. Get yourself a nice rabbit."

The bird leaned in closer. "I mean it," he said. "Your concern is touching, it really is, but I'm fine."

With another cooing noise, Merlin shoved his head against Arthur's knee once. Arthur gave him a Look. Then demonstrably held the pear up to his mouth and took a bite. "See? Now go on, you're thin enough without starving yourself and I'm not going to be responsible for it if you keel over from sheer ineptitude." He made a nudging motion with his leg. "I'll keep some bacon seperate for you."

There was a truly avian sigh, a roll of the eyes, and then Merlin flapped his wings, heading back towards the window sill. He didn't stray far, though.

"Insolent wretch." Arthur was oddly sure he was going to be covered in mauled fruit before the day was done with. He rather desperately hoped Merlin was going to turn back and soon. Because this was a nuisance. Yes.

He rolled the pear around in his hand before taking another bite. He smiled slightly, and came to the disturbing realisation that he did feel better.

[[ door is half-open, post is open ]]

All right.

Arthur had figured out the 'DVD player'. He had. He couldn't get it to stop blinking all the zeroes, but at least he knew how to use it.

He had wrangled JGoB into sending him another delivery of pastries. He had a pitcher of water. And he was now sprawled on the bed in a way that implied he hadn't bothered to put any time into this at all, belying the time he had actually put into this.

All set. Nothing could go wrong.

[[ for the flyin' ears ]]

It had been a good, long, productive day, especially at the reserves, and Arthur had retired to his room with a copy of Le Chemin de France and a bowl of grapes. And his Blackberry. His Blackberry was of some importance tonight. After all, he was still, technically, working.

That is to say he was calling Zack every hour on the dot just to check if he was still running. At the rate things were going, Arthur was starting to contemplate simply telling him to keep going until morning and see if it held.

Sir Dinadan, had he been present, would have had so many things to say, but this was a G-rated post.

[[ half-open door, open post, sure ]]

Francine had scurried off quickly and in an upset fashion at the feast tonight, Merlin quick on her heels, from what he'd been able to tell. Or something. He hadn't been able to find the boy afterwards, anyway, and so he had retired to his room with another glass of mead.

But that was all perfectly fine. These things happened, right? Well, usually they didn't happen to him, until-- oh, for the love of God.

Arthur was not at all morosely (and in a manner not entirely close to sprawling on the bed) sipping his mead tonight, thank you. He was not a girl.

...What had all that been about?

[[ for the ears ]]