"Nobody is as hard on you as you are on yourself, Faolan."
The evening wears on, idle chatter ranging from Gwaine's heavily exaggerated tales of arrests he made to Arthur's angry declarations about how London would be run if he were in charge.
Pictionary proves that none of them can draw, especially not Arthur, and that Gwaine will only pick things where he can draw something lewd. Percival is surprisingly the best at this.
Lancelot is, slowly but surely, persuaded to drink until his face is a little coloured from it and he's laughing far too easily at things that aren't that funny.
Arthur is on his feet and on the phone, pacing a little as he debates something on the phone.
(Snatches of the conversation include 'Well tell her she can't. What do you mean -- look, just tell her she can't do that! It's already been arranged for --)
Gwaine is draped on the floor again, ruffling Lily's ears, and Percival is enthusiastically trying to ask Faolan about his experience in the private field.
Arthur finally interrupts as he dramatically hangs up his phone.
"Looks like I've got to go, the draconic Christmas rituals are beginning."
Lancelot looks around curiously, one hand still teasing at Lily a little as he studies Arthur.
"Are you sure? Do you want to take something with you?"
Mince pies, alcohol, anything really. Something to make things less draconic, he supposes.
no subject
The evening wears on, idle chatter ranging from Gwaine's heavily exaggerated tales of arrests he made to Arthur's angry declarations about how London would be run if he were in charge.
Pictionary proves that none of them can draw, especially not Arthur, and that Gwaine will only pick things where he can draw something lewd. Percival is surprisingly the best at this.
Lancelot is, slowly but surely, persuaded to drink until his face is a little coloured from it and he's laughing far too easily at things that aren't that funny.
Arthur is on his feet and on the phone, pacing a little as he debates something on the phone.
(Snatches of the conversation include 'Well tell her she can't. What do you mean -- look, just tell her she can't do that! It's already been arranged for --)
Gwaine is draped on the floor again, ruffling Lily's ears, and Percival is enthusiastically trying to ask Faolan about his experience in the private field.
Arthur finally interrupts as he dramatically hangs up his phone.
"Looks like I've got to go, the draconic Christmas rituals are beginning."
Lancelot looks around curiously, one hand still teasing at Lily a little as he studies Arthur.
"Are you sure? Do you want to take something with you?"
Mince pies, alcohol, anything really. Something to make things less draconic, he supposes.