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July 19th, 2009
Sagramore is having a very bad week. He hasn't been feeling well, and then there's the case of Helen--given how much he adores her, let alone the importance of her as perhaps his one friend he wasn't sleeping with, he's not feeling very optimistic right now. :
Mostly this is being expressed through camping out in the garden in the barest minimum of clothes (why
is it always so hot
in the summer, what is with
that?) with a cup of coffee and looking miserable. That Sagramore, folks, he's just the life of the party.
March 28th, 2009
Molly has been put to bed, gently and very quietly, and once that was done Sagramore buckled on his sword, went out and locked the door behind him, and began to search. His face is carefully composed, an almost neutral expression that conveys nothing of the fact that he is out for blood. He's more angry than he can express; if anyone were to get in his way it would not go easy.
With much luck he won't meet anyone. It's late, and he's quiet. But when he finds Caliban, things will get very exciting indeed.
March 6th, 2009
return of the prodigal
It's probably been long enough.
The return is heralded by Kutya, who bounds ahead, delighted to be back in a familiar place (she's missed the stables, and particularly Florence). Then comes Sagramore, looking rougher and leaner than he was when he left; the winter sunlight isn't really warm, but riding out in it for a month has made his skin turn a shade or two darker than usual. His hair has grown out and he actually has it tied back out of his way; his beard is longer and curlier than ever. His clothes are badly worn and there is a brand-new and rather large hole in his coat.
His poor horse, which he is leading, is burdened with a vast accumulation of Stuff, neatly packed into various boxes and saddlebags and somehow attached on. This includes a mediumish wire cage, a great deal of coffee, some bottles of liquor of exotic appearance, a handful of three or fine jewellery, and assorted other things which he will probably distribute among his chosen people.
Despite the fact that it's obvious he's been roughing it, he looks a lot better than he did when he left, refreshed and contented and considerably less haggard around the eyes and mouth.
Tags: courfeyrac Current Mood:
January 30th, 2009
mental health retreat
Sagramore's horse and Kutya are gone from the stables; his gear is gone, his saddle, and half the clothes from his room, neatly packed away into saddlebags (also missing are a few small bottles of liquor and his sword, but a person wouldn't notice this particularly).
There are love-notes left behind for Courfeyrac and Molly, effusive, ridiculous, full of phrases by turns sentimental and humourous. The gist of these letters is that he's going to be away for a while, and isn't entirely certain when he'll be back.
Other than that he doesn't leave any real indication of his going. Certainly he tells no one explicitly; the only person who'll know why or where he's gone is Morgause. The love-notes don't give any real concrete information or indeed much of anything remotely useful. Nobody else gets any information at all.
His warm room is empty. That's all.
January 10th, 2009
Morgause has plenty of reason to hate her boyfriend right now, given that when she gets back to her room he will be already in it, sitting in one of her chairs sideways, one leg slung over the left arm. He is contemplating his hands very seriously.
December 21st, 2008
It's Winter Solstice. Some people have long memories.
Which is the explanation for why Sagramore, promises be damned, is at the Orkney cottage, leaning casually in the doorframe, as if he belonged there. He looks well: tired, maybe, a little worn out, but otherwise perfectly well. Things have been better lately, Courfeyrac and Molly take good care of him, he feels well. He taps on the door with the back of his hand, shifting the package under his arm.
November 21st, 2008
As Courfeyrac intimated earlier to Phedre, Sagramore isn't doing as well as he could be. It's not because of anything, really, just some sort of neurological fail, but his seizures have been unusually frequent and unusually difficult.
Right now, midafternoon with a slight shine of winter sunlight coming through the window, he's in bed. He's mostly naked--he had a seizure in the morning and once the post-ictal passed he managed to get out of his clothes, wash a little, and then collapsed back into bed immediately--which makes it easy to see that he's lost weight, and his hair and beard are longer than he likes to keep them, and tangled.
He's sleeping, fairly soundly, but he doesn't look well. He looks tired and old and sick.
Tags: helen rossi Current Mood:
September 25th, 2008
open enough--post of moping
Sagramore is having a quiet day. He had a seizure in the morning, and now, by afternoon, he is thoroughly wrapped up in sweaters and scarf, with a cup of hot coffee, sitting on a spare bale of hay in the stables. Kutya's head is on his foot, and she's not even begging for snuggles--it's a low kind of day, quiet is the way to be.
Mostly he just looks rather tired and woeful; and he doesn't feel very well. And is out of alcohol to put in his coffee, so that's just kind of depressing.
Tags: curio Current Mood:
September 4th, 2008
Sagramore is sleeping on the porch again. The heat has tamed down to only mildly excruciating, but it seems to help to strip down as much as possible and hope for cross-breezes, curled up in one of the chairs that overlooks the front lawn. So that is exactly what he is doing.
Life is good right now, which means that he's been having fewer seizures, and he looks contented and dozy, his head tucked in his arm, the curve of his bare shoulder warm but dry.
Tags: guenever Current Mood:
August 18th, 2008
Sagramore is in his room, shirt off
dammit, poking at his scars. It has been a long time, almost ten months, and everything is healed, and shiny and itchy. There are no scars from the Lascelles incident. He hasn't been drunk in weeks.
He is maybe a teeny bit bored. And, being Sagramore, this probably will lead to trouble unless he is distracted.