[Faolan has been running the gamut of emotions ever since this business with the harps has started. He'd heard, through word of mouth, as the days passed and his feelings had careened everywhere from bitter self-loathing and hatred to intense and fiery anger to, much to his chagrin, deep affection, that it had something to do with the harps, and the secret to overcoming such things is to destroy the harp in his dreams. Such a thing he knows he will never be able to do, so he settles for second-best: waiting it out. He'd tried to spend as much time as he could to himself, although there was only so much avoiding people that he could manage, and avoiding Lancelot is most difficult of all. He handles himself as best as he can around the other man, but he is grateful when Lancelot announces he has a meeting that afternoon, and instead he is left to watch over Lady and Bridei.
At least, he had been grateful, until the harp started to work its way with him. And now there he remains, pacing the room, arms crossed across his chest, intense concern overtaking him. How is the meeting going, he wonders. Is everything alright? Should he have been there after all? Is Lancelot safe? Has something dire happened because Faolan has let down his guard? It's all he can do to stop himself from marching straight down there to find out, and probably only the presence of the little dragon that keeps him from it. The little dragon that, taking advantage of Faolan's distraction, has chosen this moment to climb his way up to the top of the drapes. Faolan only realizes what he's doing once he has flung himself from the fabric and down at him as he passes by, landing awkwardly sprawled across his shoulders and his head, little claws fumbling in his scalp for purchase.]
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At least, he had been grateful, until the harp started to work its way with him. And now there he remains, pacing the room, arms crossed across his chest, intense concern overtaking him. How is the meeting going, he wonders. Is everything alright? Should he have been there after all? Is Lancelot safe? Has something dire happened because Faolan has let down his guard? It's all he can do to stop himself from marching straight down there to find out, and probably only the presence of the little dragon that keeps him from it. The little dragon that, taking advantage of Faolan's distraction, has chosen this moment to climb his way up to the top of the drapes. Faolan only realizes what he's doing once he has flung himself from the fabric and down at him as he passes by, landing awkwardly sprawled across his shoulders and his head, little claws fumbling in his scalp for purchase.]
Bridei!