open: desperatefans

It's nearing sunset when two men emerge together from the southern edge of the woods, and stop short when they spot the Mansion. They're a good deal alike, dark-haired and handsome and slight; one is somewhat taller, probably in his early twenties, the other about ten years older.  The latter hisses a breath between his teeth, his mouth pulling tight at one corner. "I like this not."

"Easy," says the younger, quiet and placatory.

"Easy yourself," grimly. "That's a great ugly pile to have sprung from nowhere."

"Maybe we've come farther than we thought. 'Twill be dark soon."

"That comforts thee?"

"Am only saying." The young man ventures out onto the lawn, his brother snatching uselessly at his sleeve. "Nej, I'm taking care--"

"You'll be the death of--"

"Mordred! Don't--"

"What, better to court it than to say it? Come, let's go back while there's light, and do not you quote me Lancelot on valor, or as God sees me I'll--"

The younger man tenses a little, though his tone is still mild. "I just want a look at the place. Go you back, if you like, I'll not be long."

"Jesu," Mordred mutters at his back, and seems half inclined to take him at his word.

[ Feel free to tackle Mordred and Gareth separately or together; this argument could go on for a while. ]