milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Somebody behind the scenes was pointing out that Lesgle could just do his darn job! It's been a while! and that somebody was quite correct.

Lesgle's strong work ethic has of course been keeping him on a routine schedule of busing tables and cleaning the kitchen, and here he is right now, bustling about in a way that is so far un-disastrous. Do interrupt him!

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"Do you enjoy it?"

"Very much", he says honestly. "And I miss it, at home. The Northmen have no such art."

"Have you tried to bring it to them? Or--do they not make parchment, the right sort of inks...?"

He really doesn't know very much about book-craft of a thousand years ago.

"They certainly don't make the inks - the only writing they have is their runes, which are usually carved or scratched into something, from bark to stone. And animal skins are used for clothing, more than anything."

"And you're probably kept busy enough as it is." Laigle works on his chocolate, looking over at Athelstan himself now, rather than the work. "But you look well. An admirable beard."

"Why, thank you. It took a month to grow. And then our young Gyda decided it wasn't quite right."

"I wasn't going to ask."

But good: that sounds good. Whatever else is happening in the monk's life, he's able to work on his art and make small cheerful jokes. "But it's inarguably a look."

His life could really be much, much worse. He's even - complicatedly - content.

"All the Northmen braid their hair and beards. And if I'm now to be part of the family..."

It doesn't sit well with Lesgle, the man's acceptance of slavery. But then, he's not there himself. He's not such an ideologue as to demand that an eight-century monk act like a nineteenth-century student.

So he finds a smile. "You'll be braiding it yourself in no time."

It might be different if he'd ever really been free. But serf child to monk to thrall, he never has been free to make all his own decisions... yet.

"When it's long enough, most likely. It's a sad little braid for now."

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