| Closed starter for @kavnas |
Merlin still wasn’t feeling up to par. You think at this point in his life, Merlin would have learned to cope with ‘Let’s Make Several Dramatic Life Changes Occur In The Matter Of Days’, but alas, no. He still felt foul.
He hadn’t wanted to burden anyone else, or make them worry, so he hadn’t really told Arthur how his return had throughly shocked his system. Not that he wasn’t thrilled by Arthur’s rise, because he was, but it was a lot to suddenly take in. Coupled with the fact that he isn’t entirely sure how he ended up in this town, and his dreams were haunted by the song of a bloody mist. (A mist which, by the way, alternated between sounding like Kilgharrah and sounding like his mum.) So, naturally, he put all his effort into making sure Arthur was okay.
This, unfortunately for Merlin’s still sore limbs and tired body, meant hauling two bags of clothes, his own and Arthur’s, through the town and to the laundry.
He really didn’t want to be doing this. He still hadn’t really mastered the art of laundry and a still recovering mind wasn’t helping matters at all. It took all his focus to load the washer with detergent, and that had been after he almost forgot to separate the whites. He said the steps to complete his task in his head like a mantra. Load the detergent, place in clothes, choose lukewarm, hit go. Wait. Repeat. It was all going swimmingly until his carefully crafted laundry-meditation was disrupted when the door swung open.