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Another day, more articles about calc-alkaline magmatism. Also writing about Elves in the Age of Sail for reasons I do not quite understand, especially because it is rapidly heading towards Finduilas/Celebrimbor.
Anyhow:
CORONATE, Merlin, no spoilers - Arthur's new bodyguards are determined to get him to his coronation one way or another. Arthur has other ideas.
Arthur peers at the ground. A single, bulbous globe looks back, and if the contraption of metal and glass could express any emotion, he's sure it would be looking exasperated. The thing lifts its arm-like prongs, shifting the royal robes slightly towards him, a clear invitation. Arthur declines to acknowledge it, and he seems to have the upper hand at present.
His new bodyguards move through wood, crowds and even stone with little to no trouble. He has seen them work around the issue of stairs, after a moment's consideration.
They have not yet, however, solved the issue of trees. Or rather, the issue of the tree that contains the heir to the throne and so cannot be disintergrated like all other problems (and trees. If they ever grow tired of being bodyguards, clearing forest ought to be their next job of choice.)
'CORONATE,' the thing intones, and yes, that's definitely a note of exasperation in its grating voice.
'The ceremony isn't for another three hours,' Arthur points out. 'The robes would get all crushed and messy if I put them on now.'
'CORONATE,' it repeats.
'You are being tiresome,' says Arthur in his haughtiest voice.
'CORONATE,' says his bodyguard, with a lingering flavour of right back at you,mateSire.
'I can see that there's no point in continuing this discussion until you decide to be reasonable,' Arthur says, and reaches for the next branch.
He can hear the Dalek grumbling 'CORONATE' to itself as he climbs, and he wonders how long they can live off leaves, rain and the birds that Merlin convinces to land in their tree.
Anyhow:
CORONATE, Merlin, no spoilers - Arthur's new bodyguards are determined to get him to his coronation one way or another. Arthur has other ideas.
Arthur peers at the ground. A single, bulbous globe looks back, and if the contraption of metal and glass could express any emotion, he's sure it would be looking exasperated. The thing lifts its arm-like prongs, shifting the royal robes slightly towards him, a clear invitation. Arthur declines to acknowledge it, and he seems to have the upper hand at present.
His new bodyguards move through wood, crowds and even stone with little to no trouble. He has seen them work around the issue of stairs, after a moment's consideration.
They have not yet, however, solved the issue of trees. Or rather, the issue of the tree that contains the heir to the throne and so cannot be disintergrated like all other problems (and trees. If they ever grow tired of being bodyguards, clearing forest ought to be their next job of choice.)
'CORONATE,' the thing intones, and yes, that's definitely a note of exasperation in its grating voice.
'The ceremony isn't for another three hours,' Arthur points out. 'The robes would get all crushed and messy if I put them on now.'
'CORONATE,' it repeats.
'You are being tiresome,' says Arthur in his haughtiest voice.
'CORONATE,' says his bodyguard, with a lingering flavour of right back at you,
'I can see that there's no point in continuing this discussion until you decide to be reasonable,' Arthur says, and reaches for the next branch.
He can hear the Dalek grumbling 'CORONATE' to itself as he climbs, and he wonders how long they can live off leaves, rain and the birds that Merlin convinces to land in their tree.
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