riotous_head: (Default)
*Laertes waits for his father in the restaurant, his fingers steepled over the clean damask tablecloth. he's dressed well, and he appears to have taken some care to maintain (although not to eliminate) his beard; he watches the other diners or peruses the menu, not touching the glass of water by his plate*
riotous_head: (Default)
Continued(-ish) from here.

*at some point, a few months after everything collapsed, Laertes might try less actively to avoid Bernardo--might offer a salute as though offering a match*
riotous_head: (Default)
*Laertes is terrible at leaving messages--hates doing it, stumbles over his words and his ideas and generally makes a fool of himself. but he's got an important call to make (not important things to say, perhaps, but an important contact to affirm), and so he nerves himself for voicemail* Hello, Hotspur--if you're still using this number, and if you even want to speak to me again--it's Laertes. From Denmark. I was just wondering what you were up to, what country you were in. Give me a call and let me know. Er ... thank you.
riotous_head: (Default)
*at the end of Guildenstern's shift, Laertes will drop by the coffeehouse--he orders an iced chai, seating himself at the counter, and leaning over confidentially* I know that you probably don't want to talk about what happened in the graveyard--but something's happened since then.
riotous_head: (Default)
Continued from here.

*his eyes are fixed on anything else but Bernardo's--the way the bathroom towels are folded, the shapes of toothbrushes in the holder, the absurd normalcy of the scene* Thank you. Then I'll stay.
riotous_head: (Default)
*Laertes has prepared a particularly nice pasta dinner tonight, with sauteed shrimp and cilantro garnish and glasses of non-alcoholic wine--and when he hears Reynaldo on the stairs, he'll light the candles on the table. (he shivers just a little, as at a sudden chill.)*
riotous_head: (Default)
*there is a folding table set up in the student union, with stacks of form letters arrayed on it, boxes of envelopes, sheets of stamps, cups full of pens--Laertes is sitting behind the desk and orchestrating the mess, speaking comfortably about the contents of the letter, pointing out students' MPs and their addresses on a chart. he is dressed smartly, button-down shirt and sweater-vest and an unobtrusive brown-leather collar buckled around his neck*
riotous_head: (Do You See This O God?)
*it's not an ideal day for a protest--rather grey, the sky heavy and suggestive of rain, the wind biting cold and sudden. there was some slogan-chanting earlier, but now there's mostly just marching to keep warm (and it doesn't help that the young woman with the megaphone went home, and took her megaphone with her). all in all, Laertes is less then impressed with the weather's cooperation.*
riotous_head: (Fencing Mask)
*after practice--he's just finished removing his gear and has moved on to cleaning his mask, asking as he does* How's the team working out for you? Have you found your place in the pecking order yet?
riotous_head: (Default)
(continued; last post was getting long)

*when he gets back from coffee with Bernardo, he'll locate Hotspur's number and dial it--it's an international call, but he intends it to be quick*
riotous_head: (Do You See This O God?)
*now that the semester is nearly over and Laertes has finished all of his major projects, he has a bit more time for the important work of researching ghost lore. he turns up a truly outrageous amount of information--how to put ghosts to rest, how to summon and speak with them, what circumstances cause them to haunt particular places. it could easily turn into an obsession, he thinks ... and therefore, he's in the usual coffee shop, waiting for his fellow obsessed ghost-hunter*
riotous_head: (Default)
*the negotiations with Norway have fallen through--as anyone who listens to Forti might have guessed they would. today, Laertes is stapling up giant posters on opening conversation with Norway again; it's a feeble effort, but it gives him a satisfying feeling to be working a staple gun*
riotous_head: (At Peace)
*the new apartment is nicer than the old one--the paint isn't peeling and the floorboards aren't warped; the stairs aren't rusted over. Laertes is arranging his books into a semblance of order, but he keeps getting distracted by the trees outside his window. he keeps getting distracted by the fact that there are trees outside his window, and not a parking lot; the thought makes him smile as he takes books out of boxes and sorts them into piles.*
riotous_head: (Default)
*he arrives home from teaching with a song welling in him--something catchy that he'd heard on the train, some pop song in waltz time that he can't get out of his head. he puts his bag down by the door, humming to himself softly. what were the words? something to do with love and loneliness, and dancing alone--

he leans over Guildenstern's shoulder and kisses his brow* We should go dancing tonight.
riotous_head: (Thought and Affliction)
*Laertes is standing at the window of the tower, his cheek bandaged--a man was careless with a bayonet, and there's a long, shallow slash along his cheekbone. the skin around the bandage is red, part with cold and part with hurt (and he hopes that it won't get infected, but he suspects that it will)*
riotous_head: (Out of Time)
*when Laertes gets home, he'll fall down on the sofa with his shoes propped up on the arm of it and his hat tilted down to hide his eyes. he's tired, tired--limbs splayed loose, muscles sore-sour*
riotous_head: (Out of Time)
*Laertes returns home from watch, hanging up his hat and removing the jacket of his uniform as soon as he's got the door closed. he isn't sure whether he still has a guest and calls, experimentally* Hello?
riotous_head: (Out of Time)
*with Bernardo off to dine with his lady, Laertes will just start a long walk along the shore. the cold sits ill with him, but he grits his teeth against it and forges onward, over the rough stones and steep precipices that border the ocean. he had thought that the rhythmic crash of the waves would soothe his mind, but the sound is only pressing at him--pressing like a memory locked away in his head, which would change everything if he could only set it free.

he is in a melancholy frame of mind, and if a similarly melancholy prince should join him on the stones, perhaps they might have something to say to one another*
riotous_head: (Do You See This O God?)
*when he thinks of the events of the past few months, their ordering seems causal rather than coincidental. item: the beginning of the war. item: the king's death. item: the crowning of a new king and the re-crowning of his queen. item: the recall of Danish nationals from abroad (Laertes had been in Paris when the fighting had broken out, and the mail from Denmark had been disrupted a full two weeks because Germany had held the land routes; the Prince had come home from Germany, and he isn't sure what it says that France and Germany are shadowed in the Danish court). item: the uneasy truce with Germany.

to say that each has built upon the last is to speak treason, and Laertes has learned to be circumspect at court--but he can think treason even if he can't speak it. there's precious little else for him to do as he stands in uniform in the uppermost chamber of the old watchtower, feeling the wind blowing through the paneless windows and scanning the empty sea*
Page generated Sep. 22nd, 2017 10:27 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios