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: (Sword Tricks)
*Laertes has an unholy hatred of airports. he finds them altogether too crowded, too uncomfortable, designed more to usher people out than to give them any kind of ease when they stay. despite this avowed animosity, though, he's sitting on an uncomfortable plastic bench, watching the luggage carousel swirl around, waiting to hear his phone ring or to see a familiar flash of red hair*

For Rey

Aug. 1st, 2008 07:28 pm
riotous_head: (I Dare Damnation)
*recently, Laertes has acquired an actual couch for their apartment; he is currently sprawled across it, doing a crossword--which bores and annoys him, because his pop-culture knowledge could fill a thimble with room left over. at length, he calls over to Rey* Let's go out this weekend. Camping, swimming, a picnic--anything, so long as it gets us out.
riotous_head: (Do You See This O God?)
*we can only assume that there was a beautiful wedding today--moderate attendance, mostly just close friends and family; there were probably panic attacks and wardrobe malfunctions and tears and a great deal of joy.

now, though, it is very, very early morning in a hotel on the south coast of France. the buzzing energy of terrorjoy has faded, and Laertes is simply tracing the curve of Reynaldo's cheek. he smiles, grateful, thoughtful, and says very quietly* I've been thinking.
riotous_head: (Bad Day)
*this is Laertes.

this is Laertes on crutches.

feel free to laugh at him as he crutches down the sidewalk, cursing whenever he hits an icy patch*
riotous_head: (Thought and Affliction)
*Laertes is washing dishes, his hands in hot and soapy water almost to his elbows. the effort pleases him; even if his hands are rough from soap and his fingers ache from feeling for crusted-on food, clean plates come from this labor, and he enjoys knowing that. when at last he lets the sink drain, he glances up and calls quietly* Rey?
riotous_head: (I Dare Damnation)
*from the landing comes a horrific, shrieking, squealing sound--eerily reminiscent of a cat being slowly strangled to the tune of 'Eine kleine Nachtmusik.'

... or a violin that hasn't been played in over a decade and a half.*
riotous_head: (Girl!Laertes)
*she is standing on her head at the moment, somewhere in the middle of the park--slowly stretching her legs, scissoring them, curling them until her knees nearly touch the ground and then extending them again. her shoes lie neatly beside her*
riotous_head: (Do You See This O God?)
*somehow, things have settled at last. there is work, and there are meals, and there is time spent together; these elements have begun to feel comfortably a part of life, and not a disjointed approximation of it. today, Laertes has brought home a yellow gerbera daisy wrapped in tissue paper, with a fern tucked close beside it--and perhaps more importantly, he's smiling slightly as he unwinds his scarf and calls* I'm home--
riotous_head: (I Dare Damnation)
*Laertes has never actually been to a daycare center before--he's a little dazed by the bright colors, the drawings hanging on the walls (he thinks, I draw like that). his face is greyer than it was when he was last in Denmark; he's grown a little beard and lost about twenty pounds. he smiles less often--but when he sees Forti, he can't help but smile just a little* Hey, there.
riotous_head: (Girl!Laertes)
*Anticleia has set out a very good dinner indeed, for whenever Reina gets home--a ham roast glazed with honey and garnished with parsley, a basket of fresh-baked rolls with butter set out beside them, a tray of chopped and seasoned greens, and a salad with artichokes and olives and crumbled feta cheese. there is a glass of sake by her place, and as soon as Reina gets back, there will be a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and a dusting of cocoa powder at hers.*
riotous_head: (Thought and Affliction)
*he's tired, angry, and in debt--and, what's worse, in Denmark. Laertes catches a bus from the airport scarcely three days after Forti had called him; he is somewhat hastily shaven and very poorly packed, and yet he finds himself straightening his shirt as he knocks on a door that only a month ago was his own*
riotous_head: (Do You See This O God?)
*a quiet Friday night--Laertes curled up in bed, not quite ready for sleep for all the lights are off. he stares into the darkness for a moment, picking out the outlines of the closet or the bathroom door, and then nuzzles against Rey and asks eversosoftly* You awake, love?
riotous_head: (Many Years Gone)
*almost the instant Laertes gets home from work, the phone rings--he hangs up his keys and picks up the receiver, listening for a moment and then calling* Rey? Kate's on the phone--
riotous_head: (I Dare Damnation)
*it's been a week of togetherness for Laertes--what with visiting Rey's family and such--and this Monday, he is rather optimistic about his night class. a few students had seemed sincerely contrite about not having spoken to him about their total inability to speak French, and now that they've moved past the archaic stuff into Renaissance poetry, he's even hearing occasional class discussion.

nonetheless, he feels a need to fortify himself beforehand, so he hops the bus for the mall and slides onto his usual stool at the Coffee Shop Where Everything Happens. if Guildenstern can't restore his faith in academia, nothing can.*

Hot chai, please?
riotous_head: (Thought and Affliction)
Therapy was as frustrating as I had anticipated, but for wholly different reasons. Dr Marcus mainly just wanted to listen to me talk, I suppose in the hope that I would figure things out on my own if I only spoke long enough. When I finished explaining the general trend of problems and the specific incident of Monday night, he didn't seem to want to make any suggestions outright. We agreed that I feel as though my problems stem from a desire to communicate what bothers me, whether it's something that frustrates me and that I have to express or something that I feel needs to be solved. Eventually, he mentioned that people communicate for different reasons, and this influences how they react to what they hear. He thinks that I should evaluate whether my communication is geared toward problem-solving or relationship-building, and what functions I want it to serve. Thus, this entry.

I think that Rey communicates to build relationships; it seems to justify the way that he listens to me sometimes just to hear me talk, to give me the feeling that someone is listening. It frustrates me, sometimes; it seems as though I'm not being taken seriously when I'm trying to discuss something that I find important.

I suppose this means that I communicate to solve problems, even when they're relational problems.

Dr Marcus asked me to evaluate what this means, but I'm not sure by what criteria I should be evaluating it. Is it good to want to solve problems? I've always believed it to be; I feel it's both unproductive and in some ways dishonest to recognize a problem and fail to address it. On the other hand, I can hardly find fault with a person who wants to strengthen relationships. Rey doesn't mind if our concerns aren't solved, so long as our relationship is stable--and honestly, he's far more successful in keeping the peace than I am at solving our problems. It seems absurd for us to continue as though we're at cross purposes when our goals appear more compatible than contradictory. If our relationship is good, we'll be better equipped to solve our problems. If we can deal with our problems, that should improve our relationship.
riotous_head: (Bad Day)
*he storms in from his Monday night class at ten at night, flinging his bag down beside the door. it's raining outside, and his hair and jacket are drenched; the neck of Rey's shirt is drenched, and he strips down to his undershirt quickly* My students *he announces to the general listening public* are fucking imbeciles.
riotous_head: (Do You See This O God?)
*there are boxes now scattered about the living room--a box of books in one corner, a box of clothes beside it, a long box carefully packed with fencing equipment balanced atop them. it's quite clear that Laertes will be leaving soon for France; perhaps that makes it somehow significant, that he's putting together dinner for the prince of Norway's arrival. it's only sandwiches, but we suppose that the thought counts*
riotous_head: (I Dare Damnation)
*when the prince drops off Reynaldo after their evening (and night) of dinner, Laertes is waiting for them in the lot, wearing a jacket against the morning chill and running a hand over his short hair--nervous energy. for all he straightens and looks calm enough when he actually catches sight of Forti's car, the fact remains that he's on edge, and it might be audible in his voice when he catches Forti's arm and says* Hey--mind if we have a talk?
riotous_head: (canon!Love!)
*Laertes is sitting on the little metal landing at the top of his stairs, dangling his feet over the edge and chewing idly on a stick of cinnamon. the flavor is strong (earlier, it was eyewateringly so), but he finds the smooth curve of the cinnamon in his mouth is almost as relaxing as his formerly-habitual cigarette. he's waiting for Rey to come home from work, putting together a tentative roster and practice schedule for the fencing team as he does so.*
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