milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Harry has received Hal's letter.

And he seems keen that the entire bar should know about it.

Well, in truth, he doesn't seem to be paying attention to anyone else at all as he paces incredulously in front of the bar and reads. Loudly.

"'--thank thee for thy former care of my horse, and beg thee look to him once more--' Ha! And shall I be thy ostler! O, he thinks himself a mighty king indeed, to have a knight for his stableboy! To write what he would blush to ask-- o, let me see some more. 'I doubt not I and England shall fight well-armèd with thy fair wishes--'"

He crumples up the note and flings it-- away, somewhere, aimlessly. Sorry, passersby.

[ooc: harry has a history of difficulty with reading quietly.]

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'You mark him because he's your boyfriend.'

And Jim is so not a fool. He almost laughs, but hides it by sipping from his own glass instead.

'The fact that you can't even tell I'm giving you good advice is proof not just that you can't recognise, uh, profitable counsel, but also that you're an idiot.'

Just sayin'.

Harry flushes red.

"And call you this the way to have another go?"

Because he definitely didn't start the name-calling or anything.

'Yeah.'

No.

'Hey, I'm just telling the truth. That's what friends do.'

You started this a couple of conversations ago, Harry. This whole thing is on you.

'Or do they not teach that in sword-swinging school? Just teach you to swing that other sword, eh?'

Jim does not trust him to get the allusion, so glances down below Hotspur's belt to give him a clue.

Harry springs to his feet. Not towards Jim, or with the apparent intention of doing anything at all, just-- up, the fizz of furious energy now too powerful to keep him in his seat.

"Why, wouldst mock a soldier, too?" He cries. "True indeed, I am unlearned in other arts-- though I call not that an art--" Yes, that downward glance was plain enough even for Hotspur to catch the meaning. "But were we in England, I might show thee how well I have profited by my boyhood schooling."

'Oh, I say!'

The mock surprise is entirely...well, mocking.

'Are you making a pass at me? For shame, Harry. You're taken.'

They have just established what arts Harry has been schooled in, haven't they?

(It's a glorious fizz of furious energy. Simply glorious.)

Why can't he be in England, or even somewhere more secluded, where he could give this person the punch in the mouth he deserves.

"Taken! Indeed-- taken for a fool, to trust thou hadst some honest wish to make peace with me. But get thee gone, I will no more with thee! Thou'rt naught but a scoffer, a fool. Hast naught to do but mock thy betters?"

Betters.

Betters.

Oh no you didn't.

Jim's face changes in the space of a heartbeat, from openly amused to something almost reptilian; dead-eyed and black, his eyes no longer teasing with malicious intent but suddenly sharp, beyond intelligent, and full of venom.

He stretches his neck to one side then the other, not breaking his gaze from Harry's face.

'I didn't say I wished to make peace with you. I said other people try again. And that you should learn to relax, for your own good.'

That was something in the way of a warning, Harry.

But a second later he grins, and all darkness disappears. He is once again a normal bloke having a pint, and no one can prove otherwise.

'I was here first. Maybe you should go, before I tell Feuilly you were suggesting you could school me in certain ways.'

Even Harry couldn't miss that change, and it knocks him off kilter, the surprise deflating some of his fury.

But then Jim-from-IT is back. It takes Harry just a beat to recover, too.

"Say what thou wilt," he says flippantly. "He will not mark thee."

'Oh, I'm sure you're right.'

His brain is already constructing ways to change that. As well as some more outright distractions for Harry to put up with. The man's not worth even the minimal effort it would take, but it might be mildly diverting for a time. He gives Harry a derisive look over, then deliberately turns his back as rudely as possible.

'Bye.'

It's a shame he didn't lose it enough to hit him, but there's always next time.

He almost does, just then-- but stops himself. And storms off to go hit something else instead.

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