milliways_bar | (no subject)

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I'll have some family business of my own to deal with.

Now it's dawn, another December morning, crisp and fair. His father's in bed, complaining, going back and forth between insisting that he's fine and they don't need to go anywhere, and fussing at the men packing. (William's orders, that. This is no time for Stirling Castle: the Douglases need to be on Douglas land.)

He's got his own packing to do, but as he stares around his chamber he finds his hands shaking. Ah, Christ. Maybe a drink. Maybe a drink will help. Or maybe some solid food.

---

It's a pale, gingerly-moving William Douglas who enters Milliways, and heads straight for the Bar. A glass of wine, some meat. Nothing fancy.

((OOC: the OOM link goes to a scene from the play. warnings for violence at the end.))

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It's a role reversal he'd almost comment on, given a little more self-awareness: William pale and quiet, and Jamie stumbling in halfway through a burst of laughter, looking-- well, still pale, still like he hasn't slept quite enough.

"--well, if you don't--" He stops when he realizes that he's stepped through the door alone. "Mary? Ah, she was right there..." He's not talking to himself! In case anyone heard that. And oh, look, maybe someone did: "Well look who it is."

There's only a faint edge of wariness to the greeting. They're alright, right?

William straightens and suppresses a wince. "Having a bit of breakfast. D'you want some? Is Mary--" No, she's not here.

"She was right there, but--" Shrug. Magic. "Yeah, go on, I'll have what he's got." He slides into a seat beside William as it appears on the bar. "You alright?"

"Fine, I'm fine." Another breakfast appears, nice and hot. William stares at it tiredly. "Did they--did anyone tell you--? My dad--?"

"Had a bit of a lie-in," he says with a sheepish grin. But then he registers William's expression and asks quickly, "What happened?"

William doesn't even snicker at Jamie's "bit of a lie-in" with his wee queen. "Eh, well, he...my father took ill last night, with a cough and a fever and all." He licks his lips. "We're going back to Douglas castle."

"That's quick," Jamie says, startled-- but that is what they say, that it stars quick. "He'll be alright, though. There's nothing beats your dad. Mary's had this cough a few days now, and she's alright, so--" So it'll be fine.

"Right. Right, it's--nothing beats my dad. Just want to get back to our land and see to some business. Sorry to, to leave right in the holidays and all, I thought we'd stay through Epiphany, but eh..."

Christmas, the Feast of the Innocents, the ball game, it's all hard to connect with the present morning. He scrubs his face on his arm. "--Aw, Christ. Did you say Mary's sick too?"

"No, no, she's fine." Is she fine? She seemed fine. He looks for a moment like he'll rise to go check-- but just for a moment. He clears his throat. "Well, I'm sorry to-- I wish you could stay. Seems like you only just got here."

"I know, I..." He smiles a little now, crookedly. "I was hoping we could see the new year in, eh? I was just warming up to drink for about a week." Really! He didn't just show up to get in a fight!

Ah, hell. William downs his wine. "But I didny want you to think--want anyone to think--we're not leaving because of that business with Livingston, right?" Balvenie isn't running away in the middle of the night from the king's newfound independence and zeal for clipping the wings of his advisors. Nothing like that.

"Aye, I know," Jamie says quickly. "I know that. Of course."

"Right. It's not-- He's really sick, Jamie." William gulps down a--not a sob, he's not crying, but a quaver, a plea, something--and looks over to James, lost.

Edited 2017-04-06 22:30 (UTC)

Jamie is taken aback. Then he quickly reaches out and puts a hand on William's shoulder, gives it a friendly little shake.

"Hey-- it'll be alright, eh? He'll be alright. He's lived this long, a wee cough's no gonny get him."

Ow. He can't quite hide a wince this time, but he manages to laugh, and punch Jamie's shoulder in return. "Christ, I know, he's fucking unkillable, right? You'll be--you'll be having to make him godfather to your new bairn, and the next ten after that."

He pulls his hand away at the wince. "Alright? Sore from the football, eh?"

He's taken aback for a moment--he told Jamie how it would be, didn't he?--but then grins and punches harder. "Ay, some cheating bastard kicked me when I was down. And he didn't even win! Know anything about that?"

"Don't start on that!" he laughs. "Wouldny go around boasting too much, seeing as you cheated. But, eh--" He clears his throat. "Your dad say anything about all that?"

Edited 2017-04-06 23:03 (UTC)

"I cheated? You cheated!" Well, maybe William cheated a little too. "It was worth it, though, wasn't it. --Aye, he...had a few words for me." He rubs his face. It doesn't much matter, anyway. "Family business, right?"

"Right." Good old family business.

"Well maybe-- maybe you shouldny go. If he's so poorly, maybe it's best, right, if he doesny travel?"

Good old family business.

William brightens a little at the suggestion. "Aye? You--" Wouldn't mind? But no, it's still not a good idea. Not with Livingston and Crichton ready to sell anyone out in hopes of saving their own necks. "--Well, but--we should be home. There's--family business," he finishes lamely.

"Sure," Jamie says after a small pause. Then, more confidently: "Sure, right. That makes sense."

Even if he's so sick? Does it really? But he won't ask that, he won't push.

"My mother will want to see him." Which is true. "He's really-- ah, Christ, Jamie. One moment we were, eh. Fighting. And then he just collapsed. I had to help him get back to his rooms."

So don't move him, then, Jamie thinks. Don't make like you're skulking away because you lost.

Instead, unsure of what else to say, he says, "I hope you didny let him get to you."

"Let him--"

It's too much; William buries his face in his hands and laughs. Uncomfortably. "Christ, Jamie. I told you. He'd have had the skin off me if he hadny taken ill."

It sparks the same impatience as it did the night before, though he tried to force it down. "He's an old man, you hit hard enough when you're playing ball--"

"I don't fucking take a couple of armed men and a big stick about with me when I go to play the ball, do I."

He shakes himself and straightens up. "Never mind, Jamie, it's alright. Family business, and you've got your own wee family to think about."

"What do you mean--"

Oh, forget it. Here they are again, then. He shakes his head.

"Right. Good luck with it, then. You wouldny be a Douglas if you didny have business to be about."

"You really don't have any idea..." His face falls, and then sets harder. "Right. Fine, then."

There they are again. But dammit-- "Jamie, look, I...I'm happy for you. Alright?"

"I do! I've seen what he-- I've seen you after, haven't I, but what-- you want to lead armies, and you canny even fight off your old man!"

He knows that's too far, and he scrubs his hands across his face in frustration. "How am I supposed to believe you when you say you're happy for me, if you say it like that?"

"And you do so much better? You couldn't even start to get out from under all those old men without my help! --Aw, fuck, Jamie, I don't...mean..."

This is going just great.

"I did it, though, didn't I." And he's proud of that, damn it, and he's not going to let William diminish it. "I did it. And I'll keep on with it! I'm no gonny let them rule me anymore, there won't be anything more done in my name that I don't do myself, right? And you--"

He lets out a breath. "You did help me. And I'm glad of it, William, I want you-- it's now, don't you see? Like we always said, you and me... it can start now."

"Right." He drags his hands through his hair and finds a bit of a smile, and it warms into the real thing soon. "Right. It is now, it'll start now. We'll be ruling together, with no one giving us orders. You and me, and to hell with the rest of those bastards. Like lions, we always said."

Now William's grinning, maybe a bit of a foolish too-little-sleep grin, but genuine. "You and me. And your wee family. It is good. I am happy for you, Jamie. You know that, right?"

He puts a hand on Jamie's arm, maybe a little more tentatively than he might have done once, but it's--it's still like old times, the best of the old times that will turn into the even better new times.

Edited 2017-04-07 11:55 (UTC)

He smiles too, not quite as giddy.

"I know, Will. I know."

Its raining and cold outside but the horses need looking after, when Will comes in, he wants coffee with some whiskey in it.

When he gets to the counter, he looks over and notes the other William's paleness, "You feelin' alright?"

He takes a moment to answer, like someone who isn't quite awake, but then he nods. "Aye, I'm alright, just a long night. Were you just outside? Is it still spring here?" It's possibly a dumb question, but he's known months to pass between his visits.

"Yeah, rainin' but not as cold as its been," He nods, he's had nights in the saddle when he's stiff and hurting after.

All right, so this time it's that time has passed a little faster on William's side than here, but probably nothing too dramatic. "It'll be nice to see spring. It's almost January at home."

"A hard winter?" From the way he's holding himself, that seems how it must be.

"Aye. Well, no, it..." Come on, pull yourself together. "It's not so bad, it's just I've got some traveling to do."

"Tough season for it. Goin' far?"

"Not so far. A bit over fifty miles." There, now he's thinking about it concretely. "We'll have to stick to the good roads, because we're traveling with someone who's sick, and we canny go too fast. But it's not a bad ride. Places to stay along the way."

"That always makes it longer. Traveled when my little brought was pretty bad, hated how he coughed at every bump. Least its not too far."

"And were you going far with your brother?"

"Damn far, we took the train part of the way but that had all the coal which ain't good either. He's better now but it was scary then,"

He can remember how Mark coughed and the blood.

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