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"Aw, Jesus."

It's what, four in the morning, five? and William was on his way to take a piss outside, and grumbling to himself about how it was too damned early to be up but a man's got to do what a man's got to do, and now here he is in this place.

Which he hasn't seen in quite a while. Couple of months? More? Anyway, it's too early in the morning for this. He stomps grumpily over to the restroom, and then over to the bar to ask for some trousers or something because Jesus he's just in a shirt.

And once that is settled, some of that hot chocolate they've got here. Aye, with the wee white sugary bits on top, the mallows or whatever you call them. They're nice.

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Clay is sitting nearby eating a large sandwich.

He loves mornings.

This time at Bar is his favorite, fewer people this early in the morning.

William is not loving this morning. But once he's got the hot chocolate, and starts thinking about maybe ordering some breakfast, his mood starts to improve, and he offers a friendly-enough nod to the man with the sandwich.

Clay returns the nod.

There is no reason to dislike this person for no reason. And Clay is nothing if not fair.

At least it's quiet in the bar. Gives a man time to wake up. Halfway into his cup of chocolate, William decides on ordering a sandwich. He doesn't specify, but Bar comes up with eggs and bacon.

((...it's like a game of chicken: who will actually speak first?))

Clay finishes his sandwich and orders a ham and vegetables. Which arrives along with a glass of water.

(OOC: lol.Clay is in.)

Ham, that's a solid choice. William's not entirely sure about this whole bacon-eggs-sandwich thing he's got; it's not bad, but it's on some sort of flaky crescent-shaped roll, tasty but not substantial.

After he finishes up the chocolate he clears his throat and asks for a venison pasty, just a small one, and some bashed neeps with plenty of butter. They don't make that in Italy.

"Don't like breakfast sandwiches?" he asks the other man, noticing the reaction to the crossantwich.

He isn't judging, just curious.

"Eh, it's alright. It's just not really something to keep you going all day, a bit light, aye?"

If he's going to be up this early, he might as well commit.

"One is never enough" Clay agree's.

It is early in the morning! But decades of enthusiastically bohemian debauching haven't managed to shake Bahorel from waking up when the roosters should be crowing. So here he is, sauntering down the stairs at Why Is It Morning o'clock, on the off chance that there will be someone else genuinely awake and worth talking to.

William is a solid answer to that! Even if he's making the usual face people seem to make at this hour. Bahorel strolls over and nods a greeting. " Door catch you by surprise?" Those trousers do entirely agree with that shirt, in the quiet way that says "emergency outfit" rather than " intentional anachronistic statement".

...And Bar gives him a hot purple drink. All right!

Yep, Bahorel knows an Emergency Outfit when he sees one. William's had the chance now to get a little breakfast into him and find words for other people, but he still greets Bahorel with an it's-too-early grimace. "--Didny mean to be getting up yet," he agrees.

Uh, hi Bahorel, long time no see. Since, like...Carnival.

Ah, Carnival! That was a good time. And..."It's been a few months, here." Comfortable, easy, endless...months. He doesn't quite grimace at the fact. "How long on your side of the door?"

It was a good time. Granted, not seeing Bahorel since then has kind of allowed William to not really incorporate the whole gay makeouts part of the good time into his worldview--it's just been sitting in a separate Milliways mental compartment --but yeah. It was a good time.

"Aye, it's been months," he agrees, with the confidence of someone who hopes they don't have to specify because what even is time. "It's--aye." He chews on his lip, plainly thinking. "It's been--my father died," he says abruptly. "And I'm in Rome now."

It's been a while.

Bahorel's put the whole event in his mental pile of Fun Party Weeks, himself; he certainly wasn't looking for William to have had any emotional revelations about it.

-Though it sounds like William's had plenty of reasons for major emotional revelations in his own world. "Has it been very long?" Since his father died, since he went to Rome, whatever William wants to say more about.

"It's been--" He breaks off again, still looking confused, still thinking hard, still pretty lost.

"I don't fucking know what it's been," he says finally. Sorry, Bahorel, you may be stuck as a dumping-ground for unprocessed feelings today. William's already tried the good old-fashioned beat-someone-up approach to sorting out feelings, but it didn't really work. "My dad died, and he was one of those old bastards that you thought would just go on forever, right? So I'm the Douglas now, I'm the Earl, but Jamie says I need to--step away from the throne--" A laugh. Does that make sense to Bahorel? Maybe Bahorel with his no-kings-no-lords business understands something there that William doesn't? "So I'm in Rome. The Pope's having a Jubilee and I'm here to put in a word or two for Scotland."

... All right, early mornings are second only to very late nights for raw emotions and long venting sessions. Bahorel's not fighting any fires, he has time.

He doesn't have any background, though, and William has the air of someone who's fighting in so many directions he's going to swing wild no matter where he turns. So Bahorel's going to start with getting the lay of the field as sure he can for himself, at least. "--Jamie's your friend from you world, the one who comes here now? The prince?" Something like that?

(And what Bahorel understands about thrones and kings is mostly that, whatever the stories say,they're always a damn disaster and make people miserable for having them. No one he's met at Milliways has made him think otherwise, especially the people who've been dying and fighting to keep the things. He'd tell a friend to get the hell away from a throne too, though not by going in the direction of the Pope. But he won't ignore the sense of politics in this; it's as much William's life as anything else is.)

"King," he corrects. "Jamie's our wee king, and he's been our wee king since he was six. But now he thinks he can do it better without me. Or...without the Douglas, maybe. But that was gonny be our time, when we'd finally kicked off all those old men that were keeping things down..."

yes sorry bahorel here is a lot

Ah. Damn. Bahorel recognizes that kind of friendship, the kind that's either a fire in the storm or burning down the house. "--And now he's sending you to Rome-- it's not a position of trust, then?"

He really doesn't know--but also it seems like William just needs to talk right now. That's a familiar mood, and it's Bahorel's general belief that such impulses should be encouraged. At least when it's people he generally likes.

"Oh, trust. Aye, it's a position of great honor, the highest honor. I'll make a fortune is what he told me--well fuck that, I've awready got a fortune, I've got honor. The Douglas is the biggest man in the south of Scotland, maybe the biggest man in all of Scotland--" You wouldn't have to be much smarter than William Douglas to make out why a king might be a touch uneasy. But call it a blind spot on his part.

He scrubs at his face. "I love that fucking bastard king, you know? But I don't know what he's thinking."

..Yeah. You don't have have to be very political to see a problem here, and Bahorel is very political.

He's also probably going to piss William off considerably if he tries to explain it. Love doesn't usually make people reasonable.

"--He's thinking like a king. The man who has to be higher than everyone, to everyone, no question and no doubt. He's thinking: the Douglas is the biggest man in Scotland. That's big enough that you might look just as big as a king-- if you're standing close enough for people to check.

Bahorel's never worried much over whether he'll make someone angry.

"It's not about whether he can trust you." Not entirely, not if Jamie's got any sort of sense for politics. "It's what other people might think, looking at you both, standing close. And hell--maybe he's thinking he loves you, too, and doesn't want to have to do what kings usually do with people who get too high and too close."

Kings have to love other people sometimes, right? Even kings.

Eh, you could probably piss William Douglas off just saying hello. But thank you Bahorel, for explaining. A good number of these words are making their way into William's thick skull, from the look on his face.

Because yeah--he's seen what happens to people who get too high and too close. It wasn't Jamie's doing back then, when they had the young Douglas and his brother killed, for all that it was in Jamie's name. But the blood was everywhere. ("Did you not look? We need to look. A fighting man needs to be fit for that." "I don't want to do that.")

It all settles into a scowl on William's face. He scrubs his face again and then leans back, broad-shouldered and tough. "Aw, fuck. Well...well, fuck, if it's like that..." He can do this. "If it's like that, I can stay out of his way..." William's shaky breath is definitely not anything like a sob. "He's gonny have a, a baby, did you hear? Him and his wee wife. 'Course you didn't hear, why would you, but...aye, a little wee baby. Call it James if it's a boy, I reckon."

Edited 2017-06-01 12:43 (UTC)

William's definitely not anything like crying. And the hand Bahorel thumps on his shoulder and leaves there for a moment is just in congratulations and not at all for comfort, which William obviously doesn't need. Good thing they're all on the same page.

"Hah! A royal brat already? That ought to settle things a little-- crowns like to see their next head ready and waiting." He pats Madame Bar, and she obliges with a couple of small glasses of something much stronger than either of them have been drinking. He raises one in toast. "For your country, and your friend, I hope the crown gets its next James, and all goes as well as it might."

It's a sincere wish. He hates kings,he despise the whole rotten institution of the monarchy...but if a country's not going to rise up and settle things itself for the people, it's better for those people to not have a few fancy idiots running around playing ring-toss with the damn crown and everyone's lives as stakes.

William lets himself be thumped and plied with a drink. And good, it's something strong. "That's right, you've got to get that secured, get an heir in line. And it's good for him...and his wife...you're right, Well done Jamie and here's to another wee James!" He swallows down a large gulp and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

"He always did say he didn't want to start fights," William continues, looping back to the end of Bahorel's answer before, as if there weren't any interlude. "That he didn't want any of that blood, he was afraid of what he might do--I don't mean that he was afraid, you know, he's no fucking feart of anything, he's as brave as anyone. And a fine temper he's got. Used to be you could just hold something up out of reach--over his heid, aye? a ball or a honeycake--and he'd be pure raging. Before he shot up, I mean...just one summer, that fast, he got taller than me, and he's kept growing. But aye, that sounds like Jamie, that he wouldny want...that he wouldny want to do what kings usually do with people that are too high..."

He finishes his drink, and his eyes focus back on Bahorel. "I'm married too, so here's to me, right? And what's been new here wi you?"

-- William's married, his father's died, and his thoughts were all tangled around Jamie. That says a great deal. (Including that it's a bad business to love kings, but what can be done there except junk the lot, and that's a bit much for a kid just coming out of his father's shadow.)

"To you, indeed!" Is there another drink to toast with? There is! So he does.

"Here? The days come, they go, the weather's nice, everything's nice." And he's burning for something else, no point hiding that. But where to toss a spark that won't burn anyone who isn't looking for it? "No one's been turning into sea monsters or switching souls or becoming furniture--nor getting married, come to that." He gives William a friendly shove-just who has news, here? "When did yours come around?"

Edited 2017-06-02 12:56 (UTC)

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