For Katty, Knights of the Last Call, PG-13
Dec 17, 2014 1:54:07 GMT 10
Kypriotha and Raminda like this
Post by Griff on Dec 17, 2014 1:54:07 GMT 10
Title: Knights of the Last Call
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Raoul is drunk. Very drunk. Doing drunk things and having conversations.
For: Katty
Prompt: Gary and Raoul friendship fic
Summary: Raoul has personal engagements he's not quite fit to conquer. Gary does his duty to clean him up.
-
His desk stuck to his cheek with an atypical dedication from his years of experience. Usually, it was as far away from him as possible. Worse, he quill was jabbing him insistently in the nose and someone had the bad manners to try and rouse him.
It wasn’t that he was comfortable, per say, it was that moving was absolutely terrible idea.
He also needed to pee, but really, who needed to stand for that? Chamber pots were so passe.
“Raoul, if you don’t move your sorry arse I’m telling your mother you proposed to that nice Cliffenger girl who has the obviously stuffed corset.”
Gods, that girl had no breasts. She was also thirteen if a day and her parents had no business setting her loose at court and his mother would be positively thrilled by the news. He’d be down the aisle and standing before Mithros before he got a decent ale to drink away his pain.
“I hate you,” He said with a rude hand gesture, though Gary likely heard something more along the lines of incoherent grunting and hand flapping, but he’d been the insistent fly in Raoul’s ear on early mornings long enough to know what he meant and that’s all that really mattered. He waved his finger particularly rude again, just for good measure.
“Lovely,” Gary chirped, mustache practically wiggling in his good cheer. “I’ll be sure to relay that to your mother as well. Did you know she has her eyes set on Erstine Mirewalk this time? I hear she and her mother are supposed to be dining at the same little corner your mother simply demanded you share for lunch. Imagine the happenstance. Completely by surprise. Can’t you see yourself flung together by fate for your one true love? I think she’s afraid you kiss kitchen boys in the corner when she’s not watching.”
“She’s alway watching.” Again, the intent was far more important than the actual coherency of his words. In fact, Raoul considered himself to still be quite drunk. If Gary were any sort of good fellow, he’d grab him another glass of wine and solve this whole sober business once and for all, but Raoul vaguely recalled that Gary had become an absolute stick since becoming responsible. Raoul blamed Cythera through and through for Gary’s recent leanings towards responsibility. It was disgusting, really.
“Good thing you haven’t been kissing kitchen boys, then.”
Raoul had, on good faith, an account of Gary being so blitz out drunk he left both of his shoes at the Dancing Dove before he operatically sang himself into the water trough in front of the Mother Goddess. Somehow, this information did him absolutely no good in the face of a luncheon with his mother.
“What do I have to do to die,” He pleaded. Raoul wasn’t sure even he could rightly distinguish what he just said, but that didn’t really matter. Gary was good for all of those odd, cerebral things. He liked math. It wasn’t natural. See if he ever consorted with someone who liked math again.
“Afraid I hate you far too much to conveniently assassinate you,” Gary confessed, “Sitting through lunch with your mother is bad enough, but to sit through lunch after telling her you died? No man yet has done me favor to match that.”
“Selfish, inbred bastard.”
“Did you just insult my mother?” Gary asked, pointedly. “Because, unlike yours, my mother was an absolute saint.”
“What does that even mean,” he whined. “Did she bring wine to the unfortunate?”
“Yes, Raoul,” Gary sighed. “She brought wine to every drunken knight in the city of Corus, no matter what stupid antics they’d managed to conspire in the night before.”
“I ain’t done a thing.”
“I can’t even imagine what you just said,” Gary disappeared into his garden robe. “But it probably has something to do with cheese and lepers.”
It didn’t, but now Raoul greatly wondered what happened last night after he’d accosted a Night’s Watchmen about the importance of matching his socks to his tunic. It was dire, you see, for the ladies. Whatever would they think of a mismatched doily on their head? The pigeons would revolt at the very idea.
It was entirely possible he was still drunk.
“My mother,” He bellowed, loudly and clear, “Is a charlatan of the first order. And I shan't be wedded to anyone until Alan finds a dice.”
“That,” Gary sighed and he returned, “makes absolutely no sense. And you’re expected at lunch in less than an hour.”
“I want to touch my nose but it isn’t there.”
Gary kindly rubbed his nose with the wet cloth that had magically appear in his hand. “Yes, it is. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t let it scamper off on you before we got things sorted.”
“Good,” Raoul nodded. “Because I have eleven fish and I can’t count.”
“No, you can’t.” Gary assured him calmly. “Why don’t you go sick up in your chamber pot. I made sure it was clean. Your mother is much easier to deal with when you’re hungover. If you hate the world completely, it seems less her fault than usual.”
“But I don’t want to.”
His hair was in his face and no matter how hard he huffed, nothing would dissuade it out of his eyes until Gary brushed it back. His moustache looked particularly graceful.
“No one wants to, but it is a necessary evil. Now, if you’ll go vomit - and don’t tell me you don’t need to, I saw how many glasses you had last night. I know it will make you feel better - I’m going to go find some mint so you don’t smell like the corner dock drunk when you convince your mum you’re far too busy with crown affairs to marry yet another desperate daughter. I know she wants grandbabies, but I think things have reached a new level of absurd when you aren’t even hungover yet when I start prompting you through your next visit.”
“I would marry you,” Raoul promised solemnly, “If you got rid of that nasty rodent on your face.”
“And that,” Gary said with the utmost solemnity, “Is why we are not to be. Now go. I have to think of suitably awkward topics that don’t veer too much into blatant gossip to distract your mother while you relearn the ability to talk without a lisp.”
“You are a disgusting monster and I love you.”
“Regular sweet talker, no wonder the flower girls adore you.”
“It’s really my big - “
“I don’t need to discuss that with you right now. I’ve seen it. Three times. In the last evening. Really. You’re exactly as impressive as you say, I promise.”
“Good. “
“Exactly. Now go. Vomiting and mint. Your mother in another hour.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too, you shameless lush.”
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Raoul is drunk. Very drunk. Doing drunk things and having conversations.
For: Katty
Prompt: Gary and Raoul friendship fic
Summary: Raoul has personal engagements he's not quite fit to conquer. Gary does his duty to clean him up.
-
His desk stuck to his cheek with an atypical dedication from his years of experience. Usually, it was as far away from him as possible. Worse, he quill was jabbing him insistently in the nose and someone had the bad manners to try and rouse him.
It wasn’t that he was comfortable, per say, it was that moving was absolutely terrible idea.
He also needed to pee, but really, who needed to stand for that? Chamber pots were so passe.
“Raoul, if you don’t move your sorry arse I’m telling your mother you proposed to that nice Cliffenger girl who has the obviously stuffed corset.”
Gods, that girl had no breasts. She was also thirteen if a day and her parents had no business setting her loose at court and his mother would be positively thrilled by the news. He’d be down the aisle and standing before Mithros before he got a decent ale to drink away his pain.
“I hate you,” He said with a rude hand gesture, though Gary likely heard something more along the lines of incoherent grunting and hand flapping, but he’d been the insistent fly in Raoul’s ear on early mornings long enough to know what he meant and that’s all that really mattered. He waved his finger particularly rude again, just for good measure.
“Lovely,” Gary chirped, mustache practically wiggling in his good cheer. “I’ll be sure to relay that to your mother as well. Did you know she has her eyes set on Erstine Mirewalk this time? I hear she and her mother are supposed to be dining at the same little corner your mother simply demanded you share for lunch. Imagine the happenstance. Completely by surprise. Can’t you see yourself flung together by fate for your one true love? I think she’s afraid you kiss kitchen boys in the corner when she’s not watching.”
“She’s alway watching.” Again, the intent was far more important than the actual coherency of his words. In fact, Raoul considered himself to still be quite drunk. If Gary were any sort of good fellow, he’d grab him another glass of wine and solve this whole sober business once and for all, but Raoul vaguely recalled that Gary had become an absolute stick since becoming responsible. Raoul blamed Cythera through and through for Gary’s recent leanings towards responsibility. It was disgusting, really.
“Good thing you haven’t been kissing kitchen boys, then.”
Raoul had, on good faith, an account of Gary being so blitz out drunk he left both of his shoes at the Dancing Dove before he operatically sang himself into the water trough in front of the Mother Goddess. Somehow, this information did him absolutely no good in the face of a luncheon with his mother.
“What do I have to do to die,” He pleaded. Raoul wasn’t sure even he could rightly distinguish what he just said, but that didn’t really matter. Gary was good for all of those odd, cerebral things. He liked math. It wasn’t natural. See if he ever consorted with someone who liked math again.
“Afraid I hate you far too much to conveniently assassinate you,” Gary confessed, “Sitting through lunch with your mother is bad enough, but to sit through lunch after telling her you died? No man yet has done me favor to match that.”
“Selfish, inbred bastard.”
“Did you just insult my mother?” Gary asked, pointedly. “Because, unlike yours, my mother was an absolute saint.”
“What does that even mean,” he whined. “Did she bring wine to the unfortunate?”
“Yes, Raoul,” Gary sighed. “She brought wine to every drunken knight in the city of Corus, no matter what stupid antics they’d managed to conspire in the night before.”
“I ain’t done a thing.”
“I can’t even imagine what you just said,” Gary disappeared into his garden robe. “But it probably has something to do with cheese and lepers.”
It didn’t, but now Raoul greatly wondered what happened last night after he’d accosted a Night’s Watchmen about the importance of matching his socks to his tunic. It was dire, you see, for the ladies. Whatever would they think of a mismatched doily on their head? The pigeons would revolt at the very idea.
It was entirely possible he was still drunk.
“My mother,” He bellowed, loudly and clear, “Is a charlatan of the first order. And I shan't be wedded to anyone until Alan finds a dice.”
“That,” Gary sighed and he returned, “makes absolutely no sense. And you’re expected at lunch in less than an hour.”
“I want to touch my nose but it isn’t there.”
Gary kindly rubbed his nose with the wet cloth that had magically appear in his hand. “Yes, it is. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t let it scamper off on you before we got things sorted.”
“Good,” Raoul nodded. “Because I have eleven fish and I can’t count.”
“No, you can’t.” Gary assured him calmly. “Why don’t you go sick up in your chamber pot. I made sure it was clean. Your mother is much easier to deal with when you’re hungover. If you hate the world completely, it seems less her fault than usual.”
“But I don’t want to.”
His hair was in his face and no matter how hard he huffed, nothing would dissuade it out of his eyes until Gary brushed it back. His moustache looked particularly graceful.
“No one wants to, but it is a necessary evil. Now, if you’ll go vomit - and don’t tell me you don’t need to, I saw how many glasses you had last night. I know it will make you feel better - I’m going to go find some mint so you don’t smell like the corner dock drunk when you convince your mum you’re far too busy with crown affairs to marry yet another desperate daughter. I know she wants grandbabies, but I think things have reached a new level of absurd when you aren’t even hungover yet when I start prompting you through your next visit.”
“I would marry you,” Raoul promised solemnly, “If you got rid of that nasty rodent on your face.”
“And that,” Gary said with the utmost solemnity, “Is why we are not to be. Now go. I have to think of suitably awkward topics that don’t veer too much into blatant gossip to distract your mother while you relearn the ability to talk without a lisp.”
“You are a disgusting monster and I love you.”
“Regular sweet talker, no wonder the flower girls adore you.”
“It’s really my big - “
“I don’t need to discuss that with you right now. I’ve seen it. Three times. In the last evening. Really. You’re exactly as impressive as you say, I promise.”
“Good. “
“Exactly. Now go. Vomiting and mint. Your mother in another hour.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too, you shameless lush.”