plotted starter for @azirfell
Will’s latest patron had something a bit mysterious to him — in a world where everyone knew their exact place in society relative to each other, he hid his full name, his title ( if he had one ), his place of residence ( wherever it was ), whether he had been educated at university, and what he occupied himself with on a daily basis. And he had such a way about him that he got away with it, because he was so genial, and pleasant, and well-read that nobody suspected him of anything dodgy. Will was the kind of person who spent a little too much observing and thinking about such dynamics, which was probably just the curse of being a playwright, so he did not decry everyone else around him for not noticing. In fact, the mystery was what had intrigued Will about the man in the first place. And so he had started jokingly calling him “sir” and “lord”, in part out of curiosity to see if he denied it, in part because he had recently realised the effect he had when he looked up through his eyelashes just so with ‘my lord’ on his lips underlined with a light smile and it had been a most singularly powerful realisation. Not that he planned to use it often on every lord or businessperson he had to toady to — but every now and then, one of them deserved it. Which led them to here, Will seating himself next to Aziraphale as he skimmed through a sheaf of papers next to the fireplace in Will’s London lodgings, and flushing just a little as he handed over a cup of wine and their fingers brushed.
“ If you have had a chance to look through everything, my lord, please tell me what you think. I am not yet entirely sure where I will place these speeches, but I’m developing a fairly good idea for the structure I want, I believe. And if Richard II does well with the public, I have plans in mind for it to be the first of another set of four history plays, all with connected themes and writing, set one after another. You have to come to see it when it is complete, of course, please tell me you will. ”
“Richard II,” Oh, he’s intrigued now. A distinctive stroke of pride straightens his spine a little in moments like these--he had believed in Will, the promising young upstart from Stratford who had ideas and a knack for wordcraft, and here he was composing more work with a most promising premise. Yes, he absolutely knew it. William was as brilliant as he was insightful, as curious as he was warm, as beautiful as he was kind. Aziraphale was positive he had gravitated to him so instantly because he was brilliant, and he was good; exactly the sort of person he imagined any angel or good human being couldn’t help but love. If more angels had met him, they might like humans a little more for it.
“He’s a fascinating subject for a history play.” He begins reading through the pages, but he pauses, to offer his own thoughts, to ask a question of his beloved playwright. “Not a war hero, but not quite so wicked to be a war fiend, either. He was... well, really, just a bit too human. Where ever did you get the idea?” He rather likes the way Will talks about history. He doesn’t claim to understand it in the lofty way men who know nothing and often write lies as facts do--rather he seems to understand how people make choices, and write a story about that. Aziraphale adjusts a silver button, threatening to come loose on his doublet as he bends over the speeches, beforel ooking back up at Will.
