#henry; general

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@pirkstein : [ BIRCH ] sender finally ends a tense argument by reaching out to apologize - for henry.

Henry had approached that camp with a hand hovering at his hip, a tension coiled in his muscles, ready to spring. But it had all fizzled out the moment he laid eyes on the man - even if it was just the back of his head. There was no mistaking who it was, Henry would recognise him in any form, any light, any angle. All remaining fury he still held towards Hans was temporarily forgotten, replaced by the rush of relief that followed his recognition, and without any hesitation he stepped forward into the camp, making his presence known.

“Sir Hans! What are you doing here?” in a poachers camp, surrounded by equipment, clearly not deserted. Was he this ghost the gamekeeper was on about? And then, bizarrely, he realised that he actually didn’t care at all.

Since they parted in Troskowitz, Henry often found himself laying awake in whatever straw bed he managed to talk the owner into letting him stay in for the night. He replayed his scathing words over and over in his mind, wishing things had gone differently, wishing he had kept a cooler head and hadn’t given rise to Hans’ anger. Maybe then, they would have been able to weasel their way into the wedding together.

And, quite frankly, he missed him.

“Fuck, it’s so good to see you,” all he cared about what seeing Hans again, and the apology that followed spilled from him before he could think through his words, “I haven’t stopped thinking about everything I said in Troskowitz. I’m so sorry, Hans. It was unfair of me.”

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where do you carry your pain? - henry.

your arms. you have tried to hold onto what is dear to you, only for it to be wrenched from your hands.

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@pirkstein : sender hovers over receiver’s shoulder as they complete a task - for henry

Henry was writing a letter - or rather, he was trying to write one. Hans’ presence in the room was starting to become rather off-putting, he had been edging closer and closer to Henry at he tried to concentrate until he was practically peering right over his shoulder at his work. Those eyes scrutinised every stroke of the quill, judged each word he put down on the parchment, and Henry had finally had enough of it.

“I do know how to write, Hans. You don’t have to hover,” he sounded defensive, as a man confident in his skills would not be. Truth was, Henry knew he wasn’t exactly the best at reading and writing, having only learned recently, but he wasn’t about to admit that - least of all to Hans. He had a constant, inexplicable need to prove himself capable to the man, moreso than anyone else. He was always looking to impress him, and this was no different.

However, that turned out to be difficult when he wasn’t given the space to breathe. Hans thought he was going to mess it up, Henry knew it, and at this rate he would. He couldn’t afford to, not when his Father had stressed how important this letter was and entrusted him with being the one to write it.

Distracted, Henry went to dip his quill and missed, knocking the inkwell over. He cursed as it spilled across the table, hurrying to right it and move the unfinished letter out of the way - but it was too late. A dark blotch had spread quickly over one side of the page, obscuring his hard work. He groaned and flopped back in his chair.

“Christ, now I have to start all over again…”

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when henry's wearing a helmet and wants to kiss hans i think he just bonks his head against him like a cat

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i think one of the reasons modern verse henry struggled so much in school is because he's dyslexic and just doesn't know it

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henry's modern verse.

Henry’s family might not have had much money, but his parents loved him and that was always enough. While he didn’t do all that well in school, it didn’t matter too much because he’d always planned to follow in his pa’s footsteps anyways, let him train him up to be a plumber and a handyman in just the same way his father had done with him. Martin taught him the trade and soon enough Henry was skilled enough to be doing jobs on his own. Unfortunately his contentedness in life was never destined to last much longer, torn from his grasp when a house fire took his parents’ lives and his home.

(This was due to the negligence of his landlord, Istvan Toth, who he could only wish he had the money or legal knowledge to sue for the tragedy - he knows it was him, but he just doesn’t know how to prove it.)

He struggled. He’d never lived without his parents and wasn’t sure what to do with himself. It was only thanks to the generosity of a family friend, his Uncle Radzig, that he managed to get back on his feet and find himself a shitty flat above a restaurant. It might have been falling apart at the seams (his flat or his life?) but at least he had a roof over his head and a bed to sleep in. Using what his father taught him, he managed to stay afloat, but was it living or survival?

Things began to change when Henry came home one day to find a stray dog, shivering and scared, searching for scraps down an alley near his flat. Money might have been tight, but he couldn’t leave him there, so he took him in. While he figured out what to do with the dog he referred to the poor thing as the mutt, but over time, and as it became clear that there was no owner willing to claim him, the name stuck and Mutt became a permanent resident of his home. The dog brought him joy and a reason to go out other than for work, and Henry felt at last like he might’ve broken through, finally able to see that there was an end to all this drowning.

He can often be found with that dog, he seems to follow him wherever he goes, even into that restaurant beneath his flat. Those two cooks at The Devil’s Den have a soft spot for Mutt, so every trip down there is almost a guaranteed treat - and having become good friends with the staff, Henry spends a lot of free time there these days.

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[ stitch ] hans stitches henry's wound + "you're banned from doing anything remotely dangerous." (x) @pirkstein

“You know that—ow—that Father would never approve of that. He finds far too much joy in sending me off on his errands.”

Henry didn’t mean it with any real displeasure of course, he loved his father and he lived to serve those he loved, but... admittedly, he could do with a rest. He was sent out often to follow rumours of poachers and bandits in the woods around Rattay and wipe them out if they proved true. That was just what this had been, a regular task, but he had stumbled upon this particular camp while only following a simple lead and was wildly underprepared. His hand had been forced and he’d had to wipe them out, though not without sustaining an injury himself. A gash to his arm, thankfully not his sword arm, that had bled the whole way back to the city despite his half-hearted attempts to staunch it.

When he’d walked through the gates bleeding everywhere his victory had unfortunately been somewhat overshadowed.

“Where did you even learn to do this? I thought you’d have people to do such a thing for you—” his teasing tone was cut off with another “—ouch, Hans!”

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henry's verses.

modern verse.

witcher verse.

fantasy verse.