#para:laertes

[personnages]

LAERTES | starter for @menacjerie​, for Horatio

His breath curled into specters in the air as he pulled his cloak tighter around him and headed through the courtyard. Denmark was as cold as it always was in winter, a familiar sharpness that made Laertes look upwards, towards the grey sky. The sun would probably be hidden for the rest of the day.

Home. Laertes could never say he really missed it -- he missed his sister, his father, to be certain, and to them he would always open his arms wide. But whenever he came back to Denmark, to Elsinore, he almost immediately longed to be back in France, where the gaiety and wit could overpower even the greyest of skies, instead the dimmness that hung closely about him, even now. His so-called sharpness of tongue was not so fettered there as it was here.

Laertes squinted at the far wall as he walked through the courtyard, his stride quick and sure. An unfamiliar figure stood there, in the relative shelter the wall could bring from the occasional biting wind. No common man-at-arms, Laertes could tell, yet no King’s son, either. Perhaps it would do to befriend the newcomer to court, whoever they were. He raised a hand in greeting, calling, “How now!”

[personnages]

LAERTES | starter for @dryadborn

When the credits started to roll up the screen, Laertes’ arm was around Ellie’s shoulder, the two of them sprawled comfortably on the couch. He honestly hadn’t thought much of the movie, but it hadn’t been the worst one he’d seen. It’d been watchable, at least, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t glad it was over.

He looked over at Ellie, she tucked up against him on the couch, her brown eyes shining, and he smiled, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “Hey,” he said, to pull her attention away from the screen, where she was still transfixed, caught in the movie. Lord knows she had his attention. 

She turned to face him, and he gently caught her chin before leaning in, out of habit tilting his face slightly so their noses wouldn’t get in the way. God, he’d been waiting for this.

[personnages]

OPHELIA & LAERTES | @sncrlaxwrites / @sncrlaxwritesnarnia | (I left it open for anyone)

Ophelia looked up as if sensing the other’s step, drifting in their direction before her brother even noticed she was moving. Her blue eyes were too bright, and the images before here were both fractured and blurry; she knew not the person before her, but she did, somehow. Did’t matter? Ah, la, no. Her hands fluttered down to a patch of delphinium and her body followed, before she skipped back up and offered the flowers to the stranger. “Know you the larkspur? It is the owl who was the baker’s daughter, mm.”

Laertes’ head shot up when he heard his sister speak, and in an instant he’d shoved the mad girl behind him, his sword out of the scabbard at his waist in an equally quick moment, the bags dark and heavy under his eyes, which were narrowed and icy. While his sister’s eyes were all too bright, his seemed to have been drained of light completely. “If thou hast come to take us back, prepare to find thyself lifeless,” he said, his voice cold, the insult of the informal purposeful but unwavering.

[personnages]

@dryadborn -- THIS THREAD BECAUSE SHIPS. HELL YEAH.

He’d just finished his second cup of coffee when the girl caught his eye. She was sitting all alone, at a table for two, and from the way she kept glancing at her phone and the door, she was definitely waiting for someone. The sympathetic glance the waitress gave her said she’d been waiting there for a little while now. Laertes glanced into his empty mug, then back at the girl -- some kinda asshole if her date was gonna be late like that.

He’d finished his fourth cup of coffee, ignored three calls from his father, texted his sister to let her know he was all right, and was debating on a fifth when he looked up and saw she was still by herself. She saw her start to gather up her things, when he pushed himself out of his seat, subtly making his way across the restaurant after leaving enough money for his four cups of coffee.

Why was he doing this? he asked himself, but in the back of his head, he knew why. Ophelia had come back from enough “dates” where Hamlet had stood her up. And he knew this wasn’t the same, but it felt like he could help.

Laertes slid into the booth, startling the woman. “Hey, babe, sorry I’m so late, traffic is crazy on 5th Street right now,” he said, more for the waitress’s benefit, then added in a quick, low voice, “I’m Laertes -- just go with it. Whoever didn’t show up is an asshole, okay?”