PROMPT : hamlet and laertes hanging out as kids !! { from @shakespeep } GOT A PROMPT? : hit me up!
“Come, one for me!”
Four words are all it takes to bring the two young boys to blows, albeit gentle ones (or so they claim), and Laertes is never allowed to hit Hamlet back for long. (It always depends, of course, on how fair Hamlet is feeling that day -- and the proximity of Laertes’ father or Hamlet’s mother. The only adult that lets them combat would be the king himself, who booms out a laugh and offers words of encouragement or shouts of advice.)
Today, they’ve been lucky enough to begin fighting far enough away from any adults to be stopped. Such fights can be . . . rougher than most, and are hardly balanced enough to meet up to the rules of fencing. These rules include, but are not limited to: no giggling, no running, no shoving, and ABSOLUTELY NO hide and seek breaks. All such rules, as can be agreed upon by two out of two young boys, are absolute rubbish and should be ignored.
Shoes clatter upon stone, smatterings of heaving breathing interposed with childish shouts of the lack of fairness strike the air. (Hamlet insists that he runs slightly slower than he can in times like this, to allow Laertes to catch him, but of course Laertes knows better.)
Such chasing always ends in catching, as it always must, and the boys tussle -- time and time again, until one or both get bored and another activity is hunted for (or until one or both are claimed by their parents and dragged off for studies or lectures or -- at worst -- state dinners). This moment is fated to end, as all moments are, but the boys are determined to make it last as long as possible.
And such avoidance of responsibility is something that must be agreed upon in a spilt second -- as long as the wrestling boys have notice from the echoes of Polonius’ droning voice, and the soft attempts at interjection from his heavily pregnant wife, down the hall. Two of Denmark’s illustrious youths move as one to duck behind a tapestry, shushing each other on one second and struggling not to laugh in the next. How Polonius doesn’t notice the giggling wall hanging with four legs will never be clear, but both boys are exceptionally grateful for their luck.
The second the chattering voices recede, the two burst out, laughing and crowing about their stealthy prowess, shoving and stumbling and giggling out of doors, off to the next adventure and the next moment of freedom -- both with the belief that such lightness will never end, but both also with the knowledge that it must . . . neither of them even dreaming of the horrors that would one day befall them both.
