harry—monmouth:

iamthefirechild:

harry—monmouth:

iamthefirechild:

“A bit cruel, to always make mock of him so, but he does seem to invite it.” Kris tossed back his third cup of ale, trying to decide if he was drinking too much. Did a male body have different tolerances than a female one? His taste buds seemed different, anyway; the ale was really good.

“Francis!”

Hal watched carefully, making sure the new found friend did not drink so much to pass out. The night was young—he was honestly surprised no officers had come to show to inspect the tavern, then the prince to play up a small scene for them with Peto.

Francis called back; “Anon, sir!” He shouted, running over, nearly slipping from his footing and spilling the ale, pouring it nervously as Hal had called back with another ‘Francis!’, turning around to have the ale spill at his face. Hal laughed anyway, wiping it away, Falstaff pausing for few moments to look over at the two, then continuing.

Kris emptied the cup, then spun it around on its base, musing. It seemed that male or female, hanging about in taverns was really just the same. Boisterous, exuberant, drunken men telling tall tales of their exploits to any who would listen. It just wasn’t to Kris’ taste after all.

But Harry seemed to be having fun. Unaware of the smile that curved his mouth, Kris let his eyes rest on the boyish Prince.

Hal laughed merrily along with the men and screeching women that waled along with the drunkards as well as all the other folks to hear such comedies. The spilling of drinks as well as breaking wooden chairs and the chorus of the laughter was a very common area; freely to spend time and befriend the thieves and liars of the tavern. Not yet had his plans unfolded for a noble warrior and future king.

He caught the other man’s smile, taking another look to it with his cup of ale in his other hand. “What say’st thou to stare? Falstaff’s eyes are wavering, you can slip under his nose; mine perhaps of need to falter; the knotty pated fool has the eyes of a wise old man though he looks blindly..” He said in a low whisper in comparison to everybody else, though his sly smile and quick words were much to understand.

Kris settled himself more firmly into his seat. “I like to watch people have a good time, and you are very worth watching for that, Harry.” He let the smile turn a little wry. “Though I’ll gladly admit this isn’t really … to my taste. A little too crowded, really.” Raising his voice to a shout, he called “Francis!”

harry—monmouth:

iamthefirechild:

“A bit cruel, to always make mock of him so, but he does seem to invite it.” Kris tossed back his third cup of ale, trying to decide if he was drinking too much. Did a male body have different tolerances than a female one? His taste buds seemed different, anyway; the ale was really good.

“Francis!”

Hal watched carefully, making sure the new found friend did not drink so much to pass out. The night was young—he was honestly surprised no officers had come to show to inspect the tavern, then the prince to play up a small scene for them with Peto.

Francis called back; “Anon, sir!” He shouted, running over, nearly slipping from his footing and spilling the ale, pouring it nervously as Hal had called back with another ‘Francis!’, turning around to have the ale spill at his face. Hal laughed anyway, wiping it away, Falstaff pausing for few moments to look over at the two, then continuing.

Kris emptied the cup, then spun it around on its base, musing. It seemed that male or female, hanging about in taverns was really just the same. Boisterous, exuberant, drunken men telling tall tales of their exploits to any who would listen. It just wasn’t to Kris’ taste after all.

But Harry seemed to be having fun. Unaware of the smile that curved his mouth, Kris let his eyes rest on the boyish Prince.