(Untitled)

[ihatehamlet]

Let's pretend Laertes' typist isn't mildly braindead, shall we? Let's also say Laertes is seated somewhere out in the gardens, enjoying the early morning sun and looking a bit like a contented cat. Bother away.

Comments

[hunt_theheart]

*Curio loves spending time in the gardens--and right now, he's leaning over Laertes's shoulder to kiss his brow and press a rose into his hand* Good even, love--thou lookest well today.

[ihatehamlet]

*smiles and reaches to touch his cheek* Ay, I am.

[hunt_theheart]

*kisses his fingertips, and comes around to lie beside him, head on his lap--quietly, trustingly* Wouldst thou we spoke of something hard, my love?

[ihatehamlet]

*runs his fingers through his hair, looking at Curio a bit quizzically* Ay, what is 't?