(Untitled)

[thanitohercules]

*Hamlet is on the ground, thrashing and clutching at his ears; once in a while, there may be a strangled scream or a few ground out words, but by and large, it's all whimpering and laboured breathing*

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[truant_horatio]

*oh, the ears--and Horatio is suddenly at his side, is by him (and whatever drew him away has been altogether forgotten) trying to take his hands and calm him and quiet him with words and touches--my lord, my lord, what ist, what hath come to thee?*

[thanitohercules]

*a ghost, a ghost, whether unreal or unreal he still sees ghosts--and his hands will eventually be caught, though not without a struggle, and he will curl into Horatio's touch, still whimpering* What ghost--

[truant_horatio]

My Lord, my Lord, soft thee--no ghost, I swear. Soft thee. *holding him near*

[thanitohercules]

*troubled, so troubled* Hast thou not seen?