Fic: Interdepartmental Politics
Title: Interdepartmental Politics
Author: gileonnen
Play: Richard II, 1 Henry IV
Characters: Richard II, Hal, Aumerle
Warnings: Present-day academia!AU.
Rating: PG-13 for language and professors perving on students.
Summary: Richard has a research internship opening up; Hal has an agenda; Edward has coffee.
Notes: Written for lindensphinx, who had wanted an academia!AU (and who wrote eighteenth-century France/Russia after we bribed her), and for angevin2, who wins at Shakespeare AUs.
"Sir?"
Richard turns, clipping his binder close against his chest. He has never heard young Harry Monmouth call anyone 'sir,' let alone with that imploring, inquiring note in his voice; indeed, there is an expression on Monmouth's face that he would have called 'suppressed eagerness' on anyone else.
What the hell, he decides. I always did like puzzles.
"Yes, Monmouth?" he answers, after a pause just long enough to convey the value of his time.
"I heard you had a research assistantship opening up next semester, while you're on sabbatical," says the boy. His hands are in his pockets, his shoulders thrown back; it's an attempt at defiance in the face of his own supplication. It's rather charming, actually.
"And you have particular expertise with the deciphering and preservation of late medieval texts, do you? Or a distinguished research career in kingship and gender?"
"Kingship is an interest of mine," Harry allows, with undue caution. He seems to be waiting for Richard to spring upon him and tear him to shreds, perhaps with the aid of some sort of retractable claw mechanism. "Yes, I am interested in the subject, although I'm more interested in sovereignty and performance."
"Performance?"
"Theatres of war; the executions of kings. Rhetoric and speechmaking."
Richard studies him, more for the fun of watching him twitch than out of any real desire to assess him. The boy is a bit on the scruffy side, brown hair roughly cropped at his chin and fringe falling into his eyes; he's nearly grown into a rather unfortunate chin, but on the whole he's a rather attractive young thing.
"Well," he says, at last. "I shall add your name to my list of candidates."
"Thank you, sir," answers Monmouth at once--almost too quickly; the words come out slightly garbled. He almost bows, then catches himself and shakes Richard's hand firmly. This time, his voice is steady and his eyes meet Richard's when he says, "Thank you."
As he departs, Edward York pokes his head out of the department office. "The boy's a slacker," he says, bluntly. "He's always skipping my Courtly France class--even if his papers are spectacular."
"I know he's a slacker," Richard answers, smiling with only his lips. "But he's only offering to be my research assistant in order to piss off his father--and he's not half bad to look at. Who knows? He might prove surprisingly competent."
Edward frowns. "Don't let Dr. Bolingbroke get wind of it," he says, more softly. "The funding scramble's hard enough already without your stirring up an internecine war between the history and mathematics departments."
"I expect his son will let him know long before I do," says Richard. He tosses back his hair and goes to the copier, reproducing the English royal family tree a few dozen times over. "You oughtn't worry, Dr. York. Nothing will come of it."
"I wish I could say that," Edward mutters. He drains his coffee mug, and sets it down empty.
Author: gileonnen
Play: Richard II, 1 Henry IV
Characters: Richard II, Hal, Aumerle
Warnings: Present-day academia!AU.
Rating: PG-13 for language and professors perving on students.
Summary: Richard has a research internship opening up; Hal has an agenda; Edward has coffee.
Notes: Written for lindensphinx, who had wanted an academia!AU (and who wrote eighteenth-century France/Russia after we bribed her), and for angevin2, who wins at Shakespeare AUs.
"Sir?"
Richard turns, clipping his binder close against his chest. He has never heard young Harry Monmouth call anyone 'sir,' let alone with that imploring, inquiring note in his voice; indeed, there is an expression on Monmouth's face that he would have called 'suppressed eagerness' on anyone else.
What the hell, he decides. I always did like puzzles.
"Yes, Monmouth?" he answers, after a pause just long enough to convey the value of his time.
"I heard you had a research assistantship opening up next semester, while you're on sabbatical," says the boy. His hands are in his pockets, his shoulders thrown back; it's an attempt at defiance in the face of his own supplication. It's rather charming, actually.
"And you have particular expertise with the deciphering and preservation of late medieval texts, do you? Or a distinguished research career in kingship and gender?"
"Kingship is an interest of mine," Harry allows, with undue caution. He seems to be waiting for Richard to spring upon him and tear him to shreds, perhaps with the aid of some sort of retractable claw mechanism. "Yes, I am interested in the subject, although I'm more interested in sovereignty and performance."
"Performance?"
"Theatres of war; the executions of kings. Rhetoric and speechmaking."
Richard studies him, more for the fun of watching him twitch than out of any real desire to assess him. The boy is a bit on the scruffy side, brown hair roughly cropped at his chin and fringe falling into his eyes; he's nearly grown into a rather unfortunate chin, but on the whole he's a rather attractive young thing.
"Well," he says, at last. "I shall add your name to my list of candidates."
"Thank you, sir," answers Monmouth at once--almost too quickly; the words come out slightly garbled. He almost bows, then catches himself and shakes Richard's hand firmly. This time, his voice is steady and his eyes meet Richard's when he says, "Thank you."
As he departs, Edward York pokes his head out of the department office. "The boy's a slacker," he says, bluntly. "He's always skipping my Courtly France class--even if his papers are spectacular."
"I know he's a slacker," Richard answers, smiling with only his lips. "But he's only offering to be my research assistant in order to piss off his father--and he's not half bad to look at. Who knows? He might prove surprisingly competent."
Edward frowns. "Don't let Dr. Bolingbroke get wind of it," he says, more softly. "The funding scramble's hard enough already without your stirring up an internecine war between the history and mathematics departments."
"I expect his son will let him know long before I do," says Richard. He tosses back his hair and goes to the copier, reproducing the English royal family tree a few dozen times over. "You oughtn't worry, Dr. York. Nothing will come of it."
"I wish I could say that," Edward mutters. He drains his coffee mug, and sets it down empty.