"Curative" by inlovewithnight-- Beau Brummell
TITLE: Curative
AUTHOR: inlovewithnight
CHARACTERS: Beau, Byron
RATING: PG
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, no profit made
CHALLENGE PROMPT: Booze, and also rare fandoms
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to romanticalgirl for reading it over and for the title. And to the wonder that is Wikipedia.
"Are you feeling adventurous this evening, George?"
Beau lifted his eyes from his book, offering Byron a slight smile. "That is a question I approach with caution, coming from you, my friend."
"Is that meant as insult or flattery?" Byron raised an eyebrow and then the heavy glass bottle he held between two fingers. "Your answer determines whether I let you drink, George, so yes, use great caution indeed."
"Sincerest flattery." Beau set his book aside and gestured toward the small table between their chairs by the fireside. "What have you brought for us, George? Some new brandy? The finest sherry in all of Spain?"
"Nothing so prosaic," Byron said, placing the bottle on the table and returning to the bar. "The latest in French revolutions."
Beau cast a skeptical glance at the bottle. "Revolution comes distilled now, does it?"
"If anyone could bottle their national passions, it would be the French. If we English tried it, the results would taste of bilge water." Byron set two delicate glasses, a sugar bowl, and an odd, slotted spoon on the table and took his own seat, smirking at Beau. "Now, you never properly answered me, George--are you feeling adventurous?"
"So long as it doesn't require me to remove my vest."
"May all the stars stop in the heavens before anyone asks the Prince's Beau to remove his vest." Byron rolled his eyes and drained the dregs from the nearly-empty wineglass left on the table from earlier that evening. "One might almost mistake you for a nobleman in your distaste for getting your hands dirty."
"It's not my hands I expressed concern for, George."
"Of course. Only your clothes." Byron smirked and returned the wineglass to its spot, his moods as changeable as the flames in the fireplace. "Please do consider yourself free to disrobe at any time in my rooms, George, as a matter of course."
"I shall make a note of it." Beau nodded toward the bottle. "So what is this new revolution of yours?"
"Absinthe." Byron waited while Beau echoed the word. "Started off selling it as a patent medicine, but the Frogs are always quick to catch on when something is able to cure what ails you in every sense." He tapped the lip of the bottle. "Some have started calling it la Fée Verte."
"The green fairy." Beau shook his head. "And what makes it better than brandy?"
"A sense of imagination, I suppose, and how a man who makes his living, if one can call it that, by making a point of looking charming can lack such a thing so completely never ceases to astound me."
Beau blinked and then laughed. "It will take at least two glasses of your fairy before I'm even able to parse that, George."
"Sometimes you do disappoint me, Mr. Brummell." Byron poured a careful measure of the liquor into each glass. "Lucky for you that you're pretty."
"It's not luck, my Lord, I assure you. It's entirely by design."
"I suppose it is at that." Byron settled the slotted spoon across the top of one of the glasses and placed a sugar cube in its bowl, then frowned. "Shit. I forgot the water."
"The notorious Lord Byron consenting to drink his liquor with water?"
"It's meant to be had that way, you overdressed ninny," Byron said levelly. "Now go get the bloody pitcher from the sideboard."
Having long since learned to let any offense slide through his fingers like silk, Beau did as he was told and watched as Byron poured the water over the sugar to dissolve it down into the glass. "It's clouding," Beau said, frowning as Byron repeated the process on the other glass. "Is it supposed to get all cloudy like that?"
"No, George. I'm trying to poison you. Being found with the debauched body of the Prince's man in my rooms is the next step in my grand plan to rule all of England."
"Let's try to keep the treasonous statements minor, if we could, please?"
"What, the noose doesn't properly match your necktie?"
"And this vest would never do for a funeral." Beau accepted one of the glasses and studied the liquid. "Well. To your health, my Lord."
"And to your wardrobe, my dear Beau." Byron took a slow swallow. "May neither of them ever end up in a crumpled heap on the floor. Well. Not unless it's in the service of a hell of a good time."
AUTHOR: inlovewithnight
CHARACTERS: Beau, Byron
RATING: PG
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, no profit made
CHALLENGE PROMPT: Booze, and also rare fandoms
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to romanticalgirl for reading it over and for the title. And to the wonder that is Wikipedia.
"Are you feeling adventurous this evening, George?"
Beau lifted his eyes from his book, offering Byron a slight smile. "That is a question I approach with caution, coming from you, my friend."
"Is that meant as insult or flattery?" Byron raised an eyebrow and then the heavy glass bottle he held between two fingers. "Your answer determines whether I let you drink, George, so yes, use great caution indeed."
"Sincerest flattery." Beau set his book aside and gestured toward the small table between their chairs by the fireside. "What have you brought for us, George? Some new brandy? The finest sherry in all of Spain?"
"Nothing so prosaic," Byron said, placing the bottle on the table and returning to the bar. "The latest in French revolutions."
Beau cast a skeptical glance at the bottle. "Revolution comes distilled now, does it?"
"If anyone could bottle their national passions, it would be the French. If we English tried it, the results would taste of bilge water." Byron set two delicate glasses, a sugar bowl, and an odd, slotted spoon on the table and took his own seat, smirking at Beau. "Now, you never properly answered me, George--are you feeling adventurous?"
"So long as it doesn't require me to remove my vest."
"May all the stars stop in the heavens before anyone asks the Prince's Beau to remove his vest." Byron rolled his eyes and drained the dregs from the nearly-empty wineglass left on the table from earlier that evening. "One might almost mistake you for a nobleman in your distaste for getting your hands dirty."
"It's not my hands I expressed concern for, George."
"Of course. Only your clothes." Byron smirked and returned the wineglass to its spot, his moods as changeable as the flames in the fireplace. "Please do consider yourself free to disrobe at any time in my rooms, George, as a matter of course."
"I shall make a note of it." Beau nodded toward the bottle. "So what is this new revolution of yours?"
"Absinthe." Byron waited while Beau echoed the word. "Started off selling it as a patent medicine, but the Frogs are always quick to catch on when something is able to cure what ails you in every sense." He tapped the lip of the bottle. "Some have started calling it la Fée Verte."
"The green fairy." Beau shook his head. "And what makes it better than brandy?"
"A sense of imagination, I suppose, and how a man who makes his living, if one can call it that, by making a point of looking charming can lack such a thing so completely never ceases to astound me."
Beau blinked and then laughed. "It will take at least two glasses of your fairy before I'm even able to parse that, George."
"Sometimes you do disappoint me, Mr. Brummell." Byron poured a careful measure of the liquor into each glass. "Lucky for you that you're pretty."
"It's not luck, my Lord, I assure you. It's entirely by design."
"I suppose it is at that." Byron settled the slotted spoon across the top of one of the glasses and placed a sugar cube in its bowl, then frowned. "Shit. I forgot the water."
"The notorious Lord Byron consenting to drink his liquor with water?"
"It's meant to be had that way, you overdressed ninny," Byron said levelly. "Now go get the bloody pitcher from the sideboard."
Having long since learned to let any offense slide through his fingers like silk, Beau did as he was told and watched as Byron poured the water over the sugar to dissolve it down into the glass. "It's clouding," Beau said, frowning as Byron repeated the process on the other glass. "Is it supposed to get all cloudy like that?"
"No, George. I'm trying to poison you. Being found with the debauched body of the Prince's man in my rooms is the next step in my grand plan to rule all of England."
"Let's try to keep the treasonous statements minor, if we could, please?"
"What, the noose doesn't properly match your necktie?"
"And this vest would never do for a funeral." Beau accepted one of the glasses and studied the liquid. "Well. To your health, my Lord."
"And to your wardrobe, my dear Beau." Byron took a slow swallow. "May neither of them ever end up in a crumpled heap on the floor. Well. Not unless it's in the service of a hell of a good time."