Help me defeat my semi-writer's block!
The first 15 people to comment on this post, with a fandom, character or pairing and prompt of some sort get to request a drabble from you. If they feel like it, and only if they feel like it, requesters can post this in their journal and write a drabble for you. And I swear to you people, I will actually write these drabbles straight off. No
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Kate gasped, incredulity and mirth. "You did not!"
Wat shrugs, hanging his head with a grin that is almost bashful. If she didn't know him so well, Kate might have been surprised at the expression. "Couldn't let him get away with it, Duke of York or not. That's the thing with nobles. They think the whole world's theirs."
A table nearby erupts into laughter, Roland's louder than the others, and Wat and Kate both turn from the ales they are sharing at the inn counter to cast a look at their friends. Kate turns back to her ale first, glances back at Wat as his gaze clings to the table. Her lips quirk, knowing fairly well who he's looking at, but she knows better than to say anything, and goes back to the matter at hand.
"But just because he'd spoken ill to that cook?"
"Alice," Wat turns back to her and corrects her with raised eyebrows, and she can't help but smile that he'd insist on her not being referred to as 'that cook'. Then he catches himself, and hangs his head again, rubbing at the back of his neck. "If you let them speak, they soon come to think that they can do, too."
Which is a very Wat way of phrasing it, but Kate knows what he means, and nods. It's the first time she's having an actual serious conversation with Wat, and she's rather happy at what she's discovering, when he's not busy giving in to his fiery temper or being too awfully wary of showing attachment.
"What did he do?"
Wat winces. "Set the dogs on me, 'course." He pushes one of his sleeves up, traces the line of a scar across his forearm. "My only keepsake of Alice. I ran for me life." He shakes his head as he pulls the sleeve back down, and she can see the anger mounting in the clenching of his jaw, the sudden glint in his eyes. "Oh, if I could've been alone with the man for a few minutes... pain. Pain, and tears." He taps his fingers on the counter, clearly getting worked up. "Oh, such a fonging. And not the good kind either."
Kate tilts her head to the side, amused beyond telling. "So there's a good kind of fonging?"
That's when Geoff chooses to lean on the counter between the two of them, and he gives her a winning smile that shines all the way to his eyes. "Oh, but I do hope so." He slaps a coin down on the counter. "Another pitcher of ale, innkeeper."
Kate laughs as she hears Wat groan, and looks around Geoff to see him bury his head in his hands, fingers threading through that impossible red hair of his. Geoff winks at her and heads back to the table, where he - or, more accurately, the pitcher of ale - is greeted by cheers and claps.
Wat looks up at Kate, and she's still grinning, so he drops his head back in his hands.
She laughs again.
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*clutches fic to bosom*
I love it! bashful!Wat! omg!
After I gave you the prompt, I started noodling with one of my own, which I may actually write down and maybe even post later, if that's ok.
<3.
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Uber cute. Is it bad, though, when my brain automatically goes, "awww, Alice," even though that's totally obviously not the same Alice? Yeah. Yeah. Crazy in the head. *scurries to read more*
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And god, no, it's not bad. What's bad is that my brain didn't signal to myself that hel-looo, Alice was Alice, so I obviously couldn't call her Alice. *headdesk*
(Did you see how Geoff wove his way into this one? I'd expect you to keep a better hold of him, young lady!)
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