Big Gay Hamlet Ficathon

[gileonnen]

I believe firmly in everyone's right to crack!AUs. I think that crack!AUs are one of fandom's greatest strengths--our endless capacity to reinvent the works that we love, and to stretch the boundaries of our readers' recognition, gives me hope for the possibility of creation and communion

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FILL: Observe His Inclination in Yourself

[executrix]

TO: Jacobus Andressen, Lodging at the Sign of the Salmon, Copenhagen

I was calling on ten million kronor. I was washed, brushed up, wearing my powder blue doublet and matching codpiece. The servant showed me into the anteroom. My breath stopped.

It was a blond. A blond to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window.

The old man doddered out. "That is my thriftless son, Reynaldo. Give him this money and these notes."

"I charge forty kronor a day plus expenses," I told him. "Expenses should be pretty high, going to France and all."

He just waved a liver-spotted hand and poured gold into my purse. It seems that the neglected English tribute wasn't so neglected after all, and the King and a selected few courtiers have been using it as a slush fund. I know you think there's a story there. Forget it, Jake. It's Elsinore.

He took a long time to tell me that he wanted his Wandering Son shadowed. I was supposed to find the Dansker colony and keep an ear out for what they said about Laertes. Start a few rumors myself, that he was very wild, addicted to so and so. Wanton, wild, and usual slips. Drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling. Then they'd spill the beans.

One sweet, late night I slipped into a doorway so he wouldn't see me following him. And I found out fast that drabbing was the last thing Papa Po had to worry about. A minute later, he was in the doorway with me, asking for a light. Looks like he'd been out chasing his tail after all.

A few times after that when he could pretend to think I was an inmate of a house of sale. A few times when we didn't pretend anything. The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind. A savageness in unreclaimed blood.

The one thing the Danskers did tell me was when he went home, without even saying goodbye. I moseyed back to Denmark, just in time for the fireworks.

He killed Hamlet, and he went over for it. Look, it doesn't matter who loves who. When someone kills your Prince, you're supposed to be glad when the Prince does something about it. Even if you didn't like him much.

I'll have a few bad nights, but I'll get over it.

We'll always have Paris.

Re: FILL: Observe His Inclination in Yourself

[lizzie_marie_23]

Oh. My. GOD. This is amazing. I love the voice you gave Reynaldo, so self assured, and then the end where he so casually says that he'll have bad nights because of this whole thing is bittersweet. *cuddles Reynaldo, and you*

Re: FILL: Observe His Inclination in Yourself

[executrix]

Thank you! I have to confess that I pulled a fairly similar gag in a Blakes7 story ("The Dingus"), but B7 is a small enough fandom that I thought I could do it again for a fresh audience.

Re: FILL: Observe His Inclination in Yourself

[gileonnen]

NOIR REYNALDO. I want more of this in my life! I love the grit and the easy anachronisms and the world-weary competence; such a wonderful voice you've given him!

Re: FILL: Observe His Inclination in Yourself

[executrix]

To be fair, I didn't give him a voice so much as collage one...

Re: FILL: Observe His Inclination in Yourself

[rydra_wong]

You have this gift for pastiche and parody that somehow turns into something entirely original.

Forget it, Jake. It's Elsinore.

*dies and is dead*

Re: FILL: Observe His Inclination in Yourself

[executrix]

Thank you! It's like looking at a quilt square and saying "That piece was Anna's spring dress..that was grandpa's workshirt..." but now they're a Drunkard's Path or whatevre.