Room 603, late evening.
Hamlet had always hated Father's Day in the past. Partially because of the horrible way in which his Father had died and the stress that put on him in trying to right that wrong, but mostly it was because he never knew how to make his Father happy. What do you give a very imposing man who's already the head of his own country? In some of his quieter moments, he'd been just a little relieved that he wouldn't be celebrating it this year.
So, after spending a week curled up in his room trying to deal with losing Ophelia a second time, the last thing he'd expected to hear was a ghostly wail.
"Hamlet..."
Hamlet froze. It couldn't be. Not again.
He just keep staring in horror as the ghostly form of his late Father wafted in through the door and into his dorm room.
"Hamlet!..."
He tried to cope the best he could. "Father! You've returned! I truly am trying to avenge your murder most foul, I swear upon the heavens. I just--"
"Oh, forget about that for the moment," said Hamlet Sr, cutting him off. "Did you get me anything?"
The goth boy just blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
Hamlet Sr moved in closer, until his son could feel the unearthly coldness. "Did you get me something? For Father's Day. You did remember your poor Father, unjustly cut down by his wicked brother in the prime of hs life, didn't you?"
"Err..." He hadn't. Who expects their dead Father to randomly show up and demand gifts? Hamlet glanced wildly around his dorm room, looking for something to give as a present.
He finally grabbed the projects he'd been making in Professor The Tick's summer seminar, and held them up to his Father. "...I created some loving handmade art for you. Look, in this picture, you can see me stabbing Claudius for you."
Hamlet Sr stared at the picture for a good minute, before ectoplasmic tears started welling up in his eyes. "It's wonderful. I love it. Thank you, Hammie."
"Happy Father's Day, Father."
"Happy Father's Day, Son."
They hugged, as Hamlet tried his best to ignore the ghostly chill.
"Now, about that whole 'killing your uncle' plan..."
So, after spending a week curled up in his room trying to deal with losing Ophelia a second time, the last thing he'd expected to hear was a ghostly wail.
"Hamlet..."
Hamlet froze. It couldn't be. Not again.
He just keep staring in horror as the ghostly form of his late Father wafted in through the door and into his dorm room.
"Hamlet!..."
He tried to cope the best he could. "Father! You've returned! I truly am trying to avenge your murder most foul, I swear upon the heavens. I just--"
"Oh, forget about that for the moment," said Hamlet Sr, cutting him off. "Did you get me anything?"
The goth boy just blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
Hamlet Sr moved in closer, until his son could feel the unearthly coldness. "Did you get me something? For Father's Day. You did remember your poor Father, unjustly cut down by his wicked brother in the prime of hs life, didn't you?"
"Err..." He hadn't. Who expects their dead Father to randomly show up and demand gifts? Hamlet glanced wildly around his dorm room, looking for something to give as a present.
He finally grabbed the projects he'd been making in Professor The Tick's summer seminar, and held them up to his Father. "...I created some loving handmade art for you. Look, in this picture, you can see me stabbing Claudius for you."
Hamlet Sr stared at the picture for a good minute, before ectoplasmic tears started welling up in his eyes. "It's wonderful. I love it. Thank you, Hammie."
"Happy Father's Day, Father."
"Happy Father's Day, Son."
They hugged, as Hamlet tried his best to ignore the ghostly chill.
"Now, about that whole 'killing your uncle' plan..."