A Palpable Riposte
Title: A Palpable Riposte
Fandom: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, Hamlet
Verse:Good Place AU
Pairings: Osric/Hamlet, Rosencrantz/Polonius
Summary: Hamlet and Osric are soulmates, which means they must be foils. Or maybe not.
Word Count: 1024
Here’s how it happens this time: Hamlet has been in continual practice, so Osric has continually prepared the weapons. They are soulmates, which means they must be foils. Or maybe not - it’s whatever Hamlet wants, and Hamlet changes his mind all the time. Osric never even knows if he should be wearing a hat when his other half’s tone of voice can make the room itself blow hot and cold.
“You don’t have to agree with everything he says, maybe,” Rosencrantz points out at their next crafting session. “He’s a prince and he probably gets tired of everyone telling him he’s right all the time, so he might find your praise more sincere if you offer just a little bit of pushback from time to time.
Osric unfolds his paper chain - skulls again, what is wrong with this place? - and rolls his eyes. “Coming from you, who can’t stand to upset anyone at all, ever? You cried more than Polonius did when you had to tell him his stories were boring.”
“Well, Polonius is an adviser which means he likes to feel useful, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so maybe I worked myself up for several hours before I could even open my mouth to say anything at all, but then he didn’t mind even a little bit and it was just a very stressful day - and look, the point is that you shouldn’t do what I do.” His snowflake is full of tiny bottles of poison. “Oh! Look how cute!” he says, grinning.
-/-/-
There’s probably some natural law declaring that the young prince of Denmark would be late to his own funeral; hence he kept Osric waiting on the very day he’d decided to grow a spine. He keeps reconsidering the plan that had seemed so flawless, and his workout - solitary, instead of with his partner in life as well as in swordplay - brings him ever closer to the weapons to undo what now seems a dreadful mistake.
Just as he’s ready to pack it all up, devious trick or not, Hamlet runs in, all apologies.
“Think nothing of it,” he replies with his usual ingratiating giggle, “For surely you are the paragon of punctuality.” Oh dear, if that’s how he really sounds, then no wonder everyone seems to hate him!
He ignores the stormy look Hamlet shoots him, sure a downright torrential one is coming. And indeed, a frown has never made him go so weak in the knees before.
“Problem, my lord?” he says, all sweetness.
“Only half these points are bated.”
“Then this will be a helpful exercise in understanding the laws of probability.”
The prince’s eyes narrow. “But that’s not…” He shakes himself out of his thoughts. “You will be hurt!”
“So wound me. If it be not now, yet it will come.”
The air grows thick, and Osric dares not breathe until Hamlet laughs - sinister but really amused. “I like this side of you, Osric. Why have I never seen it before?”
“Perhaps you never looked. Anyway, I might be the one hurting you, my lord.”
“Hah! Not likely!” He moves to his starting position. “Play.”
That afternoon, with the threat of actual injury hanging over the court, Osric plays better than he ever has before, and he begins to understand something he thinks Hamlet’s been trying to teach him all along. A duel, like any argument, is primarily a conversation. Yes, there are times when you have to give ground, but you can’t do that all the time any more than you can always be on the offensive. It’s important to respond to what you’re given and not what you imagine you get, so you can actually come to some equitable arrangement.
They exchange light wordplay with their parries, and jibes with their jabs, and he laughs softly at the memory it stirs.
“Do you recall, my lord, when we were boys and you used to edify me by the margents?”
“Oh, how could I forget,” says the prince. “All those endless annotations…”
“No…” His heart isn’t in his form anymore, because it’s sinking towards his gut. But he doesn’t mention how a prince would never have shared books with the son of a courtier, and a minor one at that. He flicks the foil away listlessly, and if Hamlet doesn’t even remember that Osric was always the text to be dissected, how can they smile fondly now about how times have changed? Oh. Oh of course; that’s how the game is played.
He leaves himself open to attack after attack and can feel the other man holding back, but finally his sleeve is torn. They stop and stare at each other. After a while, Osric feels a grin grow, and decides he quite likes the way it settles on his face, not ingratiating at all.
“Go on then,” he challenges, opening the front of his uniform and thrusting out his chest. “You can’t do anything to me, even if you ended up with the poisoned blade.”
“Why would you put poison on these? You’re mortal!” he splutters. “As are we all,” he adds a moment too late.
“Oh, wanna bet? Trouble is, I’ve already died, and you’re not real!”
“Aw man,” says the demon wearing Hamlet’s face, “Why do you have to go and ruin everything? I was finally starting to get Hamlet as a character, y’know? And your newfound willingness to argue would have given me months if not years of material to work with.”
“Hamlet wasn’t a character, first of all. He was a man with flaws like the rest of us, and he died tragically after… oh!” He smacks his forehead. “Right after killing one of my actual friends.”
“My, you’re just full of revelations today, aren’t you? I thought humans were supposed to be glacially slow on the uptake, especially - full offense, by the way - pitiful little servants like you.”
“Mmm, you must have just caught me on a good day,” he says acidly. “I can’t believe I spent my whole death thinking you were my soulmate.”
“We-elll, not your whole death…”
“What?” says Osric, and then Osric forgets. This was originally posted at https://ernest.dreamwidth.org/8448.html. There are
comments there.
Fandom: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, Hamlet
Verse:Good Place AU
Pairings: Osric/Hamlet, Rosencrantz/Polonius
Summary: Hamlet and Osric are soulmates, which means they must be foils. Or maybe not.
Word Count: 1024
Here’s how it happens this time: Hamlet has been in continual practice, so Osric has continually prepared the weapons. They are soulmates, which means they must be foils. Or maybe not - it’s whatever Hamlet wants, and Hamlet changes his mind all the time. Osric never even knows if he should be wearing a hat when his other half’s tone of voice can make the room itself blow hot and cold.
“You don’t have to agree with everything he says, maybe,” Rosencrantz points out at their next crafting session. “He’s a prince and he probably gets tired of everyone telling him he’s right all the time, so he might find your praise more sincere if you offer just a little bit of pushback from time to time.
Osric unfolds his paper chain - skulls again, what is wrong with this place? - and rolls his eyes. “Coming from you, who can’t stand to upset anyone at all, ever? You cried more than Polonius did when you had to tell him his stories were boring.”
“Well, Polonius is an adviser which means he likes to feel useful, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so maybe I worked myself up for several hours before I could even open my mouth to say anything at all, but then he didn’t mind even a little bit and it was just a very stressful day - and look, the point is that you shouldn’t do what I do.” His snowflake is full of tiny bottles of poison. “Oh! Look how cute!” he says, grinning.
-/-/-
There’s probably some natural law declaring that the young prince of Denmark would be late to his own funeral; hence he kept Osric waiting on the very day he’d decided to grow a spine. He keeps reconsidering the plan that had seemed so flawless, and his workout - solitary, instead of with his partner in life as well as in swordplay - brings him ever closer to the weapons to undo what now seems a dreadful mistake.
Just as he’s ready to pack it all up, devious trick or not, Hamlet runs in, all apologies.
“Think nothing of it,” he replies with his usual ingratiating giggle, “For surely you are the paragon of punctuality.” Oh dear, if that’s how he really sounds, then no wonder everyone seems to hate him!
He ignores the stormy look Hamlet shoots him, sure a downright torrential one is coming. And indeed, a frown has never made him go so weak in the knees before.
“Problem, my lord?” he says, all sweetness.
“Only half these points are bated.”
“Then this will be a helpful exercise in understanding the laws of probability.”
The prince’s eyes narrow. “But that’s not…” He shakes himself out of his thoughts. “You will be hurt!”
“So wound me. If it be not now, yet it will come.”
The air grows thick, and Osric dares not breathe until Hamlet laughs - sinister but really amused. “I like this side of you, Osric. Why have I never seen it before?”
“Perhaps you never looked. Anyway, I might be the one hurting you, my lord.”
“Hah! Not likely!” He moves to his starting position. “Play.”
That afternoon, with the threat of actual injury hanging over the court, Osric plays better than he ever has before, and he begins to understand something he thinks Hamlet’s been trying to teach him all along. A duel, like any argument, is primarily a conversation. Yes, there are times when you have to give ground, but you can’t do that all the time any more than you can always be on the offensive. It’s important to respond to what you’re given and not what you imagine you get, so you can actually come to some equitable arrangement.
They exchange light wordplay with their parries, and jibes with their jabs, and he laughs softly at the memory it stirs.
“Do you recall, my lord, when we were boys and you used to edify me by the margents?”
“Oh, how could I forget,” says the prince. “All those endless annotations…”
“No…” His heart isn’t in his form anymore, because it’s sinking towards his gut. But he doesn’t mention how a prince would never have shared books with the son of a courtier, and a minor one at that. He flicks the foil away listlessly, and if Hamlet doesn’t even remember that Osric was always the text to be dissected, how can they smile fondly now about how times have changed? Oh. Oh of course; that’s how the game is played.
He leaves himself open to attack after attack and can feel the other man holding back, but finally his sleeve is torn. They stop and stare at each other. After a while, Osric feels a grin grow, and decides he quite likes the way it settles on his face, not ingratiating at all.
“Go on then,” he challenges, opening the front of his uniform and thrusting out his chest. “You can’t do anything to me, even if you ended up with the poisoned blade.”
“Why would you put poison on these? You’re mortal!” he splutters. “As are we all,” he adds a moment too late.
“Oh, wanna bet? Trouble is, I’ve already died, and you’re not real!”
“Aw man,” says the demon wearing Hamlet’s face, “Why do you have to go and ruin everything? I was finally starting to get Hamlet as a character, y’know? And your newfound willingness to argue would have given me months if not years of material to work with.”
“Hamlet wasn’t a character, first of all. He was a man with flaws like the rest of us, and he died tragically after… oh!” He smacks his forehead. “Right after killing one of my actual friends.”
“My, you’re just full of revelations today, aren’t you? I thought humans were supposed to be glacially slow on the uptake, especially - full offense, by the way - pitiful little servants like you.”
“Mmm, you must have just caught me on a good day,” he says acidly. “I can’t believe I spent my whole death thinking you were my soulmate.”
“We-elll, not your whole death…”
“What?” says Osric, and then Osric forgets. This was originally posted at https://ernest.dreamwidth.org/8448.html. There are
comments there.