[belated gift] For that one brother whatshisname welshymcwelshwelshifer.

[godsavemy]

[On the kitchen table in a certain drafty house, there is a simple box - no wrapping, no bows, no frills (no nonsense) to be found. The only discernible feature is a white tag with the name Dewi taped on top.

If intended recipient cared to get his lazy arse moving and open the bloody thing since it's been sitting there for a couple days, you utter

Comments

OOC

[la_grand_vie]

Awwwwwww~ You're so sweet. You are getting soft on me mon ami~

ooc

[godsavemy]

Better than being hard around you.

OOC

[la_grand_vie]

Now that, cherant, is all speculation~ <3

ooc

[godsavemy]

Closer to fact than theory.

[Action]

[not_whales]

[When the Welshman comes downstairs that morning having filled the upper floor with shower steam and the graces of his singing, he happens upon the gift and instantly recognizes his own half-brother's hand. With mixed feelings - euphoria because Arthur remembered, and frustration because it was late - he opens the box and lifts the skull and note from the parcel, skimming over the latter twice and then admiring the cracks in the former.]

"To be or not to be - that is question!"

[But still - Rory had gotten him a sheep.]

[Action Post]

[godsavemy]

[The yell resounded through the once silent house, carrying all the way to a study (which really ought to be soundproofed) where Arthur, sloppily crouched over his work desk, lightly dozed.

It was the high inflection on NOT TO BE! that startled him into wakefulness. But the sharp pronouncement of THAT was the one responsible for making Arthur send a nearby stack of books flying in a fit of dazed confusion. Blinking wildly in a state of Where the sodding hell am I? that always came with not waking up in his own bed, Arthur wondered just what was going on as his impromptu wake-up call ended with a flourish of IS THE QUESTION!

Silence. And then indulgent cackling that slowly faded as if the person was moving to some other part of the house.

Though drowsy and somewhat preoccupied with the foul ache that was blooming in his lower back, the pieces slowly clinked together.

Once he realised what just happened and who was truly at fault, Arthur pitched over onto his desk, groaning self-pityingly.]

"...Should have gotten him that stetson

ooc

[remylee]

.....
"Alas, poor Yorick"?