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[livinginmyglass]

Viola isn't sure whether she had that strange magic flu or just a nasty cold, but whatever it was, she slept for about three days straight and woke feeling much better.

(She thinks she was herself the whole time, but then again she has a hazy, feverish recollection of dreams of the shipwreck, of a rescue that was not her own-- of waking, and seeming to see the room through her brother's eyes before drifting to sleep again.)

But she's better now, so time to set all that aside (not least her encounter with Hal, which she blushes even thinking of. It was far less scandalous than kissing, of course, but somehow the memory of it-- of trailing his other self, of looking so wretched in front of him, of curling up on the couch at his side-- embarrasses her more.)

But setting that aside-- the library. That's always a safe, calming place.

Comments

[livinginmyglass]

"And thou art wise," she replies, suddenly frustrated. "Well thou know'st what I would say: ay, I was happier to think you but a gentleman's son, as I am a gentleman's daughter."

[never_promised]

He's quiet for a few moments, then: "I had rather hear you say so, thus, even with that bite of anger, than to hear you say It is not for me to like nor dislike."

[livinginmyglass]

"I, I am not angry," she protests quickly. "But I pray, do not play the priest and catechize me, posing questions whose answers you know."

[never_promised]

"Then--then speak to me not of how I would once have doff'd my title, extract no confessions from me, if thou'lt share none of thine!"

[livinginmyglass]

"Why, there, again!" She laughs, but there's a frustrated edge. She passes a hand through her hair. "What shall I confess that thou dost not know?"

[never_promised]

"Thou givest me too much credit for wisdom, my lady: thou'dst have it that I need ask no questions to know thy mind, that I might sit here silent and know thy heart! Thou wouldst have it that I can hold both sides of a conversation with thee, that I know all thy words in advance--a practiced player who has conned all the parts and can speak one as easily as another! Well, then, say I am so wise: may I still not speak just to hear thy voice?"

[livinginmyglass]

She blushes and ducks her head. "Pardon me, sir. My speech was unfriendly, 'tis true. Methinks--" She takes a breath. "Methinks my bearing towards thee when last we spoke was something too-- familiar. And in my shame to think of it, I read thy tone amiss."

[never_promised]

He drops his head and scrubs his face with his hands, laughing tiredly. "I saw no cause for shame. But I own I would make a poor maid to young ladies, were I called upon to scold them into the strictest propriety. Art thou sick at the thought of sitting too near me for its own sake--it may be I have an ill breath or a pestilent look!--or because nice customs dictate that a gentleman's daughter may not sit where a page would lounge with ease?"

It's probably an unfair question, and he waves it off. "I have a fine plan: go and catch thee another cold, so that we may sit and talk. Or shall I make thee knight of the garter, that thou shalt have it ever in writing: Honi soit qui mal y pense?"

[livinginmyglass]

She laughs. "I would not have thee think I scorn thy company! And I fear no ill thoughts-- save thine."

[never_promised]

"Well! I cannot promise to harbor no ill thoughts, ever--but I can say it would take some very grave misdeeds to make me think ill of thee. So long as thou dost not steal sugar from babes, kick puppies, murder my brothers..."

[livinginmyglass]

"I do forget that princes are the makers of manners," she laughs, definitely blushing now. "Such 'havior as would see a maiden censured far and wide, thou canst excuse."

[never_promised]

"Why, just so! But if it comes to it that thou must be admitted to the order of the garter to have that motto ever by thee, do but say the word. I know a man who is in the business of giving titles, or used to be."

[livinginmyglass]

"I thank you, sir, for the great care you take of mine honor."

[never_promised]

"O, I cherish it as I do mine own." Just ask Harry Percy how much Hal cherishes his honor!

[livinginmyglass]

"And that, I know, thou guardest most carefully," she agrees solemnly. "For to preserve it, thou wouldst dress thyself as this madcap minstrel here." She gestures to the screen.

And maybe lets herself edge a little closer.

[never_promised]

"O, yes." He retrieves the tablet and finds the picture of Boy George again, and leans a little closer himself, to tilt it so they both can see. "What think you? Mistress Bar can provide hat and shirt and other raiment; but I have not the art to paint my face so. And then this..." He runs a hand through his none-too-long hair.

[livinginmyglass]

"Sure she can provide paint and wig, also," Viola says, leaning in. "But how shall thy friend ever know thy promise is kept?"

[never_promised]

"She may provide the paint, but she cannot daub it about... How will he know? Setting aside for the moment that he is not a friend, well, I think I must be seen thus." He shoots her a grin. "Dost think it suits ill with my great dignity?"

[livinginmyglass]

She snorts. "Thou hast but little dignity, 'tis true. And methinks it would demand a more outlandish guise by far to warrant comment in this place. But if
thou wilt, I will see thee painted."

[never_promised]

"Then I will trust thee with the task. But first I would see whether Jim recalls the promise I made when he was ill." His eyes fall on the books, and he groans. "O, and I said I would read these. Well, they shall await my pleasure."

[livinginmyglass]

"How dutifully thou fulfill'st his command!" Viola laughs. She scoots a little closer-- so she can see the spines of the books better. "And what are these?"

[never_promised]

"Plays," he answers, "and poetry. I am told this man Shakespeare is a great writer of his kind, and even Harry Percy has read him: and so I would not lag behind. But I own I am in no mood for plays and poetry just now."

[livinginmyglass]

"Indeed?" She reaches across to snatch the book off the top of the pile. She glances at the title: As You Like It.

"But thy mood inclineth to-- what? Music?"

[never_promised]

"'Tis thine to read an it please thee. --O, I know not what my mood inclines to. 'Tis well thou camest in as thou didst, or I might have fallen into a slumber. But thy company always suits."

[livinginmyglass]

"You shall make me proud with flattery," she says, swatting at him with the book.