Pirated: OH GOOD GLOCKS _O gyrarrrgh I be back. HA HARR! ... i can't believe I'm back. I had forsaken this place. For those who watch this never updating story (ha) with hope n faith that I would write more well BLESS THE GODS ! (A knights Tale was on tv and i was in the mood to watch it AND write something) anyways N joy. Just another drabble, but it came into my head and I thought it was funny.


"Tan...sy ca-" Wat stammered in his mead filled unconscious state. Another mug in his hand, half drank. A full stomach, the dimly lit bar room, the chair, not exactly comfortable as their sleeping bags in their tent back at the festival's permitted camping area, but sitting was more than enough of a comfort from all the standing and running around they had all done that day. Another jousting tournament, more florins and a meal like he'd only had when William won the finals of their last big run. Images of Count Adamar whimpering on his back still splayed over his dreams which caused him to snicker, as well as snort and groan as he settled back down, head in his arms, and drooling over his sleeve.

Chaucer looked over to him with an, odd fascination, like one would have watching a jester get into his ridiculously thick pants and then try to move in them expecting graceful moves. The red headed man was a mystery in himself, if Wat couldn't tell what was going through his head because of his complex thoughts and 'confusin words', the blonde was just as lost in that mess of haze and fog that Wat called actual thoughts. Head propped on his hand, slightly over his mouth, the other slightly tipping his own cup, still a third full, not completely over, but just enough to keep its balance and make the mundane action worth doing. A lack luster look wrought over his features, eyes lidded as he starred, at the man with hair the color of the setting sun. The setting sun and the morning next's. "The morning next..." he hummed out. He could make a poem about that, not about Wat, just...a poem in general. He was a writer but lately all he had been doing is writing and practicing speeches for his Sir William Thatcher. Well not at the moment, at the moment he had drank Wat under the table. Kate had gone, Roland sometime after when he and Wat went at it like always, and now with the bar mostly empty save for a small trickle of people, like them, staying for enough booze to tip a horse, seated at the bar and a few tables around them. "Wat" he said to that sleeping mound.

The man didn't respond, heavily sedated with that warm tavern air and the alcohol running through him. Geoff just kept starring, what had he expected the man hadn't budged for the last hour and a half, through the loud cheers and voices that had been around them. Without those last grunts and snores he would have though the man was dead. More contemplative starring, and a small shift in his chair, couple with the boredom of sitting there practically alone, he decided to get up, but before he got out of that chair he looked back to Wat. He couldn't leave him there alone, heaving a sigh he leaned in to shake the man's shoulder, getting just an annoying grunt in response. Making a face to match that lacking response he got in return. About to heave another sigh, he stood a bit and used that breath to blow out the elevated candle that dimly lit their table. Watching the smoke rise up into the rafters he looked back down and leaned in before stopping short of that, idiotic was a good word for that face. Studying it for a moment, he took a quick look behind him, the tavern maids having all gone save for one helping the man behind the bar clean for the night, scoured the rest of the place, looking to make sure no wandering eyes look upon their own actions.

He leaned in to those pink lips that were at times lost in that tanned skin and that equally orange hair around them, but before he matched them with his own he stopped, making a disgusted face and a disappointed scoff. Drool was pouring out of the corner of the other's mouth and like hell was he going to tangle his with something like that. Picking up that heavy head and using his own sleeve to rub that face gruffly till it was gone, he dropped it discerningly out of his hand, and pushed his chair in as it hit the table, causing the mugs to shake and Wat to startle awake, jolting upright in his seat and yelling gibberish as if he was suddenly being attacked on all sides. "Wh-a- wh-Fongin-! What-?" dazed eyes blinking and looking around frantically before they settled on the table in front of him. "What'-re wha" he looked up with that half asleep, half drunk expression at his, friend not exactly the right word, but the hell if he knew what was up or down at the moment.

"Let's go. It's late." Chaucer said with a tone that sounded slightly agitated but then when he dealt with the blonde he always sounded like that. "Awright" he slurred with that ineloquent English he favored speaking in. The more educated, moved off as Wat stood, ignoring the fact that he'd spilt his drink on himself when he woke so abruptly and just followed the other out.


Pirated: Wow. Yeah so there that is. I may or may not continue this is tiny drabbles. If it gets comments or such. If it doesn't I will forget. Legit. (has a shit for brains memory/resolve)