“Language,” he reminds with a barely hidden smirk, leaning back from his scrolls as Robert storms into the room with all the wounded majesty of a pissed off rabbit, “I’m still only fourteen, you know.”
Robert only glares, something that is probably meant to be intimidating, but… Well, pissed off rabbit. He half feels like offering some vegetables instead, “and you’ve never heard anything like that before?”
“Never kissed anybody either,” he purrs, biting back a smirk so hard that he might actually scar his lip (it’s alright, it’ll only be a little one and people generally approve of the rugged look) “…Alright, then, what has my older brother and your younger brother done this time?”
“He-!” Aw, and Robert has gone wrathfully red at the memory – like a skinned rabbit by now, “he-!”
“He…?” He presses gently. Or mildly gently. Or in a way that is actually indifferent but may pass for gently.
“…He is favoured,” as Robert goes red enough to look like he’s been dropped in a pot. Not only a pissed off rabbit but a failure at being so, “he’s certainly dad’s favourite! And he’s going to get England and he’s going to rule and he’s going to father a lot of babies-“
“That’s not a problem,” he says, with a faint touch of affection – for he has plans for William but that doesn’t mean that he can’t be fond of the git.
“-And he’s going to found a dynasty!” Robert, of course, pays no attention to this – probably for the best, really, considering where his sympathies lie, “and what will I be left with then? Nothing-!”
“Apart from Normandy,” he says again, still with little hope of actually being heard, “and mother’s love, and an amusing nickname that should make people regard you with amusement for many years to come.”
…Wait.
Is he…?
Yes! He’s actually glancing over! And frowning, and looking like a sulky, pissed off rabbit that’s just been served up on a plate with a garnish of every type of meat that you can imagine “…Are you mocking me?”
“A little,” he answers brightly and honestly, since he knows his brother well enough to realize that the man will try to take it as a joke (in his stupid, constantly bellowing way), “but mainly I’m reminding you of the good things in life, and the acceptable things, and that you shouldn’t roll over and die just because father loathes you completely and utterly.”
A long pause.
Robert stares at him.
“Now,” he continues, hiding another smirk by the skin of his teeth, “I am the youngest son, largely without marriage prospects and generally ignored by both of my great parents. May I get back to trying to eke something out of my worthless life?”
Another long pause.
“…Yes,” Robert mutters, turning on his heel and heading towards the door in a way that just screams of helpless confusion, “yes, I suppose you’re right. I shall carry on living and fighting and being the oldest son. And maybe, maybe, when father dies I can ride over here and-!“
“That’s nice,” he murmurs, no longer listening, and bends back over his scroll – ready to start plotting again.
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timeasmymeasure
FILL: We Are Family (Unfortunately), Henry I + Robert Curhose, PG-13
Date: 2011-12-11 05:39 pm (UTC)“Language,” he reminds with a barely hidden smirk, leaning back from his scrolls as Robert storms into the room with all the wounded majesty of a pissed off rabbit, “I’m still only fourteen, you know.”
Robert only glares, something that is probably meant to be intimidating, but… Well, pissed off rabbit. He half feels like offering some vegetables instead, “and you’ve never heard anything like that before?”
“Never kissed anybody either,” he purrs, biting back a smirk so hard that he might actually scar his lip (it’s alright, it’ll only be a little one and people generally approve of the rugged look) “…Alright, then, what has my older brother and your younger brother done this time?”
“He-!” Aw, and Robert has gone wrathfully red at the memory – like a skinned rabbit by now, “he-!”
“He…?” He presses gently. Or mildly gently. Or in a way that is actually indifferent but may pass for gently.
“…He is favoured,” as Robert goes red enough to look like he’s been dropped in a pot. Not only a pissed off rabbit but a failure at being so, “he’s certainly dad’s favourite! And he’s going to get England and he’s going to rule and he’s going to father a lot of babies-“
“That’s not a problem,” he says, with a faint touch of affection – for he has plans for William but that doesn’t mean that he can’t be fond of the git.
“-And he’s going to found a dynasty!” Robert, of course, pays no attention to this – probably for the best, really, considering where his sympathies lie, “and what will I be left with then? Nothing-!”
“Apart from Normandy,” he says again, still with little hope of actually being heard, “and mother’s love, and an amusing nickname that should make people regard you with amusement for many years to come.”
…Wait.
Is he…?
Yes! He’s actually glancing over! And frowning, and looking like a sulky, pissed off rabbit that’s just been served up on a plate with a garnish of every type of meat that you can imagine “…Are you mocking me?”
“A little,” he answers brightly and honestly, since he knows his brother well enough to realize that the man will try to take it as a joke (in his stupid, constantly bellowing way), “but mainly I’m reminding you of the good things in life, and the acceptable things, and that you shouldn’t roll over and die just because father loathes you completely and utterly.”
A long pause.
Robert stares at him.
“Now,” he continues, hiding another smirk by the skin of his teeth, “I am the youngest son, largely without marriage prospects and generally ignored by both of my great parents. May I get back to trying to eke something out of my worthless life?”
Another long pause.
“…Yes,” Robert mutters, turning on his heel and heading towards the door in a way that just screams of helpless confusion, “yes, I suppose you’re right. I shall carry on living and fighting and being the oldest son. And maybe, maybe, when father dies I can ride over here and-!“
“That’s nice,” he murmurs, no longer listening, and bends back over his scroll – ready to start plotting again.