Rattay, Thursday Fandom Time, Bohemia
Aug. 28th, 2025 10:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thatsmyswordBy noon that next day, Henry had recovered enough from his hangover to move about town and do his business. He slunk to the lower castle as the sun reached its highest peak, with most of a mind to finally check on Lord Hans Capon again. It had been a bit, and he hadn’t gotten much measure of how the man was doing since then.
He made conversation with guard Janoslav as he wandered up the stairs towards the higher floors. Sir Capon, Janoslav told him, was still in his chambers, as he had been for most of the past week. And he’d been a beast, by the sounds of it.
Henry pushed the doors open gently. He hadn’t put much thought to the whole nobles and fancy castles thing when he’d first arrived at Pirkstein. Too much else on his mind. But now he did spare a thought to how odd it was, being able to just slip into a nobleman’s chambers this way.
“How goes it, sir? Are you recovered?”
He found Capon standing at the window, looking quite unperturbed by Henry’s presence. If anything, if Henry were to put a word to it, the look on his face appeared-- relieved.
“I am, for all the good it does. The boredom here…!” Sir Hans sighed, throwing up his hands. “The only thing I have to read is the Bible and Hanush won’t let anyone near me but the priest. Have you any idea the monotonous drivel that fellow comes out with? ‘This world is but a trial, be repentant…’ He talks to me as if I’m about to breathe my last!” A pause, and Hans-- Sir Hans Capon rubbed at his jaw. “Actually, he talks to me as if I were already dead.”
Sounded maddening. Or like a young man who’d been stuck in a room for too long, Henry was sure.
But Lord Capon kept talking. He raised a finger. “Listen, Henry, won’t you come with me to the Rattay baths? I need a change of scene before moss starts growing on me.”
Henry blinked.
And then blinked again.
He didn’t say sorry, what? but it was a near thing. “Why to the baths?”
“Weeeell,” said Lord Capon, dragging out the word with an implied wiggle of his eyebrow, “A hot bath does a man good… “
“It does,” Henry agreed, nodding. “Which is why you can bathe here any time you like.”
“Have you ever seen Klara, the bathhouse wench?” Was Lord Capon… pouting? “Henry, she’s a beauty… if I didn’t know better, I’d say I was in love with her!”
Right. In love with a bathhouse wench. That sounded like a delusion at best, a swindle at worst. A bit desperate, if you asked Henry, especially when Sir Hans appeared barely healed. “But what about your wounds, sir?”
“I won’t lie to you: it hurts like the devil,” Sir Hans sighed. “But I’d rather hobble along with a cane, howling in pain, than listen to a selection of the most boring passages from the Gospels for one more minute!”
Very desperate. Henry took pity on him. He’d kept himself to his own room at Fandom for some time and it had driven him absolutely mad by the end of it.
“Why not,” he said. “When do you want to go?”
“I shall go there right away,” Sir Hans proclaimed. “But wait until at least dusk to join me! I’ll have company there.”
--
That still left Henry some time to himself, as Captain Bernard had given him the day to regain his strength. He roamed around the marketplace at Rattay, taking his fill of familiar foods he’d missed in between all the pizza and the hot pot at Fandom.
Then, eventually, he followed the long pathway out, through the lower gate, past the bathhouse, to the mill. He hadn’t spoken to Theresa, the Skalitz miller’s daughter, since she’d rescued him from those brigands that’d taken Sir Radzig’s sword from him. He owed her more than the fleeting thank you he’d given her then.
He found her outside the mill, doing her needlework. He sat down by her side. They spoke-- about Skalitz, about Rattay, about themselves. For a moment, Henry even chanced a thought to tell her about the maddening dream of these past three months, or two days, really, for as little time had seemed to move Rattay. But even with her, something in him led him to restrain himself.
Didn’t need anyone declaring him mad and running him off or throwing him in prison.
But eventually, he did walk half the long path back, taking a quick right into the bathhouse. The chickens scattered as he entered, and loud laughter rang out from behind one of the doors; he didn’t need to ask about where Sir Capon was.
He opened the door and stepped inside the dimly-lit room. A table clearly meant for dice sat beside the door, and a small cot rested in the far corner. The warm glow on the other side came from the stove, where the bathmaid was heating up another pail of water.
And in the center sat a large tub, with within it, stretched out and far more relaxed than Henry had ever seen him, the form of one Sir Hans Capon. “So… what did you need, sir?” Henry said, taking a few steps up to the tub.
“I need you to do me a favour, Henry,” Sir Hans sighed. His words were already slightly slurred.
Henry eyed him. “What, again?”
“Now, watch your tone, peasant,” the blond muttered, but it sounded perfunctory more than anything. “You’d never think it, but Zdena here--” He gestured towards the pretty dark-haired bathmaid with a lazy hand, “-- is a demon at dice! She stripped me bare-arse naked and I couldn’t even get a ribbon off her.”
“... So it didn’t quite go as planned?” Henry found a laugh bubbling up, which he barely managed to contain.
“Not quite!” Sir Hans declared enthusiastically. “But maybe you can do better…” He cleared his throat for no apparent reason at all. “Right then, you’ve got to beat Zdena at dice. I refuse to be the only one here with his arse on show!”
“I don’t know,” Henry said slowly. He hadn’t exactly always had the best luck at dice. “I’m not sure I can do it.”
“I am sure,” Hans-- Sir Hans told him. “That’s the important thing!”
Right, well. Henry padded up to Zdena herself to check in, sheepishly.
He asked if she was all right, with Capon being as he was, but she just waved him off. “Nothing we’re not used to.”
Henry nodded. “Ah,” he said. “So. How about a game of dice, then…?”
“Are you sure?” Zdena said, fixing intelligent dark eyes on him. “What would I do with two naked men here…?”
---
“It’s her we needed to strip,” Sir Hans sighed, a few minutes later. Unfortunately for the both of them, though, it was Henry now there stripped almost to nothing but a sheepish smile, swaying legs from the wine and the last remains of his dignity.
“I could do with a good soak too,” he said.
“Then strip off and hop in here!” Sir Hans declared, without apparently even thinking about it.
“Alright,” Henry said, and put one leg into the - oh, delightfully warm water. “Shift over. I don’t want to tread on anything vital!”
“Alright,” Hans laughed in turn, shifting in the tub as he held up a mug for Zdena to refill. “Give me a moment and I’ll roll it up again!”
“This feels good.” Henry sank all the way down into the water. It really did. It was heavenly, sinking into his aching muscles.
“Don’t take this personally,” Hans offered, leaning forward, “But I’ve never seen a man more in need of a wash. I’ve known cow pats less fragrant.”
Was he that smelly? Henry lifted an arm, sniffed his arm pit. Eh. Seemed fine. Zdena splashed more hot water into the bath, and he grinned over at Hans. “You certainly know how to have a good time!”
“Here, drink!” Hans shoved a mug at him. “It’s not terribly high quality, but it should do the job.”
Henry chuckled. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said. “Give me that.”
“That’s the spirit,” Hans enthused. Zdena dug her fingers into his hair, leaving soap-suds everywhere, and he let out a little sigh.
“So this is how you recuperate from your injuries?” Henry asked. “Booze and wenches?”
“Of course, is there any other way?” Hans shot back, dismissively. “So what news, Henry?”
“Never mind about me - what about you?” Henry countered. “Have you recovered from our hunting adventure?”
“I’m well enough, Henry. These baths are just the thing. And Zdena here--” She’d clearly dug her fingers very far into his scalp. “... is very-- healing.”
Though Zdena didn’t stay for long. She was followed up by Klara, that one bathmaid Sir Hans had kept talking about-- and was clearly happy to see, as he greeted her with a loud, “My most favouritest bathmaid!” right before he insulted the establishment’s wine.
“What’s wrong with the bathhouse wine?” Henry asked him, frowning. It seemed fine to him. Nice and… wine… y. He could already feel a warm haze settling upon him.
“I’d rather drink the bathwater,” Sir Hans Capon of the House of Leipa, Lord of Pirkstein, sniffed. “You should go and get something better, though where…? Ah! I know! In the cellars under the Rathaus there’s some excellent wine that Sir Hanush bought for us!” He laid his eyes back on Henry.
Henry knew that look by now.
“... And you want me to go there and get it now?” How late in the evening was it? He’d lost track of time.
“I’d be indebted to you,” Hans insisted. “And a grateful nobleman is the best ally you can have!”
Henry sighed. “Can’t you just make do with the bathhouse wine?”
Out there, someone would’ve likely smacked him for talking to a noble like that, but Hans was either too drunk or too… him… to care. He was focused on other priorities than criticizing Henry’s tone. “Absolutely not! I will have my Sylvaner red from that cellar, even if it takes you a week to get it! We’ll find some way of entertaining ourselves in the meantime.”
Henry sighed. He ambled towards the chest in the corner and fished around until he found what looked to be Hans Capon’s own keys. Then he took another swig of the bathhouse wine - which was fine - and he was on his way.
---
Much like with Father Godwin, this is where the memories got tricky. He remembered stumbling back up the path to Rattay, with his shirt and his hose hastily tugged on and looking like he’d just been mugged. He remembered sneaking ‘round back of the Rathaus and using the keys to open the door.
He remembered stumbling around into the guards’ sleeping quarters, and quietly slinking back out. He remembered nearly falling down the stairs. He remembered being in the cellar, groping around for whatever Sylvaner red was, and turning ‘round to come face to face with--
“Hey, you! What are you doing here?”
“Lord Capon sent me to get some wine for him.”
“Lord Capon, eh? A likely story!”
And Henry - stumbling and half of the way to blind drunk - had just blinked, and said, without even thinking twice, “You clearly don’t know Lord Capon. Do you think he’s going to leave in the middle of his merriment to go and get his own wine?”
“... No, that doesn’t sound like the young Lord. I suppose he sent you for the Sylvan red?”
-- and Henry would only realize later how much worse that could’ve gone, that it was a bloody miracle that the guard had believed him.
But he did remember the way Hans’s face had lit up when he came in with the wine. How his voice had gone high-pitched with a mixture of admiration and astonishment, and he’d practically shrieked, “You really broke into the cellar at the Rathaus? I don’t believe it? You really broke into the cellar?! You’re insane!”
Then Hans had told him to keep the key, and drink some of the Sylvan red, come on, what was he waiting for, a blessing from the parish priest? And Henry had gotten back into the tub and they’d kept drinking and he wouldn’t be able to tell you what Sylvan red tasted like, honestly, but it was good, and then things just got blurrier and blurrier.
Zdena had… danced? Hans had tried to show off something with the sword? There’d been laughter. Warm laughter. And more and more drinking.
It wasn’t like the night with Godwin. That had been… confusing, sometimes alarming, with a terrible morning after. This was nice.
There had been a bit in the middle where Hans had sent Henry back out again, into the darkness, where he could barely see his own feet. He’d scrabbled up the hill and gotten scratches all over his hands, looking for something for Klara… what was it? Dandelions, sage, and cabbages? No, that wasn’t right. Roses? All women liked roses, right?
… Either way.
When Henry’d come back to the bathhouse, he heard rather a lot of shouting. He wasn’t sure what about. Klara? Perhaps Klara. Yes. Klara, that sounded like her voice.
“That’s enough, Archibald!”
“Archibald?” yelped Hans, who had clearly left his sense of self-preservation somewhere around the third pint of wine.
“Nothing happened!” Klara pleaded.
“I’m going to take care of this bastard!” her lover snarled.
“I’d like to see you try, Arse-’n-Balls!” Hans yelled, and then he burst out laughing, like it was the funniest thing on earth.
Then-- gurgling.
A splash. A giggle. “Arse-’n-Balls!”
More gurgling.
Henry shoved open the door and caught sight of a dark-haired man, shoving Sir Hans Capon’s head under the water. He grabbed the man by the shirt, and yes, he’d liked to have said that he got rid of him, but no-- “What are you doing?” he managed to get out, and then there was a fist in his face.
“What the hell’s gotten into you?” Henry bellowed, bringing his arms up to protect himself from the next blow. “Trying to drown a nobleman?!”
A third punch stopped right in front of his crossed arms. “... A nobleman?” Archibald said. “Oh. Fuck.” He twisted around. “Sir! I didn’t know!”
“Get out of my sight,” Hans growled, pushing himself up by the rim of the tub. “Before I remember I can have you hung.”
At least Archibald’s good sense had returned to him, because he didn’t need to hear that twice. He scarpered towards the exit, simpering apologies. Klara rushed after him, making sure to shut the door.
Hans slumped backwards. He sank back into the water. “Heh,” he managed. “I nearly got drowned by Arse-’n-Balls.” He laughed, loud and hysterical, a fit that shook not just his body but the water with the force of it. “...Fuck, I feel like I’ve swallowed the Baltic.”
“Drinking will be the death of you,” Henry muttered. He suddenly felt quite sober - up in the head, at least, if not in body.
“Damn. Right,” Hans said. He looked up. “Is there anymore wine…?”
Henry stared at him. “Are you out of your fucking mind? After all that?”
“Of course,” Hans declared, spreading his arms. “Don’t tell me you don’t fancy a drink after all that!”
…
Well.
Okay.
Perhaps Henry was still a touch too drunk to argue with that logic.
So he got back in the tub.
Could you blame him? This was the easiest fun he’d had in months.
[[ taken and adapted from the quest Next to Godliness in Kingdom Come: Deliverance (2018), aka Why It Is Absolutely Hilarious That The Fanboys Argue They Were Straight Before The Sequel ]]
He made conversation with guard Janoslav as he wandered up the stairs towards the higher floors. Sir Capon, Janoslav told him, was still in his chambers, as he had been for most of the past week. And he’d been a beast, by the sounds of it.
Henry pushed the doors open gently. He hadn’t put much thought to the whole nobles and fancy castles thing when he’d first arrived at Pirkstein. Too much else on his mind. But now he did spare a thought to how odd it was, being able to just slip into a nobleman’s chambers this way.
“How goes it, sir? Are you recovered?”
He found Capon standing at the window, looking quite unperturbed by Henry’s presence. If anything, if Henry were to put a word to it, the look on his face appeared-- relieved.
“I am, for all the good it does. The boredom here…!” Sir Hans sighed, throwing up his hands. “The only thing I have to read is the Bible and Hanush won’t let anyone near me but the priest. Have you any idea the monotonous drivel that fellow comes out with? ‘This world is but a trial, be repentant…’ He talks to me as if I’m about to breathe my last!” A pause, and Hans-- Sir Hans Capon rubbed at his jaw. “Actually, he talks to me as if I were already dead.”
Sounded maddening. Or like a young man who’d been stuck in a room for too long, Henry was sure.
But Lord Capon kept talking. He raised a finger. “Listen, Henry, won’t you come with me to the Rattay baths? I need a change of scene before moss starts growing on me.”
Henry blinked.
And then blinked again.
He didn’t say sorry, what? but it was a near thing. “Why to the baths?”
“Weeeell,” said Lord Capon, dragging out the word with an implied wiggle of his eyebrow, “A hot bath does a man good… “
“It does,” Henry agreed, nodding. “Which is why you can bathe here any time you like.”
“Have you ever seen Klara, the bathhouse wench?” Was Lord Capon… pouting? “Henry, she’s a beauty… if I didn’t know better, I’d say I was in love with her!”
Right. In love with a bathhouse wench. That sounded like a delusion at best, a swindle at worst. A bit desperate, if you asked Henry, especially when Sir Hans appeared barely healed. “But what about your wounds, sir?”
“I won’t lie to you: it hurts like the devil,” Sir Hans sighed. “But I’d rather hobble along with a cane, howling in pain, than listen to a selection of the most boring passages from the Gospels for one more minute!”
Very desperate. Henry took pity on him. He’d kept himself to his own room at Fandom for some time and it had driven him absolutely mad by the end of it.
“Why not,” he said. “When do you want to go?”
“I shall go there right away,” Sir Hans proclaimed. “But wait until at least dusk to join me! I’ll have company there.”
--
That still left Henry some time to himself, as Captain Bernard had given him the day to regain his strength. He roamed around the marketplace at Rattay, taking his fill of familiar foods he’d missed in between all the pizza and the hot pot at Fandom.
Then, eventually, he followed the long pathway out, through the lower gate, past the bathhouse, to the mill. He hadn’t spoken to Theresa, the Skalitz miller’s daughter, since she’d rescued him from those brigands that’d taken Sir Radzig’s sword from him. He owed her more than the fleeting thank you he’d given her then.
He found her outside the mill, doing her needlework. He sat down by her side. They spoke-- about Skalitz, about Rattay, about themselves. For a moment, Henry even chanced a thought to tell her about the maddening dream of these past three months, or two days, really, for as little time had seemed to move Rattay. But even with her, something in him led him to restrain himself.
Didn’t need anyone declaring him mad and running him off or throwing him in prison.
But eventually, he did walk half the long path back, taking a quick right into the bathhouse. The chickens scattered as he entered, and loud laughter rang out from behind one of the doors; he didn’t need to ask about where Sir Capon was.
He opened the door and stepped inside the dimly-lit room. A table clearly meant for dice sat beside the door, and a small cot rested in the far corner. The warm glow on the other side came from the stove, where the bathmaid was heating up another pail of water.
And in the center sat a large tub, with within it, stretched out and far more relaxed than Henry had ever seen him, the form of one Sir Hans Capon. “So… what did you need, sir?” Henry said, taking a few steps up to the tub.
“I need you to do me a favour, Henry,” Sir Hans sighed. His words were already slightly slurred.
Henry eyed him. “What, again?”
“Now, watch your tone, peasant,” the blond muttered, but it sounded perfunctory more than anything. “You’d never think it, but Zdena here--” He gestured towards the pretty dark-haired bathmaid with a lazy hand, “-- is a demon at dice! She stripped me bare-arse naked and I couldn’t even get a ribbon off her.”
“... So it didn’t quite go as planned?” Henry found a laugh bubbling up, which he barely managed to contain.
“Not quite!” Sir Hans declared enthusiastically. “But maybe you can do better…” He cleared his throat for no apparent reason at all. “Right then, you’ve got to beat Zdena at dice. I refuse to be the only one here with his arse on show!”
“I don’t know,” Henry said slowly. He hadn’t exactly always had the best luck at dice. “I’m not sure I can do it.”
“I am sure,” Hans-- Sir Hans told him. “That’s the important thing!”
Right, well. Henry padded up to Zdena herself to check in, sheepishly.
He asked if she was all right, with Capon being as he was, but she just waved him off. “Nothing we’re not used to.”
Henry nodded. “Ah,” he said. “So. How about a game of dice, then…?”
“Are you sure?” Zdena said, fixing intelligent dark eyes on him. “What would I do with two naked men here…?”
---
“It’s her we needed to strip,” Sir Hans sighed, a few minutes later. Unfortunately for the both of them, though, it was Henry now there stripped almost to nothing but a sheepish smile, swaying legs from the wine and the last remains of his dignity.
“I could do with a good soak too,” he said.
“Then strip off and hop in here!” Sir Hans declared, without apparently even thinking about it.
“Alright,” Henry said, and put one leg into the - oh, delightfully warm water. “Shift over. I don’t want to tread on anything vital!”
“Alright,” Hans laughed in turn, shifting in the tub as he held up a mug for Zdena to refill. “Give me a moment and I’ll roll it up again!”
“This feels good.” Henry sank all the way down into the water. It really did. It was heavenly, sinking into his aching muscles.
“Don’t take this personally,” Hans offered, leaning forward, “But I’ve never seen a man more in need of a wash. I’ve known cow pats less fragrant.”
Was he that smelly? Henry lifted an arm, sniffed his arm pit. Eh. Seemed fine. Zdena splashed more hot water into the bath, and he grinned over at Hans. “You certainly know how to have a good time!”
“Here, drink!” Hans shoved a mug at him. “It’s not terribly high quality, but it should do the job.”
Henry chuckled. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said. “Give me that.”
“That’s the spirit,” Hans enthused. Zdena dug her fingers into his hair, leaving soap-suds everywhere, and he let out a little sigh.
“So this is how you recuperate from your injuries?” Henry asked. “Booze and wenches?”
“Of course, is there any other way?” Hans shot back, dismissively. “So what news, Henry?”
“Never mind about me - what about you?” Henry countered. “Have you recovered from our hunting adventure?”
“I’m well enough, Henry. These baths are just the thing. And Zdena here--” She’d clearly dug her fingers very far into his scalp. “... is very-- healing.”
Though Zdena didn’t stay for long. She was followed up by Klara, that one bathmaid Sir Hans had kept talking about-- and was clearly happy to see, as he greeted her with a loud, “My most favouritest bathmaid!” right before he insulted the establishment’s wine.
“What’s wrong with the bathhouse wine?” Henry asked him, frowning. It seemed fine to him. Nice and… wine… y. He could already feel a warm haze settling upon him.
“I’d rather drink the bathwater,” Sir Hans Capon of the House of Leipa, Lord of Pirkstein, sniffed. “You should go and get something better, though where…? Ah! I know! In the cellars under the Rathaus there’s some excellent wine that Sir Hanush bought for us!” He laid his eyes back on Henry.
Henry knew that look by now.
“... And you want me to go there and get it now?” How late in the evening was it? He’d lost track of time.
“I’d be indebted to you,” Hans insisted. “And a grateful nobleman is the best ally you can have!”
Henry sighed. “Can’t you just make do with the bathhouse wine?”
Out there, someone would’ve likely smacked him for talking to a noble like that, but Hans was either too drunk or too… him… to care. He was focused on other priorities than criticizing Henry’s tone. “Absolutely not! I will have my Sylvaner red from that cellar, even if it takes you a week to get it! We’ll find some way of entertaining ourselves in the meantime.”
Henry sighed. He ambled towards the chest in the corner and fished around until he found what looked to be Hans Capon’s own keys. Then he took another swig of the bathhouse wine - which was fine - and he was on his way.
---
Much like with Father Godwin, this is where the memories got tricky. He remembered stumbling back up the path to Rattay, with his shirt and his hose hastily tugged on and looking like he’d just been mugged. He remembered sneaking ‘round back of the Rathaus and using the keys to open the door.
He remembered stumbling around into the guards’ sleeping quarters, and quietly slinking back out. He remembered nearly falling down the stairs. He remembered being in the cellar, groping around for whatever Sylvaner red was, and turning ‘round to come face to face with--
“Hey, you! What are you doing here?”
“Lord Capon sent me to get some wine for him.”
“Lord Capon, eh? A likely story!”
And Henry - stumbling and half of the way to blind drunk - had just blinked, and said, without even thinking twice, “You clearly don’t know Lord Capon. Do you think he’s going to leave in the middle of his merriment to go and get his own wine?”
“... No, that doesn’t sound like the young Lord. I suppose he sent you for the Sylvan red?”
-- and Henry would only realize later how much worse that could’ve gone, that it was a bloody miracle that the guard had believed him.
But he did remember the way Hans’s face had lit up when he came in with the wine. How his voice had gone high-pitched with a mixture of admiration and astonishment, and he’d practically shrieked, “You really broke into the cellar at the Rathaus? I don’t believe it? You really broke into the cellar?! You’re insane!”
Then Hans had told him to keep the key, and drink some of the Sylvan red, come on, what was he waiting for, a blessing from the parish priest? And Henry had gotten back into the tub and they’d kept drinking and he wouldn’t be able to tell you what Sylvan red tasted like, honestly, but it was good, and then things just got blurrier and blurrier.
Zdena had… danced? Hans had tried to show off something with the sword? There’d been laughter. Warm laughter. And more and more drinking.
It wasn’t like the night with Godwin. That had been… confusing, sometimes alarming, with a terrible morning after. This was nice.
There had been a bit in the middle where Hans had sent Henry back out again, into the darkness, where he could barely see his own feet. He’d scrabbled up the hill and gotten scratches all over his hands, looking for something for Klara… what was it? Dandelions, sage, and cabbages? No, that wasn’t right. Roses? All women liked roses, right?
… Either way.
When Henry’d come back to the bathhouse, he heard rather a lot of shouting. He wasn’t sure what about. Klara? Perhaps Klara. Yes. Klara, that sounded like her voice.
“That’s enough, Archibald!”
“Archibald?” yelped Hans, who had clearly left his sense of self-preservation somewhere around the third pint of wine.
“Nothing happened!” Klara pleaded.
“I’m going to take care of this bastard!” her lover snarled.
“I’d like to see you try, Arse-’n-Balls!” Hans yelled, and then he burst out laughing, like it was the funniest thing on earth.
Then-- gurgling.
A splash. A giggle. “Arse-’n-Balls!”
More gurgling.
Henry shoved open the door and caught sight of a dark-haired man, shoving Sir Hans Capon’s head under the water. He grabbed the man by the shirt, and yes, he’d liked to have said that he got rid of him, but no-- “What are you doing?” he managed to get out, and then there was a fist in his face.
“What the hell’s gotten into you?” Henry bellowed, bringing his arms up to protect himself from the next blow. “Trying to drown a nobleman?!”
A third punch stopped right in front of his crossed arms. “... A nobleman?” Archibald said. “Oh. Fuck.” He twisted around. “Sir! I didn’t know!”
“Get out of my sight,” Hans growled, pushing himself up by the rim of the tub. “Before I remember I can have you hung.”
At least Archibald’s good sense had returned to him, because he didn’t need to hear that twice. He scarpered towards the exit, simpering apologies. Klara rushed after him, making sure to shut the door.
Hans slumped backwards. He sank back into the water. “Heh,” he managed. “I nearly got drowned by Arse-’n-Balls.” He laughed, loud and hysterical, a fit that shook not just his body but the water with the force of it. “...Fuck, I feel like I’ve swallowed the Baltic.”
“Drinking will be the death of you,” Henry muttered. He suddenly felt quite sober - up in the head, at least, if not in body.
“Damn. Right,” Hans said. He looked up. “Is there anymore wine…?”
Henry stared at him. “Are you out of your fucking mind? After all that?”
“Of course,” Hans declared, spreading his arms. “Don’t tell me you don’t fancy a drink after all that!”
…
Well.
Okay.
Perhaps Henry was still a touch too drunk to argue with that logic.
So he got back in the tub.
Could you blame him? This was the easiest fun he’d had in months.
[[ taken and adapted from the quest Next to Godliness in Kingdom Come: Deliverance (2018), aka Why It Is Absolutely Hilarious That The Fanboys Argue They Were Straight Before The Sequel ]]
