tu_vas_triompher | (no subject)

(no subject)

This new Harry isn't going to be permanent, right? This is all one of those temporary Milliways things? It's Halloween, so Harry Hotspur of the 15th century is a Tottenham Hotspur of 2015 for the moment, and soon he'll be himself again. Right?

The alternative to optimism on this point being panic and despair, Feuilly is doing the only sensible thing, which is to take the amiable and vaguely...shiny...Harry Percy of the future out to hit things with practice swords.

--and hell, if it's his chance to win a playful skirmish or two, he's not above taking it.

"All right," he says cheerily, when they get to the yard near the stable. "Do you know how to hold it?"

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His grin is cheerful and uncomplicated. "I bet." Some things must hold true across Milliways' caprices. "Do you--do you want to put the swords away, get a football? --I mean, you don't have to, I--"

Harry can't help but grin back, and go a little pink. "Yeah, well-- after saying that, I'd better prove it, I guess."

"You'd better." He carefully, gently, brings his practice sword up and taps the point to the center of Harry's chest. "I win? Now you can see how bad I am with a football."

He stumbles dramatically back a few paces, clutching his chest, then says, "It's way easier than all this!"

"Sure. If you're good at it. You've been doing this since you were a kid?"

Well, maybe there's hope for Feuilly. But he anticipates a good bit of embarrassment first.

Harry nods. He swings the sword up to rest it against his shoulder and nods towards Milliways-- shall we?

"I didn't say it was easy to be good, just that anybody can kick a ball..."

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