Don We Now Our Gay Apparel...Not (open)

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Beowulf hated everything. He had hated everything since Halloween and he was avoiding Sunny. She hadn’t been herself and then she was and Beowulf was confused. He had been confused before Halloween and then Halloween had been absurd and stupid and now he was even more confused. And everything was stupid. And this holiday place was absurd. The only good thing about it as the snow.

The young Viking sulked by the fire. The hot chocolate drink that they served was absurd. Clearly they didn’t know how hot mead warmed the belly, but they probably didn’t care either. This was all stupid. Even coming here was stupid. He had gotten out his fur covered vest and his fur lined boots from home. He sat on the hearth on his nice fur cape because it was better than sitting on the absurd tile. Tile in front of a fire was a stupid idea. The worst part was that there was skald to keep him entertained and he hadn’t thought to bring a book. Could this get any worse?

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Dear God, it was freezing! Mind you, Humperdinck was actually more used to that than some of his fellow students, seeing as Florin was capable of freezing the workers to death on a regular basis this time of year. In fact, the castle was always so damn drafty that it was one thing that he had grown used to. All the same, that didn't mean he wanted to stay outside more than he absolutely had to. By this point he had received a package of the proper items (after struggling on that blasted Internet and nearly throwing the computer across the room...it seemed that people were less than thrilled by him doing that, the stupid peasants), so at least he was dressed right...well, except for that coat. It was far too bulky and he wasn't able to move in it and he felt a jacket would be much more practical and...okay, fine, yes, he was freezing and it was his own damn fault, would you please leave him alone?

This sort of train of thought was all he could drown in until he decided that he had had enough and a drafty building was certainly better than being out in this weather, so he opened the door to some "Hot Chocolate Lounge". He didn't know what the hell chocolate was, and he honestly didn't care, he just wanted to attempt to grin and bear this...

Then something remarkable happened when he set foot in the lodge that actually wiped that perpetual scowl off of his face. It was...warm. Warm beyond what a mere fireplace could do, although he caught a glimpse of one across the room. It wasn't even like a summer warmth, because there were times when that was unbearable too. This was...this was perhaps the perfect temperature and you wouldn't believe the childlike wonder on his face. He actually looked...happy. All right, this I could get used to, he thought as he was about to settle down on one of the chairs that, he wasn't going to deny it, looked pretty delightful. Unfortunately, once he did, his gaze went towards the hearth and...

"...oh not you again," he said. He had half a mind to turn around right then, but then he remembered just how cold it was out there. God, it would just figure that one of his enemies would be around here. What was next? Westley being around too? He could easily see those two being allies against him, really. Sort of like the rest of the world, but those two were certainly the worst. Even worse than Guilder, if you would believe that. Damn it, damn it, damn it, could he never have one moment of peace?

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Of course things could get worse. He was a Viking. He knew this could always get worse. There could be a monster lurking in the fens near your village or the snow could come too early and too heavily ruining your harvest and then half of your village could die. Or, as in this instance, have one person whom you abhor manage to find an open seat near you. It made Beowulf’s already horrible mood even worse. Of all the absurd things that could happen to him. This was the most absurd and stupid thing that could possibly happen to him. Of all the incompetent pretenders Beowulf had to be the one that was the most insufferable. He’d rather go kill monsters.

Beowulf merely grunted at Humperdinck. He disliked him enough that he wasn’t even going to speak to him. He hadn’t even planned to acknowledge his existence, but the grunt had escaped him before he could pull it back. But it didn’t matter anyway because he’d beaten Humperdinck once. There was no doubt that the young Viking could do it again. As long as he stayed where he was and didn’t come any closer to him Beowulf could be moderately civil. Of course, his definition of ‘civil’ included not killing Humperdinck and speaking as little as possible or not at all. He was too comfortable sitting at the hearth otherwise he’d get up and walk away, but for now he’d stay.

But so help the person who dared to cross him.

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He was more than ready to fight this man off once again. He had been drunk the previous time and was obviously at an unfair disadvantage, seeing as he could barely see where his sword was, let alone let it into Beowulf's stomach where it belonged. Not that it mattered, all of the evidence that he had been bested by some...whatever you could call him was gone now that all of the bruises had healed a long time ago, but then...well then. All he got was a grunt. He was rather blessed right now...well, no. "Blessing" was too good for what this moment was. Still, at least it seemed he was going to be left alone.

Humperdinck almost laughed. Of course that was all the response he got. He had known the black haired man was a fool. Really, he had gotten lucky at the bar. Under most circumstances he would have been dead for daring to cross him.

"Really, he should bless me for allowing him to win. I was hardly in the mood to kill someone while drunk," he muttered, seeming quite happy with himself as he settled by the fireplace, letting the warmth ease a good chunk of his annoyance...that is, for about five seconds. Because he was still there. Perhaps he had been too merciful (yes, he was really that good at putting a spin on things. He actually started believing them. It was a sad sort of delusion, really). The man's presence was less than delightful, to say the least. So he glared just a little, wondering if he ought to bother challenging him again.

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Beowulf was one of the strongest men in all of Geatland. There were very few men who could outdo him in strength. His mother often wondered at his strength and guessed that his full strength had not yet manifested itself completely. Beowulf didn’t care about how strong he was as long as he could do what he set out to do. But he did know that he was strong enough to dispatch of this young man who called himself a prince. He was not a man worth his salt. Men like him were never worth their salt. They did not deserve what they had. Selfish men were no more fit to become kings than a horse and even then Beowulf would prefer the horse over Humperdinck.

Beowulf glowered at the fire. He hated the man. No, hate was too soft a word. He abhorred him, loathed him. The Viking could have killed him where he sat by now. The element of surprise would be on his side. The other man wouldn’t know what was coming until it was too late. By then Beowulf could have a knife in his gut. Or snap his neck like he would to a small animal that he was hunting. But in this society it was wrong to kill a man. They had no system of were-geld here. It was a crime and he would go to a place called ‘jail’ where he would rot inside without even the comfort of a fire and that was no good.

Beowulf was also keen of hearing, as he was strong. He caught Humperdinck’s mutterings. “Count your own blessings,” he told the man, warning in his voice. “You won’t be so lucky again.”