[Closed Post: A Pit of Clay]

[timebethine]

Laertes has settled on building a cross-draft kiln--but for that, he'll need to fire bricks, and to make bricks, of course, he'll need clay. He's finished sifting the clay he'd dug from the shore of the lake, and now all that remains is to get it into a state that will bear shaping and firing. The tool room had a couple of bags of sand and a smaller sack of bauxite alumina ready for use; those will help the kiln bricks to withstand the great heat of a long firing.

It's a grey day, and the scent of clay is rich in Laertes's nostrils. Smells always get stronger right before he has a migraine, and a part of him wants to call off this whole project and hide in bed to wait out the impending ache--but he isn't hurting yet; his vision isn't starting to shimmer yet. The wind off the lake is bracing, redolent with the rich, spice-and-rot scent of fallen leaves.

There's time enough to pull off his boots and socks, roll up his jeans, and dig in.

Comments

[timebethine]

"Ay, it's been so long since last we met." Laertes leans up to kiss the side of Sagramore's neck. "Dost remember my name?"

[sagramore]

"Hmmm. A Greek name, if I don't mistake me."

[timebethine]

"Ay, a Greek name," Laertes agrees, with a little nip to Sagramore's ear like a reward.

[sagramore]

He laughs; it sends a quick involuntary shiver through him. He absolutely does not remember anything else about the origins of Laertes' name, though he does try to see if absolutely anything remains from the tedious classical education of his childhood. It does not. "A handsome name," he says instead, hoping that will make Laertes laugh.

[timebethine]

"Sweet man," says Laertes--admonishing, but laughing, laughing--"if thou canst not remember my name, how wilt thou scream it in ecstasy?"

[sagramore]

"I'll grant thee that could cause a problem--"

[timebethine]

"Call me any name, and I'll answer it," Laertes laughs. "Only look me in the eyes, that I'll know thou meanest me."

[sagramore]

He turns around in Laertes' arms to meet his gaze. "I could mean no one else."

[timebethine]

Laertes meets his eyes, thumbs hooked through the belt loops of Sagramore's jeans. "Here. Now."

[sagramore]

"Now?" mock-scandalized. "Before thou hast thy supper?"

[timebethine]

Laertes raises both hands, stepping back. "I cannot fault thy good sense."

[sagramore]

"I have to fuss over thee a little. Then thou canst do anything thou wouldst to me."

[timebethine]

"Then I'll let thee cook, that I might enjoy thee the sooner."

[sagramore]

He bends and kisses Laertes softly. Then he takes the chopped parsley over to the stove. "It's almost finished."

[timebethine]

"It smells better than I remember--didst thou add any differences?"

[sagramore]

"The stock was different from last time. Remember, it was a powder then and we mixed it with the water, and this time I found it ready-made."

[timebethine]

"Ah, then I hope there will be less salt in it! That stock was powerfully salty." While Sagramore finishes the soup, Laertes takes down a couple of dinner trays and lays out the bread around a pair of bowls.

[sagramore]

"I remember. I tasted it before I added it, I thought it was better." He sprinkles in the parsley liberally, gives it a stir, and goes to get a ladle.

[timebethine]

Once the soup has been served, Laertes takes up his tray. He lets Sagramore choose where they'll eat today--whether they'll take their meals to the café or head back to their rooms.

[sagramore]

Upstairs, mainly because it hasn't occurred to him that the cafe is a place that they could eat. Sagramore does detour to one of the bars for ice and more of the ginger beer they'd tried with the cointreau.

When they get back to the room, he clears some space off on the table for them -- now that their assignation with Claudius is over, they promptly have made a clutter of it again -- and sets his tray down. It seems like a special occasion, or at least an occasion where Laertes, having survived his migraine, deserves to be spoiled some, and he pokes his head into the closet where he's been keeping the drinks he wants to share with him (behind the many flouncy skirts that are still there from the last time they were generated. He comes back with a bottle of rhubarb and ginger gin.

[timebethine]

Laertes pulls up a chair and sits, but he looks up with interest at the new bottles. "Rhubarb and ginger? That sounds perfect," he says appreciatively. "Hast been saving new liquors to tempt me?"

[sagramore]

"I have." He reaches for one of the empty mugs and adds ice to it. "We need a cold box like the one in the bar up here. A little one, to keep drinks in."

[timebethine]

"I found a little one, but that I passed on to Enjolras for his café," says Laertes ruefully as he tears off a bit of bread to dip in his soup. "Thou art right; the drinks I like best, I like cold."

[sagramore]

As he begins mixing a drink for Laertes, "Where didst thou find it? I can look for another." He did pick the gin because it's the only thing he has in his stash that didn't need to be chilled first.

[timebethine]

"It was much like a kitchen, but with no oven or stove," says Laertes. "There was the small cold box, and one of those boxes that can warm food quickly--and a coffee machine and a toaster, but the toaster, Tress and I took apart."