Book Club, Nibs: helpful, dancing, inviting someone to move in
Showtime, Election of 1800: beer
Amber's Attic: KingsleyRosmerta
Lo's Lowdown, Enjolras: Write about a leader
Hamilton Mania, winning a war: post-war ("Death doesn't discriminate.")
Medium piñata
455 words
Kingsley isn't sure what he would do without Rosmerta. Since the war's end, he's been thrown into the role of Minister, and it has been non-stop. Rosmerta, ever the wonderful and helpful lover, has kept her pub open after hours so that he can relax and unwind without being bombarded by question after question.
"Dance with me," she says, tucking her golden blonde curls behind her ears and smiling at him, her hand extended to him.
"No music," he says, sipping his beer and setting his glass down with a satisfied sigh.
She doesn't drop her hand. Her dark blue eyes rest upon him expectantly, and he laughs. As Minister, he tends to spend his days giving orders and guiding people along. Yet here he is, unable to say no to Rosmerta. With a grin, he accepts her hand, allowing her to guide him to his feet.
"Hard day at work?" she asks as they begin to dance slowly along the empty pub.
Kingsley nods, swallowing dryly. "Another kid's funeral," he says sadly, releasing a heavy sigh. "Death doesn't discriminate. She was so young…"
Rosmerta pauses and brushes her fingertips along his cheek. His eyes flutter closed. The world is still in disarray, and it's been constant chaos for the past month, but Rosmerta has been there. All it takes is her smile, and it feels like things will be okay.
"You're strong," she whispers. "I have to watch people drown their sorrows with alcohol, and I can barely stand it. But you… You have to witness their grief in such a raw form. I can't imagine how your heart must be breaking."
He holds her close, kissing her gently. "I have to be strong," he says. "You make it easier."
Their dance resumes, and he finds himself smiling at last. As expected, Rosmerta brings him peace and comfort, and he can almost relax.
"You're here every night," she murmurs.
"Good beer, even better company," he chuckles.
Rosmerta looks up at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You could stay with me," she says. "Move in, live above the pub. No more rushing and worrying."
"Awfully bold of you," he teases.
"Well?"
He doesn't even have to think about it. There is no doubt in his mind that he and Rosmerta are meant to be, and the answer falls so easily from his lips. "Yes."
Kingsley knows that it's a big change, and that the world is already unsteady enough, that he shouldn't add more to the chaos. But he doesn't care. This is a leap of faith he's willing to take. Even if it's another uncertainty, another sudden shift, at least he can take comfort in knowing that he won't be alone.
