"Will," you greeted pleasantly, nodding to the man sitting at one of the tables. It wasn't every day that William Shakespeare showed up at the local tavern. But then again, neither did you.

Will gave you a tight smile in return. It wasn't that he was unhappy to see you or anything. You and Will had been friends for a very long time, and he made an effort to uphold that friendship in spite of his newfound fame. But it was difficult to catch up properly with a very drunk Christopher Marlowe hanging off his arm.

"Is this one of your little buddies, Will?" Christopher was a bit loud, his tongue loosened by alcohol. "Evening, handsome." He was absolutely knackered.

You raised an eyebrow in amusement, which only served to deepen Will's embarrassment. "Is this one of your famous writer friends?"

Will sighed heavily. He adjusted his stance before Christopher could fall face-first into the table. "Friend is a generous term. This is Christopher Marlowe. He.. um.. he recently found himself single and I thought perhaps I could accompany him out."

Will's tone was not lost on you. He knew of your preferences, and you'd heard whispers that Christopher Marlowe was also more inclined towards the male specimens. What Will had assumed would be a simple night out had turned into his friend (enemy? acquaintance?) drowning his sorrows. And Will wanted you to take Christopher off your hands so he could go home and pretend this never happened.