Chapter Text
The Boar’s Head Bar had been around for many years (undergoing several name changes and being passed through several owners), but none can deny that it had never been more popular than it was in 1946. The deed, for the first time, was held by a woman. The regulars called her Madam Quickly, due to her fast and efficient service in running the business, and the pseudonym stuck so well that few even know her real name.
Madam Quickly had inherited the place from an older wealthy gentleman far past his prime: John Falstaff, colloquially known as Sir Jack. The man was eccentric to say the least, but none can deny he made his wisest business choice in passing the deed onto his best barmaid. Falstaff still frequented the bar as a patron in his retirement, providing entertainment to the more sober guests
But more than the drinks, patrons came for the unmatched spectacle of the Boar’s Head. Showgirls were fairly commonplace in establishments like these, but showboys were unique to Quickly’s bar (a fact in which she took great pride in). It was such an odd idea elsewhere that no one knew how it gained such traction in the Boar's Head community. These young men were the pride and joy of the establishment, but none more so than The Prince.
The Prince had lived up to his name and owned the stage since he arrived three years prior. His very first performance had left patrons treating him as local royalty– hence the show name.
Behind the regal facade, the staff at Boar's Head knew him simply as Hal. No surname, no family, and no history at all.
But the Boar's Head Bar is the last place to judge those who walk in it's doors. Everyone has things of their past they'd rather leave behind. If someone comes here to reinvent themself, Madam Quickly isn't one to deprive them of that. Especially not someone who rakes in as much business as Hal, the Prince of the Bar.
“Hal!” Cried Ned Poins, one of the showboys. “Darling, how are you?” Ned gave Hal a dramatic, sweeping bow.
“Bonjour, ma bebé,” Hal replied, winking at the other man. He offered Ned his hand. “Bow to your ruler.”
“I bow only for you, baby.” Ned fiercely kissed his hand before dissolving into laughter. Hal gazed into Ned’s eyes a little too long before breaking his gaze. He cleared his throat.
“Are you all set for tonight's performance, darling dear?” Hal asked.
“Not as ready as you, I'm sure,” Poins replied.
“Nonsense,” Hal countered with an effeminate wave.
“Nonsense? Darling dear, there's a reason you've been crowned the Prince while I'm merely called Poindextress.”
“You've been here longer,” Hal argued.
“Seniority and adoration keep little company these days, sweet prince,” Ned chimed back. “You're most likely Quickly's favorite, too.”
“I don't think–” Hal began.
“And you're definitely Sir Jack’s favorite.”
“That one is probably due to you calling him ‘Sir Jackass', darling dear.” Hal laughed.
“Touche, ma bebé, touché.” Ned stopped to check his nails. “I'm about due for a manicure.”
“Is that in the budget?”
“It better be if they have me doubling up with bartender duty. Do you know what that does to a queen’s hand?” He threw said hand toward his forehead and struck a pose of despair.
“You're on bar duty again?” Hal asked incredulously. “I've never had to bartend on a performance night.”
“Only proving my point of favoritism, sweet prince.” Ned began his exit with another deep curtsy. “Well, the bar won't set up itself. Au revoir, mon doux prince.” A sharp spike of anxiety hit Hal in the stomach. Something bad was going to happen tonight.
“Ned, wait–” Hal’s voice faltered as the man turned back around to face him.
“What is it, mon cherie?” Ned replied, batting his eyes. Hal could look into those eyes all night. He wanted to beg Ned to stay, to take the night off, to run away with him. But that's not how their story is supposed to go. No matter how free or expressive they may get to be in the Boar's Head, they still have to face the real world at the end of the day. Men like Hal don't get happy endings. They marry and settle down and suppress all they once felt.
He was just being silly. Nothing was going to happen. It's just another night at the Boar's Head Bar.
“Break legs tonight, ma bébé.” Hal offered a smile. Ned returned the gesture, grinning wildly before dramatically spinning off and exiting. Hal watched appreciatively. He may have to suppress in the real world, but no one said he couldn't be a homosexual on the clock.
~
The sickening feeling didn't leave Hal’s chest, despite his valiant efforts to bury it. And he did try. It was the one blemish no amount of rouge or lipstick could conceal. He put it on anyway.
If I'm going to be miserable, he mused to himself. I might as well look damn good doing it.
“Hal?” A voice asked behind him. Through his vanity mirror, he saw Madam Quickly behind him.
“Bonjour, madame!” He cried, putting on his show smile. “With how beautiful I look in this lighting, we may have to change my name to the Princess. No, the queen!” Hal laughed, but Quickly didn't join in.
“Hal, I saw you brooding to your reflection. What's wrong?” She asked.
“Nothing. I mean, something is wrong, but I don't know if it actually is. I mean, I don't know what it is.” Hal threw his hands up in frustration.
“Hal, hun, you're not making any sense.” Quickly replied.
“It doesn't make sense to me either, mon cherie.” Hal sighed. “I just have this nagging suspicion that something is going to go wrong tonight.”
“Something going wrong? In my bar? Think again, young Prince.” Quickly laughed. “But genuinely. I can't think of anything that could happen tonight. Sir Jack is even here tonight.”
“Is that supposed to be out of the ordinary?” Hal raised an eyebrow.
“He claims to be the valiant knight protector of the bar.” Quickly shrugged.
“Whatever would we do without brave Sir Jack.” Hal smiled. “You're right, I just need to relax and focus on the show.”
“You are the show, my dear,” she replied.
“You're not helping the favoritism allegations,” Hal retorted.
“I wasn't aware that God forbade women have a preference or two.”
“You're too much, mon cherie.”
“Never call a woman “too much”, sweet Hal.”
“Women aren't my strong suit.”
“The patrons beg to differ.” She gestured to the stage. Hal took one final look at his makeup.
“Then I better not keep them waiting,” Hal said with a flourish.