Romans & histoires Historical Humor

He had the missing fingers to prove it. “I knew I’d be needed today. I brought my gear with me. Just stay back until I call you or you see the cloud of dust and debris.” That was something about people that did what he did. They had a mortician’s humor, or they had what was called gallows humor. Meaning they either had no sense of humor at all or they were sick and had a morbid sense of humor. Jackson didn’t believe in being serious about anything because he was too busy living what time he had left.

They both laugh humorously. * * * * *

I asked, "So, Miss. How is it going with the Dark humour guy? Any update so far?" "HA! Dark humour! He's the funniest guy, I've ever met. Didn't you hear that line of him? I mean he called himself motherfucker; oh my, that's the kind of humour I love. Every time he cracks a joke, it makes me head over heels for him. And not forget his awkwardness around girls" the sarcasm was dripping from her mouth. But that changed my mood. And we both started chuckling, "He's not that bad!" I exclaimed. Right? He's not that bad.

“It’s not funny.” “No, it really is,” he said between chuckles. “You looked like you saw a ghost.” I crossed my arms, glaring. “And you act like an overgrown five-year-old.” Christian straightened, still chuckling. He brushed imaginary dust from his shirt. “I’m sorry, nerd alert.” He gave me a mock salute. “But really,why are you so obsessed with dusty old history? You should focus on the here and now.” I glared at him, inhaling through my nose.

I didn't expect her to seek justifications. — Your personality is too undefined for all of us historians, I just wanted to know a little, I know it's too much and it's okay to deny it, even if I'm sure I can forget about it when I wake up, it's just... you know, we're going through the time here, forgetting some things. – I don't know if that sounded convincing, but his silence didn't give me any answers. “Historians are too curious. – His speech made me smile.

"So how's the classic literature conversation going? Did he recommend any exciting Dickens novels?" My stomach dropped. How the hell did he know about that? James must have talked. Or maybe Nate overheard something at the office. "The conversation is great," I lied without blinking. "I'm sure. Especially the part where the Hundred Years' War lasted exactly one hundred years." Shit. He'd definitely overheard. "Everyone makes mistakes," I said defensively. "Of course. Especially medieval history professors making mistakes about medieval history." "You're unbearable," I muttered, turning away. "And you're being stubborn. If he's so interesting, you should go back to him."

Then someone in the crowd sneered, their voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, that must be Sophia's sugar daddy. Showed up to defend her. She's not picky, is she. She'll take a guy in his fifties." The crowd erupted. Some covered their mouths, laughing. Others joined in openly. "Yeah, I heard she doesn't care about age. Maybe this old man's a regular too." The dean's expression tightened. He turned sharply toward the crowd. "All of you–shut your mouths!" He glanced at my injuries, his voice urgent.

"He looks like he just smelled something rotten." Jonathan burst out laughing, leaning over the table. "I think that’s just his face. Look at his eyes, he looks like he’s trying to remember if he left the stove on in 1540." Lucy started giggling "Stop! He’s a historical figure, show some respect." "I am!" Jonathan laughed, nudging her arm. "I’m respecting the fact that he managed to look that grumpy while someone spent sixty hours painting him." Lucy laughed so hard she had to lean against his shoulder to catch her breath.

“Need help? Or do you need someone to dramatically throw it out of the window for you?” I couldn’t help the small puff of laughter that escaped. “You’re not funny.” “I’m hilarious. You’re just too stressed to appreciate fine comedy,” he replied with a mock sigh. “So what’s got your brain twisted in knots? Is it the treaties? The histories? Please don’t say the battle strategies. Those gave me nightmares.” I looked at him, and smiled,he was trying to make me laugh, he must have noticed that I was stressed. There was humor in his voice, but his eyes were watching me carefully—soft, concerned, like he saw through the armor I thought I was still wearing.

“Says the man who used an annotated memoir on territorial legislation as bedtime reading.” He leaned back, that amused tilt softening the sharp lines of his jaw. “That was strategy.” “No, that was masochism. At least my books have characters who feel things.” “Like talking ravens and ravishing maidens.” I cracked a smile before I could stop it. “As opposed to your gripping tale of Pack finance reforms in 1997?” “Historic. Influential.” “Boring.” We were both laughing now, genuinely, fully, that kind of surprised laughter that bubbles up when you were least expecting it. It felt warm, stupid, a little reckless. I hadn’t laughed like that in… gods, I didn’t know how long.