Post by Lisa on Feb 29, 2012 7:09:03 GMT 10
Title: Flustered
Rating: PG
MPP Prompt 51 – Conversations
Word Count: 995
Summary: Owen doesn’t know how to handle himself with girls; particularly with girls who know how to handle him.
Owen was flustered. It wasn’t an uncommon feeling, ever since being taken on as Lord Wyldon’s squire. He’d finally coped with that direct stare being leveled solely at him – no Neal or Kel to step behind casually when it was just the two of them on the road. But now, when the questions were asked and there was no escape plan, he felt flustered.
Showing up at Cavall only heightened the feeling. Here it wasn’t Page Owen and the Training Master, like it had felt on the road. It was Squire Owen and Lord Wyldon, supreme ruler of all things Cavall, lord and master to man and beast, defender of all things great in this little patch of Tortall. Lord Wyldon became a giant in his eyes, when he’d already seemed impressive.
But not everyone felt the same way. Villagers in the small town, farmers they passed en route – yes, all of them rallied around the lord and asked for his opinions and wisdom. But in the manor itself, Owen learned that Lord Wyldon was one of the lower rungs on the ladder. Lady Vivenne ruled the coop, everyone from the scullery maids to her husband. And while Lord Wyldon was next in the local chain of command, he appeared to be the kind of fellow who wouldn’t – or couldn’t – deny his girls.
Not that they were bad girls, Owen thought. They were giggly and pretty and all kinds of other adjectives that made him feel even more flustered, but they weren’t ill-bred in the least. They were just so… womanly. They smelled nice, and had long, lovely hair. They knew how to smile at a fellow in ways that would make his insides squirm.
And they wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Father says you spend too much time in the library,” the youngest taunted one day, finding him among the histories. “That’s the book I was reading.”
“I’m sorry, Lady Cathrea,” he mumbled, handing it back to her. He avoided her very direct (and very familiar) gaze.
“I’m Margarry,” she corrected tartly.
He winced. Four girls shouldn’t feel like twelve; he couldn’t get their names straight for the life of him.
“He’s going to drag you away from here to fight up north,” she said. When he glanced up, he saw that she was studying him intently with eyes like her father’s. She wasn’t as pretty as the other girls, but there was something about her that was more to his liking.
“I can’t wait,” he said, with perhaps too much feeling.
“You want to leave?”
“Er, it’s not that I’m eager to part from Cavall,” he said, feeling much like he had while learning dances in deportment classes, stomping all over Neal’s toes. “But I want to be a knight. And that involves fighting.”
She opened the book – he hadn’t noticed the yellow silk ribbon that had marked her spot – and dropped lazily into the comfortable chair he’d decided was his favorite. “You may go now,” she said loftily.
“W-What if I don’t want to?” he asked softly.
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Boy, are you flirting with me?”
“No!”
This was the wrong answer. She sat up straight, her expression surprised and maybe even a bit hurt. “Am I so odious that you wouldn’t try?”
“That’s not what I meant!” Owen cried, feeling – yet again – sheepish and embarrassed. The room had grown hotter (why were the fires kept so high in Cavall? he wondered). “I’m not permitted to flirt with ladies. I’m a squire!”
“I was under the impression that squires were the ones who flirted the most. Father warned me about squires, you know.”
“And yet you came into this room, alone, knowing that I could flirt with you and ruin you?”
Her mouth twitched into the tiniest of smiles. “Ruin me? You have lofty goals, Squire Owen.”
“It’s not a goal!” he insisted.
“What are your goals then, boy?” She leaned forward, earnestly. He couldn’t help but notice how her neckline was altered, hanging downward and revealing for more than his knight-master would want him to see.
He tried to speak, but no intelligible words came out. He couldn’t find it in his power to avert his eyes, either.
Margarry tilted her head to one side, smirking. “I don’t think that’s in Father’s plan for you.”
The mention of Lord Wyldon made Owen snap back to the matter at hand. “My goal is to be a knight,” he said. “To roam the realm, ridding it of bandits and spidrens and anything else that might cause harm.”
“Knights tend to marry ladies.”
“If it happens, so be it.”
“Do you even know the first thing about courting a lady?” she asked. Her voice was no longer taunting and snide.
“I’m not permitted to flirt with the ladies,” he repeated, flailing.
“I bet other squires do. Do you have friends with sweethearts?”
He reflected, for a moment, on Kel and Cleon. They were both squires who found time for romance. The thought made his cheeks hot. (Stupid Cleon.) “Yes.”
“There’s nothing wrong with finding a girl you might want to keep.” She set the book aside. “Or even one you just want to flirt with, or write letters to.”
“I haven’t met anyone yet,” he replied, his voice dull. The only way to get out of this conversation, he realized, was to admit defeat. Yes – then he could regroup and attack again later from a position of strength! Wouldn’t Lord Wyldon be proud to know that his squire was applying all that strategic mumbo-jumbo to other areas of life?
“I don’t want this book after all,” Margarry said, standing up. “You’re lucky, Squire Owen.”
“Because I can read the book now?”
“Because I always get what I want.” She raised her eyebrows, smiling triumphantly. She left the room in such a manner, leaving Owen behind, flustered and blinking and trying to figure out what their entire exchange had been about.
Rating: PG
MPP Prompt 51 – Conversations
Word Count: 995
Summary: Owen doesn’t know how to handle himself with girls; particularly with girls who know how to handle him.
Owen was flustered. It wasn’t an uncommon feeling, ever since being taken on as Lord Wyldon’s squire. He’d finally coped with that direct stare being leveled solely at him – no Neal or Kel to step behind casually when it was just the two of them on the road. But now, when the questions were asked and there was no escape plan, he felt flustered.
Showing up at Cavall only heightened the feeling. Here it wasn’t Page Owen and the Training Master, like it had felt on the road. It was Squire Owen and Lord Wyldon, supreme ruler of all things Cavall, lord and master to man and beast, defender of all things great in this little patch of Tortall. Lord Wyldon became a giant in his eyes, when he’d already seemed impressive.
But not everyone felt the same way. Villagers in the small town, farmers they passed en route – yes, all of them rallied around the lord and asked for his opinions and wisdom. But in the manor itself, Owen learned that Lord Wyldon was one of the lower rungs on the ladder. Lady Vivenne ruled the coop, everyone from the scullery maids to her husband. And while Lord Wyldon was next in the local chain of command, he appeared to be the kind of fellow who wouldn’t – or couldn’t – deny his girls.
Not that they were bad girls, Owen thought. They were giggly and pretty and all kinds of other adjectives that made him feel even more flustered, but they weren’t ill-bred in the least. They were just so… womanly. They smelled nice, and had long, lovely hair. They knew how to smile at a fellow in ways that would make his insides squirm.
And they wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Father says you spend too much time in the library,” the youngest taunted one day, finding him among the histories. “That’s the book I was reading.”
“I’m sorry, Lady Cathrea,” he mumbled, handing it back to her. He avoided her very direct (and very familiar) gaze.
“I’m Margarry,” she corrected tartly.
He winced. Four girls shouldn’t feel like twelve; he couldn’t get their names straight for the life of him.
“He’s going to drag you away from here to fight up north,” she said. When he glanced up, he saw that she was studying him intently with eyes like her father’s. She wasn’t as pretty as the other girls, but there was something about her that was more to his liking.
“I can’t wait,” he said, with perhaps too much feeling.
“You want to leave?”
“Er, it’s not that I’m eager to part from Cavall,” he said, feeling much like he had while learning dances in deportment classes, stomping all over Neal’s toes. “But I want to be a knight. And that involves fighting.”
She opened the book – he hadn’t noticed the yellow silk ribbon that had marked her spot – and dropped lazily into the comfortable chair he’d decided was his favorite. “You may go now,” she said loftily.
“W-What if I don’t want to?” he asked softly.
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Boy, are you flirting with me?”
“No!”
This was the wrong answer. She sat up straight, her expression surprised and maybe even a bit hurt. “Am I so odious that you wouldn’t try?”
“That’s not what I meant!” Owen cried, feeling – yet again – sheepish and embarrassed. The room had grown hotter (why were the fires kept so high in Cavall? he wondered). “I’m not permitted to flirt with ladies. I’m a squire!”
“I was under the impression that squires were the ones who flirted the most. Father warned me about squires, you know.”
“And yet you came into this room, alone, knowing that I could flirt with you and ruin you?”
Her mouth twitched into the tiniest of smiles. “Ruin me? You have lofty goals, Squire Owen.”
“It’s not a goal!” he insisted.
“What are your goals then, boy?” She leaned forward, earnestly. He couldn’t help but notice how her neckline was altered, hanging downward and revealing for more than his knight-master would want him to see.
He tried to speak, but no intelligible words came out. He couldn’t find it in his power to avert his eyes, either.
Margarry tilted her head to one side, smirking. “I don’t think that’s in Father’s plan for you.”
The mention of Lord Wyldon made Owen snap back to the matter at hand. “My goal is to be a knight,” he said. “To roam the realm, ridding it of bandits and spidrens and anything else that might cause harm.”
“Knights tend to marry ladies.”
“If it happens, so be it.”
“Do you even know the first thing about courting a lady?” she asked. Her voice was no longer taunting and snide.
“I’m not permitted to flirt with the ladies,” he repeated, flailing.
“I bet other squires do. Do you have friends with sweethearts?”
He reflected, for a moment, on Kel and Cleon. They were both squires who found time for romance. The thought made his cheeks hot. (Stupid Cleon.) “Yes.”
“There’s nothing wrong with finding a girl you might want to keep.” She set the book aside. “Or even one you just want to flirt with, or write letters to.”
“I haven’t met anyone yet,” he replied, his voice dull. The only way to get out of this conversation, he realized, was to admit defeat. Yes – then he could regroup and attack again later from a position of strength! Wouldn’t Lord Wyldon be proud to know that his squire was applying all that strategic mumbo-jumbo to other areas of life?
“I don’t want this book after all,” Margarry said, standing up. “You’re lucky, Squire Owen.”
“Because I can read the book now?”
“Because I always get what I want.” She raised her eyebrows, smiling triumphantly. She left the room in such a manner, leaving Owen behind, flustered and blinking and trying to figure out what their entire exchange had been about.
It's too much fun to be in Owen's head.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!