Post by Cass on Nov 22, 2010 12:16:39 GMT 10
Title: The Comedy of Sir Wyldon and Squire Owen
Rating: G
Words: 514
Summary: Owen and Wyldon talk about location and love, and William Shakespeare rolls over in his grave.
Notes: There was a fight between me and iambic pentameter, and I got beat around the head a few times. Still: delicious crack.
-
[Enter WYLDON, a stern knight, and OWEN, his hellion squire.]
OWEN:
Your pardon, sir, but I have for you a question:
We have traveled long and hard on this road
We have stayed at inns and many taverns
And now sir, I ask. I need satisfaction.
When sir, when shall we arrive at Cavall?
[Wyldon takes a deep breath and silently questions for the third time that day why he bothered to listen to Mindelan when he could have had a nice time at home with his wife without having to worry about a bane of his existence getting into scrapes and daydreaming about rainbows and kittens, or whatever it is that goes through Owen's head.]
OWEN:
Sir, we have traveled a very long while
And frankly, I am sick of tavern food!
Their pastries are dry and crumble something awful
Besides, you never let me have the wine.
WYLDON:
What a measure of a question is this!
I explained my lack of want for you drunk;
A responsible knight
Does not partake of such types of things.
Have you listened to anything I taught?
Or is it in one ear and out the other?
OWEN:
No sir, that is not the question I ask.
Truly, the only thing is: are we there yet?
WYLDON [ohmygods this road trip is worse than the time I had to ride with Naxen and Goldenlake and their furtive looks even if that night when we made camp near the lake was delightful]:
Impudent! We get there when we get there;
No later and no sooner.
[Owen sighs, overcome with a few fond memories of Sir Myles and his actual tendency to, y'know, joke around. They ride on. Owen whistles something akin to whatever the Tortallan version of Yankee Doodle would be under his breath.]
WYLDON:
Mithros, Mynoss, and Shakith, stop that dreadful sound!
OWEN:
I was trying to add some levity,
Our surroundings are exceedingly dull.
WYLDON:
We are on the holdings of Fief Cavall
I might advise you to hold your tongue.
OWEN [whose thoughts have turned to ladies. And bosoms]:
Oh. Er. Um. Right. How is Margarry?
Will I see milady at the keep?
WYLDON:
Are you thinking of my daugher, Jesslaw?
OWEN:
Only in the most honorable way
I wish not to occur her wrath or yours
WYLDOM [perhaps this boy is as smart as he occasionally suspects he is]:
That is very wise; I must commend you.
Give answers like that all of the time
And perhaps I won't practice tilting on you
[Owen gulps and considers if he can hide under his saddle where it's safe]
I believe that Margarry will be there
And I think she may want a word with you.
OWEN:
Really?
WYLDON:
Would you believe me, squire, if I said
That I was young once, and had thoughts like yours?
(Though I beg you not to voice them in my company)
I do trust you with my daughter's heart
It is hers to give, and not yours to lose.
[Owen is speechless. Wyldon smiles briefly. They ride on.]
Rating: G
Words: 514
Summary: Owen and Wyldon talk about location and love, and William Shakespeare rolls over in his grave.
Notes: There was a fight between me and iambic pentameter, and I got beat around the head a few times. Still: delicious crack.
-
[Enter WYLDON, a stern knight, and OWEN, his hellion squire.]
OWEN:
Your pardon, sir, but I have for you a question:
We have traveled long and hard on this road
We have stayed at inns and many taverns
And now sir, I ask. I need satisfaction.
When sir, when shall we arrive at Cavall?
[Wyldon takes a deep breath and silently questions for the third time that day why he bothered to listen to Mindelan when he could have had a nice time at home with his wife without having to worry about a bane of his existence getting into scrapes and daydreaming about rainbows and kittens, or whatever it is that goes through Owen's head.]
OWEN:
Sir, we have traveled a very long while
And frankly, I am sick of tavern food!
Their pastries are dry and crumble something awful
Besides, you never let me have the wine.
WYLDON:
What a measure of a question is this!
I explained my lack of want for you drunk;
A responsible knight
Does not partake of such types of things.
Have you listened to anything I taught?
Or is it in one ear and out the other?
OWEN:
No sir, that is not the question I ask.
Truly, the only thing is: are we there yet?
WYLDON [ohmygods this road trip is worse than the time I had to ride with Naxen and Goldenlake and their furtive looks even if that night when we made camp near the lake was delightful]:
Impudent! We get there when we get there;
No later and no sooner.
[Owen sighs, overcome with a few fond memories of Sir Myles and his actual tendency to, y'know, joke around. They ride on. Owen whistles something akin to whatever the Tortallan version of Yankee Doodle would be under his breath.]
WYLDON:
Mithros, Mynoss, and Shakith, stop that dreadful sound!
OWEN:
I was trying to add some levity,
Our surroundings are exceedingly dull.
WYLDON:
We are on the holdings of Fief Cavall
I might advise you to hold your tongue.
OWEN [whose thoughts have turned to ladies. And bosoms]:
Oh. Er. Um. Right. How is Margarry?
Will I see milady at the keep?
WYLDON:
Are you thinking of my daugher, Jesslaw?
OWEN:
Only in the most honorable way
I wish not to occur her wrath or yours
WYLDOM [perhaps this boy is as smart as he occasionally suspects he is]:
That is very wise; I must commend you.
Give answers like that all of the time
And perhaps I won't practice tilting on you
[Owen gulps and considers if he can hide under his saddle where it's safe]
I believe that Margarry will be there
And I think she may want a word with you.
OWEN:
Really?
WYLDON:
Would you believe me, squire, if I said
That I was young once, and had thoughts like yours?
(Though I beg you not to voice them in my company)
I do trust you with my daughter's heart
It is hers to give, and not yours to lose.
[Owen is speechless. Wyldon smiles briefly. They ride on.]