Post by Shhasow on Mar 20, 2011 0:35:55 GMT 10
Title: Voice Lessons (11)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 380
Pairing: Jon/Zahir
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: Jon has a few peculiarities. With apologies to Pat Rothfuss for swiping the line. You’ll know which one. I don’t think it’s true; I attempted to look it up, so I think he made it up. Warning for one word of explicit language.
Previous Chapter - Chapter Ten
“Squire.”
By now, months into their loose partnership they called ‘squire’ and ‘knight-master,’ Zahir didn’t jump anymore when Jonathan gave his customary greeting. The Bazhir thought the lack of reaction rather disappointed the king.
“Jonathan,” he acknowledged without opening his eyes. He was performing a very slow practice dance with the sword, one that required intense concentration and muscle control, and the sweat trickling down his back was an unwelcome irritant. As was the king, for that matter, as if that ever stopped the man.
“I’m bored, squire. Name me a fact.”
That was another new game of Jonathan’s. At any time, at any moment, Zahir would be pressed to divulge an interesting fact that the king didn’t know. If he was successful, the man would go off and ponder it for a while. If he wasn’t, or couldn’t think of any unique bits of trivial knowledge, the king might pester him for an hour before getting bored.
After a month of this, however, Zahir knew to keep a stock of facts just in case.
“It is physically impossible to lick your elbow.”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow, licked one finger, and touched it to his elbow. “False. Try again.”
“The loose flap of skin at the tip of your elbow is called the wenis.”
“Did you think I was never a boy, squire?”
“In 410 BHE, a Scanran warlord demanded three thousand pounds of pepper to ransom a city.”
Jonathan paused at that one. “Interes- nope. History bores me, squire.”
Moving into the most difficult part of his routine, Zahir used his last resort, a bizarre fact positively ensured to entertain the king.
“There’s a type of dog in the desert that gives birth through a vestigal penis.”
Zahir peeked through his closed eyes to see the flabbergasted expression on Jonathan’s face. He couldn’t help but smirk slightly.
“Really? How did I not know this one? Great work, squire! I have to lord this over Gary.” With a firm slap on the back, Jonathan strode hastily into the palace.
Unfortunately for Zahir, that slap had occurred when he was balanced just on the toes of one foot, and it nearly knocked him to the ground. He scowled, sighed, and started over. Such was the life of the Voice’s squire.
QC by: inthefire
Rating: PG
Word Count: 380
Pairing: Jon/Zahir
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: Jon has a few peculiarities. With apologies to Pat Rothfuss for swiping the line. You’ll know which one. I don’t think it’s true; I attempted to look it up, so I think he made it up. Warning for one word of explicit language.
Previous Chapter - Chapter Ten
“Squire.”
By now, months into their loose partnership they called ‘squire’ and ‘knight-master,’ Zahir didn’t jump anymore when Jonathan gave his customary greeting. The Bazhir thought the lack of reaction rather disappointed the king.
“Jonathan,” he acknowledged without opening his eyes. He was performing a very slow practice dance with the sword, one that required intense concentration and muscle control, and the sweat trickling down his back was an unwelcome irritant. As was the king, for that matter, as if that ever stopped the man.
“I’m bored, squire. Name me a fact.”
That was another new game of Jonathan’s. At any time, at any moment, Zahir would be pressed to divulge an interesting fact that the king didn’t know. If he was successful, the man would go off and ponder it for a while. If he wasn’t, or couldn’t think of any unique bits of trivial knowledge, the king might pester him for an hour before getting bored.
After a month of this, however, Zahir knew to keep a stock of facts just in case.
“It is physically impossible to lick your elbow.”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow, licked one finger, and touched it to his elbow. “False. Try again.”
“The loose flap of skin at the tip of your elbow is called the wenis.”
“Did you think I was never a boy, squire?”
“In 410 BHE, a Scanran warlord demanded three thousand pounds of pepper to ransom a city.”
Jonathan paused at that one. “Interes- nope. History bores me, squire.”
Moving into the most difficult part of his routine, Zahir used his last resort, a bizarre fact positively ensured to entertain the king.
“There’s a type of dog in the desert that gives birth through a vestigal penis.”
Zahir peeked through his closed eyes to see the flabbergasted expression on Jonathan’s face. He couldn’t help but smirk slightly.
“Really? How did I not know this one? Great work, squire! I have to lord this over Gary.” With a firm slap on the back, Jonathan strode hastily into the palace.
Unfortunately for Zahir, that slap had occurred when he was balanced just on the toes of one foot, and it nearly knocked him to the ground. He scowled, sighed, and started over. Such was the life of the Voice’s squire.
QC by: inthefire