Post by Alliecat on Oct 1, 2012 10:56:47 GMT 10
Title: Some Jokes Are Better Than Others
Rating: PG
Word Count: 847
Summary: Having a funny teacher is great, but not if his jokes are on you.
Notes: Whee, couldn’t resist!
:::
“I don’t like him,” Wyldon grumbled over his chicken, rice, and peas in the pages’ dining hall. Towards the front of the room stood the Lioness, who was currently making a fuss about a particularly misogynistic joke their new training master had been telling.
The boy across the table raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Lord Nealan? What’s not to like? He’s the most relaxed master at Court by far. I don’t dread afternoon lessons anymore.” He paused and looked at Wyldon, who remained resolutely unconvinced.
“He’s funny, too,” exclaimed boy two seats to Wyldon’s left. Wyldon turned to face Owen of Jesslaw, who was sporting a grin. “His jokes are the best, don’t you think?”
“I’ve heard better,” Wyldon replied coolly, but his cheeks held a slight pink tinge. He stood, his silverware clattering on his plate. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go ask Kel a math problem before dinner’s over.” As he turned away he heard one boy, possibly Quinden, loudly cough “Stump!”, but Wyldon wouldn’t let his footsteps falter.
::: Two Days Earlier :::
“Move your feet faster!” Neal called, scratching his brow as he surveyed the pages. He paused, glancing up at the clouds, before redirecting his attention to the sparring pages. “Merric!” he shouted, causing the boy’s spine to stiffen. “You’re doing it again!”
Merric, who could see his teacher out of the corner of his eye, nodded and shifted his stance farther apart. “Yes, Lord Nealan.”
“Lord Neal,” corrected Neal, beginning to move from his position in the middle of the field. “’Nealan’—”
“—makes me feel old,” Wyldon finished under his breath. Neal had reminded them daily of his nickname, trying to break the pages from their hardened formal manners. But despite his persistent efforts, the etiquette master was far more intimidating. Wyldon lunged forward, knocking his opponent to the ground. He stepped back, pleased, as the boy lay before him slightly dazed. Unable to resist, Wyldon poked the boy’s stomach once with his stick.
“If you lay on the ground too long spidrens may come find you,” Neal said. Wyldon turned to see his training master standing behind him. “Nice speed, but your attack approach is always the same. Same angle, same stance.”
“But sir, I thought our stance was supposed to be solid, always,” Wyldon stared up at Neal, who crossed his arms.
“Yes, but you must still be willing to move, and ready to attack from any time.” He held his hand out for Wyldon’s staff, who obliged and handed it off. Neal performed a few complicated maneuvers, some from one foot, others from two, all the while explaining how to play off his unsteady stances. By now the other boys had paused their practices and were gathering around. “You try,” Neal said and accepted a staff from another page.
They began circling slowly, Neal playing the defensive. Wyldon lunged forward, but Neal blocked and stepped back. Wyldon advanced again and as he began to strike Neal whipped his staff under Wyldon’s feet, making him jump. Already in a forward trajectory, Wyldon was forced to strike with only tiptoes touching the ground. Neal easily stepped aside and Wyldon tumbled into the dirt face first. The crowd responded with muffled laughter. Though Wyldon’s cheeks were dusted with dirt, they were red with embarrassment.
“That can’t be all you have, Stump,” Neal said, dubbing his student with a new nickname. Wyldon stood, ready to go again with his staff clutched in his hands, but Neal shook his head and pointed to the clock on the nearby tower. “Tomorrow,” he said. “Tonight, I want you to start working on your balance. Do jumping jacks, ballet, handstands, whatever works for you. I want to see some substantial improvement by the spring.”
Wyldon replied with a mumbled “yes, sir,” though Neal didn’t appear to hear him. He turned to the rest of his still chuckling audience. “For the rest of you, don’t assume that you’re off free. I’m sure I’ve given each of you something you need to work on, so do it.” He paused and waited for the boys to acknowledge their homework. “All right,” he said, his frown cracking to reveal a smile. “Off with you! Don’t be late for dinner, or someone will have my head.”
The boys proceeded to the weapons storage room and as Wyldon approached his personal rack for his staff one of the boys shoved him into the wall. He slipped to the floor, the staff still in his hands. “Having trouble, Stump?” Joren, now straddling Wyldon, sneered.
“Get off me,” Wyldon replied, his face scrunched slightly.
Joren stepped aside. “Only because you can’t move yourself,” he retorted. Beside him, Garvey began cackling and Zahir grinned. Resisting the urge to nurse the lump growing on the back of his head, Wyldon scrambled to his feet. “I’ll take you another day,” Joren said, looking around. “Not here, where there’s people to keep me from beating you to a pulp.” He turned and walked away, his two cronies following him out.
“Coward!” Wyldon called, but Joren pretended not to hear.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 847
Summary: Having a funny teacher is great, but not if his jokes are on you.
Notes: Whee, couldn’t resist!
:::
“I don’t like him,” Wyldon grumbled over his chicken, rice, and peas in the pages’ dining hall. Towards the front of the room stood the Lioness, who was currently making a fuss about a particularly misogynistic joke their new training master had been telling.
The boy across the table raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Lord Nealan? What’s not to like? He’s the most relaxed master at Court by far. I don’t dread afternoon lessons anymore.” He paused and looked at Wyldon, who remained resolutely unconvinced.
“He’s funny, too,” exclaimed boy two seats to Wyldon’s left. Wyldon turned to face Owen of Jesslaw, who was sporting a grin. “His jokes are the best, don’t you think?”
“I’ve heard better,” Wyldon replied coolly, but his cheeks held a slight pink tinge. He stood, his silverware clattering on his plate. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go ask Kel a math problem before dinner’s over.” As he turned away he heard one boy, possibly Quinden, loudly cough “Stump!”, but Wyldon wouldn’t let his footsteps falter.
::: Two Days Earlier :::
“Move your feet faster!” Neal called, scratching his brow as he surveyed the pages. He paused, glancing up at the clouds, before redirecting his attention to the sparring pages. “Merric!” he shouted, causing the boy’s spine to stiffen. “You’re doing it again!”
Merric, who could see his teacher out of the corner of his eye, nodded and shifted his stance farther apart. “Yes, Lord Nealan.”
“Lord Neal,” corrected Neal, beginning to move from his position in the middle of the field. “’Nealan’—”
“—makes me feel old,” Wyldon finished under his breath. Neal had reminded them daily of his nickname, trying to break the pages from their hardened formal manners. But despite his persistent efforts, the etiquette master was far more intimidating. Wyldon lunged forward, knocking his opponent to the ground. He stepped back, pleased, as the boy lay before him slightly dazed. Unable to resist, Wyldon poked the boy’s stomach once with his stick.
“If you lay on the ground too long spidrens may come find you,” Neal said. Wyldon turned to see his training master standing behind him. “Nice speed, but your attack approach is always the same. Same angle, same stance.”
“But sir, I thought our stance was supposed to be solid, always,” Wyldon stared up at Neal, who crossed his arms.
“Yes, but you must still be willing to move, and ready to attack from any time.” He held his hand out for Wyldon’s staff, who obliged and handed it off. Neal performed a few complicated maneuvers, some from one foot, others from two, all the while explaining how to play off his unsteady stances. By now the other boys had paused their practices and were gathering around. “You try,” Neal said and accepted a staff from another page.
They began circling slowly, Neal playing the defensive. Wyldon lunged forward, but Neal blocked and stepped back. Wyldon advanced again and as he began to strike Neal whipped his staff under Wyldon’s feet, making him jump. Already in a forward trajectory, Wyldon was forced to strike with only tiptoes touching the ground. Neal easily stepped aside and Wyldon tumbled into the dirt face first. The crowd responded with muffled laughter. Though Wyldon’s cheeks were dusted with dirt, they were red with embarrassment.
“That can’t be all you have, Stump,” Neal said, dubbing his student with a new nickname. Wyldon stood, ready to go again with his staff clutched in his hands, but Neal shook his head and pointed to the clock on the nearby tower. “Tomorrow,” he said. “Tonight, I want you to start working on your balance. Do jumping jacks, ballet, handstands, whatever works for you. I want to see some substantial improvement by the spring.”
Wyldon replied with a mumbled “yes, sir,” though Neal didn’t appear to hear him. He turned to the rest of his still chuckling audience. “For the rest of you, don’t assume that you’re off free. I’m sure I’ve given each of you something you need to work on, so do it.” He paused and waited for the boys to acknowledge their homework. “All right,” he said, his frown cracking to reveal a smile. “Off with you! Don’t be late for dinner, or someone will have my head.”
The boys proceeded to the weapons storage room and as Wyldon approached his personal rack for his staff one of the boys shoved him into the wall. He slipped to the floor, the staff still in his hands. “Having trouble, Stump?” Joren, now straddling Wyldon, sneered.
“Get off me,” Wyldon replied, his face scrunched slightly.
Joren stepped aside. “Only because you can’t move yourself,” he retorted. Beside him, Garvey began cackling and Zahir grinned. Resisting the urge to nurse the lump growing on the back of his head, Wyldon scrambled to his feet. “I’ll take you another day,” Joren said, looking around. “Not here, where there’s people to keep me from beating you to a pulp.” He turned and walked away, his two cronies following him out.
“Coward!” Wyldon called, but Joren pretended not to hear.