tu_vas_triompher | (no subject)

Entry tags:

hotspur

(no subject)

It turns out that you can't actually just lie around in the grass forever; for one thing, bugs start biting you, and other residents come strolling by or want to visit the stable, and the day wears on. So Feuilly had gone to his work--belatedly--and Harry had gone about whatever Harry does--presumably horse things? Knight things?

And Feuilly had set himself to start his painting and his translation work an hour earlier the next morning. He'd fit more hours into the day if he could, but until Joly or Combeferre discovers something along those lines, he'll just sleep less! It's a workable plan!

So Feuilly has circles under his eyes as well as bruises under his shirt when he wanders to the stable in the late afternoon. With his practice sword! With his practice sword held rather awkwardly, because he's not sure if he and Percy actually have a...scheduled...arrangement to meet...? But, you know, he's just. Wandering over to the stables. With a sword.

Like you do.

Well, also a basket of food. He'd been hungry after their training session.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Feuilly grunts, but doesn't dare to put down the sword, not under that watchful eye. He's fairly sure he does not have a talent for this. He has a talent for various other things. But--motivation and practice make up for a lot, don't they?

They do! Harry takes up his sword after a few more repetitions and says, "And now, thou shalt block me. And after that, thou shalt recall such forms mean fair little in battle, and will do what thou canst to disarm me."

He refrains from making a noise of disbelief. Yes, yes, he'll block. And then do what he can to disarm Hotspur.

Hopefully Feuilly gets the grace of a moment to find his stance again, for the first part of that.

Harry grins-- it'll be fun! But yes, he moves slowly but firmly through his repetitions of the attack, hoping to help Feuilly find a rhythm in the movement, the logic behind the gesture.

Feuilly...does, in fact. Somewhat. At least--he thinks he has a sense now of why people talk about a sword's balance and how a person can find a point where its weight and one's own work together.

His tufty wiry hair is now quite damp with sweat and he's breathing hard. If he's going to try this disarming business, this is the time to do it, so he makes a sort of a feint or a--

--yeah, that's not really. Not really very effective. Unless Hotspur lets it be.

Hotspur laughs and lifts his brows and avoids the attempt quite easily. "Ah, art ready now? Have at thee, then--"

Ahaha no he's not ready, his arms hurt and his legs hurt and he's panting, and the late-afternoon sun has turned into sunset sun that's in his eyes--which Hotspur almost certainly has noticed--

Well. He tries.

Hotspur is quick and strong and, you know, has been doing this since he was a tiny child-- but he's also still very much feeling all those Bahorel-derived bruises, and so he's definitely starting to flag somewhat sooner than he normally would. Not that he'd say so.

"Come, come," he laughs. "Didst never fight with other boys when thou wast small? Think not of form, do what thou must!"

Well, that gets a snarl out of Feuilly. No he didn't fight with other boys very much when he was small--not very much anyway--and he's not going to be laughed at when he's trying--

He's not truly angry--and he knows he's being baited--but it does get him to put a little more into his attack.

He says something really incoherent about France. And Poland.

"Nay, thou didst promise to speak of Poland after, when I may blame our practice if I should fall asleep!"

You can't be as easily baited as Hotspur without knowing how to bait other people. He's not trying that hard! Feuilly could do it! Feuilly could particularly do it if he were to realize that for all his experience and training, Hotspur very much expects people he's fighting to follow all the same rules of chivalrous combat that he's following.

That...would help if Feuilly had indeed spent much time fighting with other small boys. Or winning, anyway. At the moment, the mun is terribly sorry to say, he's just sort of whacking in the direction of Hotspur's sword. And trying to barrel into him?

--yeah, eventually, Hotspur has mercy, and takes a step away. "'tis well enough for now, what think'st thou?"

Feuilly glares at him and makes one more swipe.

Harry had started to lower his sword, and when Feuilly swings he hastily brings it up again. But he's a second too late, and the swipe strikes his arm; a combination of pain and surprise causes him to lose his grip and let the sword fall. He looks down at it, rather startled by this development, then back to Feuilly. He grins.

He hadn't been aiming at Hotspur's arm! He hadn't been aiming at Hotspur's arm and he's at least as startled, and he starts to apologize.

The apology doesn't get far before it dissolves into panting laughter.

Edited 2015-07-01 23:12 (UTC)

"Thou canst not apologize to thy foe--" He's burst out laughing, too.

It's true, he can't apologize, he's laughing and panting too hard to make the words properly. But he can wave a hand wordlessly, swatting away Hotspur's remark, before standing up straight again and looking for that basket he'd brought.

There's water in there.

Harry, useless person that he is, sinks gingerly down to the ground, then sprawls himself out on the grass.

Well.

Fine.

In that case he can just.

Wait to have a drink of water.

Until Feuilly is done.

...There's not enough in there to drink and wash his face, so after gulping down about half the bottle, Feuilly drops it at Harry's feet and then makes for the bucket of water by the stable door.

When he's a little cooler, and a lot more dripping, he finally lets himself flop down on the grass too.

He's a brat sometimes, this is known. When Feuilly returns dripping wet, he considers that that really is a good idea-- but not enough to be bothered with all that standing up business just this minute.

"Well then," he says. "Wouldst talk of Poland now?"

"...You think I won't?" Feuilly wipes his face on his sleeve. "All right. In your time--I think--the Polish-Lithuanian union has just begun to form. I know more about the history closer to my time, of course, but--but it's worth noting that very early on the Polish-Lithuanian Union featured a--government that, that stood out among the, the growing absolutism of the neighboring monarchies--"

He shouldn't be this tired, dammit.

"And those neighbors are..." He decides to venture a guess. "...Bohemia?"

Feuilly blinks and rolls up on his elbow to look at him. "Well--yes, in fact."

--he wasn't actually expecting to be right! "And this, my friend, is the sum of all I know of Poland."

"Well, but it's right, Bohemia is one of Poland's neighbors." Yes. Good job, Harry Percy! Now--where were they? "--Right. Um. Europe in general was tending more and more towards absolutism, absolute monarchies. In Poland and Lithuania the nobility controlled the government--a large nobility, all equal to one another, with guaranteed freedoms. Nice for the nobility, though the peasants still had nothing--"

He's losing the thread of his speech, and he suspects he's lost his audience's attention, and maybe he's said enough to make his point for now.