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Cole
felt approximately the same way and resolved to avoid whatever it was
that Lancely smoked to inspire him.
Once
again he found himself spinning and dipping, turning and dodging. That
last jump to the side was not quick enough and the water sac smacked him
square in the shoulder, the sac burst, and water sprayed all over the
man. Now, more water and de Beauvais...needless to say, the man was not
happy. He started to loose his balance, his boots slipping on the excess
water, the shove knocking him toward that pile of feathers! He grabbed
hold of the spindles' arm... and his wet grip would not hold. The
warrior was tossed into the feathers, all colors of feathers
puffed up about him, stuck to his wet skin, and he was scrambling to
escape their attack. Jerking at the things, cursing under his breath,
Vincent struggled to crawl from the pit of what his hell must surely
possess...feathers!
Keeping
his voice low, he commented to Gabriel, "Somehow I don't think Sir
Vincent's going to be in the best of moods when he's done..." Not
if the man's face was any kind of barometer.
He
really tried not to outright laugh and so it came as a muffled chuckle
and low words spared to Cole. "If only his wife could see him
now." Knowing well this particular kingsman was married and some of
the stories favored in the knight's hall.
Lazare
dipped his head and took a step back, tugging at his ear as he
anticipated Vincent's frustration and attempting to get his own humor
under control before the man emerged. "Bannon, what say you we flee
while the fleeing is good!" Or would that be fly! Oh no, he'd dare
not say that!
If
there was one thing Mouse had learned, it was to not laugh when things
went wrong. At least not in front of Vincent. He looked at the two
knights briefly but it was Lazare who had his attention. "I think
that might be a good
strategy,
Sir Lazare." He'd rather face the Dragon on the field tomorrow then
right now!
It was
always easier to ask forgiveness and take the punishment!
Stripping
himself free of the few remaining feathers, Vincent rounded the gauntlet
to rejoin his brothers-in-arms. Considering Vincent had never seen the
machine in play, he had no idea even the tiniest of workings even if
Lancely
changed
the settings often. "Refreshing." He grumbled under his
breath. Although he was free of his feather foes, he was still swatting
at his wet arms. He looked up, to find another had joined them.
"You...look familiar." He offered an uplift of chin in
greeting.
"Sir
Vincent." He inclined his head politely to the knight. "I am
Cole Lachian, recently knighted under King Peter. You had an excellent
run, if you'll allow me to say it."
At
least Gabriel's expression had melted away to the unreadable stoic. Not
a word spared as attention was given Cole, moving to separate their
stance.
Vincent
looked back to the gauntlet that had defeated him, then to Cole. "I
appreciate you saying it, Lachian. I, however, may not fully
agree." Peter's knight, that's where he had seen the man.
"Have you tempted fate upon yon
demon?"
Too
late? He found himself wondering if Lazare would mention his win as
often as possible and had to fight to keep his expression serious.
"Once
and that was, admittedly, enough for me." Chuckling dryly, he
spared the beast an unfriendly look.
"Hmmm,
yes." Vincent touched the contraption with a final glance of
loathing, then looked to Lazare. "Have you nothing to say, Carno?"
Surely, his tongue was chewed raw with such a need.
Lazare
only needed to smile with a shrug at first before speaking. "Same
as you...well done." He cut a glance to Bannon. "Wouldn't you
say, Lad?" Elbow, elbow, grin. That was tonight, many a day, a
night, a feast, a gathering would come that would add a bit more to his
... comments.
"Oh
yes, Sir Lazare. Very well done." He didn't dare look at Lazare or
he'd be lost!
Lost?
That was putting it mildly.
If he
noticed any twitching expressions, Cole betrayed not one bit of it,
standing as stoic and solemn as ever. The dark hair in the eyes worked
well to hide their expression.
"And
you, Sir Gabriel, you will be ... next?"
He didn't care to have his feathers
ruffled nor singed! He was over by the gauntlet looking it over and
still trying to not to laugh. Turning then with the same dry expression.
"Aye, t'at I bae rig't away." Moving to quickly mount the
steps as he watched the poles start to move and was on his way across.
Gabriel got a look - he was
doing it again. The accent. For now, he remained standing beside the
knights to observe his brother in arms impassively.
Well,
he'd rather not be fried Mouse in any case. Now he dared to glance at
Lazare, giving the man a brief grin before watching Gabriel.
His
feet had gotten wet from splattered water from broken balloons but it
didn't deter him from gaining the next area. Up the steps to the bridge
as he tried avoiding the small flags in making it across. An eye kept
warily on that spray gun knowing what it contained. He swore it was
following him and could unload any moment. And it did as white coated
bronze and he was slipping under the deluge in a struggle to make the
other side nonetheless.
"He
never can get past that thing," muttered with a shake of his head.
He
shook off like a dog and where the tattoo was, it soaked it in much like
it had a pastry one evening. Looking more like the giant marshmallow
everywhere else he jumped down to move with the spindles. At least
getting hit with a water sac, washed off a lot of the cream as he
struggled to hold on and swing his way to the other side. Hands were far
too slippery and he was soon coated with feathers, just like Vincent.
Except, he was use to them!
"Bloody
device." Vincent growled beneath his breath, watching another
comrade fall to the feathers.
"Well
done!" Lazare shouted. After all, if he had said the same to
Vincent, at that downing point, he could say no more...or no less...to
Gabriel.
He was
up sliding his hands over his body to dispel it of water, whip cream and
feathers. "I think I need a bath after this," so took the
moment to head for the small lake, diving in to cleanse himself off.
A dark
gaze dipped to Bannon. Vincent said nothing, but he waited, silently.
He
didn't need to say what he was thinking, so refrained... for once.
He felt
that dark gaze on him and squared his shoulders. Last to go, he'd likely
fail before the others with all the water and whipped cream on it. Once
he was on the first platform, he eyed the thing before starting forward.
It wasn't the balloons that worried him but that trap door.
It was
now that Vincent watched carefully, all else fading away while he
watched the lad attempt a man's training.
That
one wasn't too bad. He allowed himself a small grin before he was up the
steps and eyeing the bridge. It looked slippery all right and all he
could do was hope his usual luck held when it came to avoiding slippery
spots. He barely made it, skidding to a stop while he watched the
balloon bumpers. Brow furrowing, he tried to watch the timing then
started across. He really didn't want to fall into the feathers. And
again, by the seat of his pants! He dared to glance over at the others
before attempting the geysers and seaweed. Darting here and there,
though he yelped when he did get hit by one of the sprays. The seaweed
felt slimy and encouraged him to move a little faster.
Vincent
shifted his stance when the boy made it through the feather filled
fiasco. Grand. Lazare had to witness this. Vincent would never hear the
end of it.
The
youth barely kept from letting out a whoop that he had made it this far.
Darting for the barrels, he started to climb over them, making a face as
the gel squirted. Too slippery! Now he was crawling on hands and knees
to try to make it to the last part. And he just made it again. Maybe not
with the grace of Lazare but he was at the end. Even if he didn't make
it, the last part looked like fun. He started across, ducking some as he
was splashed by and near deafened by the sound.
By this
time Gabriel had returned, soaking wet but devoid of the gauntlets
innards deposited on him. "He's doing right well.." impressed
with the squire. "Wiry."
de Beauvais stepped
forward, in his silent way, encouraging the lad to make it through.
His
boots were too slippery but he made a jump for the rope.
"So
he is. Good for him." Cole nodded in encouragement for Bannon, glad
at least one of them was making it through.
And
with his hair in his eyes, he couldn't see. He entered the pond with a
splash!
Lazare
whooped! Pride escaping in that sound that the lad had made it that far!
Seems de Beauvais was doing his job!
Vincent
was not surprised. He had seen Bannon manage far more 'slippery'
circumstances, but he was still well pleased with the squire's
accomplishment. Vincent snatched up Lazare's shirt, dry where he had
taken it off before
entering
the gauntlet, and strode over to Bannon, tossing it to the young man to
use to dry off. "Up to you, Zimmer. Take the morning for yourself,
or show on the field." He had well earned the day off.
He was
panting as he surfaced, all squeaky clean now that the seaweed, whipped
cream and gel had been washed away. Climbing out, he grinned openly.
Should have taken his boots off though. They made funny noises when he
walked. He caught the shirt, not realizing it was Lazare's and looked at
Vincent. "Thank you, Sir." He'd likely still show up but the
fact that the offer had been made had him grinning again.
Cole
quietly applauded the young man's efforts from where he stood beside the
dripping Gabriel.
Gabriel applauded them all for
their efforts as well the lad for having made it that far. "Job
well done!"
"Hey!"
Lazare barked, watching his shirt meet the fate he had attempted to
spare it from. What could he do now? He just strode forward himself to
thwap the squire on the shoulder for that job well done. Lazare turned
to look back to the brothers. "Cole, you're still set on staying
dry, eh?"
He
stepped forward with the thwap but grinned and offered Lazare the now
wet shirt.."Sorry, Sir Lazare." Dark eyes shifted to Cole with
the question.
"With
respect, Sir Lazare, I tend to reserve my folly for the jousting
field." He offered a slight smile.
"No
need to apologize, Bannon." Lazare retrieved his shirt, gave it a
snap, and slipped it back on...wet.
"As
will I from this day forth." It was then to the castle in the
distance his gaze settled, seeking out one particular window which often
held the vision of one particular Lady watching...for one particular
man's return. "If you will all excuse me now, I should return to
the castle." Vincent looked to Peter's knights with a dip of head,
a respectful though modified bow.
"Good
night, Sir Vincent. My respects to your lady as well." Cole bowed a
little more deeply to him, intending to return to the knights' hall with
Gabriel.
"Good
night," near echoing Cole as dark eyes stayed steadfast on Vincent.
"Well in the meet." He was enjoying this other side of the
kingsmen as men. Only one left to meet was Sir Dana.
He
realized then he was tired and with Vincent's words, he too would return
to the castle. He saluted Cole and Gabriel and would follow after the
King's men. He had a bet to collect!
"Bah...be
off with you, Vincent. I'll take the boy...we'll go
celebrate."
Or not!
That would be even better. Of course, he looked at Sir Vincent for
permission!
Yes,
they would all go celebrate, in their dreams. The Black Griffon
would demand too much of them...too soon.
"Up
to the lad, he's earned it." Vincent nodded to Bannon.
"Though I would dare say he'd rather celebrate with his own
comrades then with the likes of you, Carno." One final look
to Cole and Vincent started back to the castle. No doubt the king
would want to know who made it through the Gauntlet. No doubt
Vincent would grind his teeth having to tell him it was Lazare.
Probably
true. Lazare chuckled low, then glanced to Cole. "I'm
getting old, I fear. The mattress is my best friend, and the back
of my eyelids a welcomed sight, 'round about this time of evening."
"I
doubt it has anything to do with your age, Sir Lazare, rather the
intensity of the training endured. We," he gestured to himself and
Gabriel, "tend to feel the same around this time and we are not
much junior to you."
"Go,
lad...go and make good use of your bragging rites." Cole was
an honorable man, Lazare much approved King Peter's choice in knights.
"That's it then, intensity of training. Aye. To be
matched by the intensity of ... snoring."
He
smiled again, not contributing to the conversation. The tale would
be told elsewhere too, though he'd be careful with what he'd say about
Vincent. As it was, if anyone said anything, he might end up in a
fight. "Yes, Sir. Good
night to you both, Sirs." He pulled off the noisy boots and
carried them as he ran off. Some of the lads on the beastie were
friends, and they'd be telling the tale too.
I do
believe I'm up to the task. Goodnight to you, Sir. Sir
Gabriel." A nod to them both and he, with a shuffle of feet
to match one of his previous dance steps, started on toward the rooms
appointed to him as one of the Four.
"Good
night, Sir Lazare, Bannon," dip of his head in respect. Cole's
words were correct and where this tired knight wanted to be at this
point, in bed. Alone of course. He watched the lad run off with a grin
to himself before turning to Cole with a nod, knowing his wishes too at
this point.
"Good
night. Good night, Bannon," a hand raised to wave to the young man
as he ran off, watching the King's men depart before he and Gabriel also
took their leave of the field
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