| Be the Fucker, Not the Fuckee |
| Summary: | Just a round of friendly trash-talk between Brynner, Hugh, and Veris before the Squires' Melee. |
| Date: | 24 June 2012 |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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| Encampments - Seagard |
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| Here the knights of Riverlands and Reach (and a few from the Westerlands, but they're not alliterative) have set up their pavilions, in as many and as varied shades as the heraldry displayed prominently before them. From a single undyed canvas tent beneath the arms of a hedge knight to the veritable forest of azure and burgundy fronted by the grapes of the Arbor, this cloth maze is always abuzz with activity. |
| Sun Jun 24, 289 |
There are several campfires still burning at such an odd hour of the morning - dawn is just around the corner, if the paling of the horizon is any indication. All good squires are already up and about, and the BEST of them have settled near a pit of coals that still glow red; enough to provide warmth to offset the cool summer morn and provide light enough for polishing armor. POLISHING ARMOR IS A SQUIRES'S TASK, DUDES. ALL THE ALPHA SQUIRES ARE DOING THIS SORT OF THING THIS EARLY. (Including Brynner, who is at said fire remains, working bright-eyed and bushy-not-quite-moustached on Ser Kittridge's armor.)
Veris might not exactly qualify as a good squire, depending on whose standards he has to meet, but at least he's up. Barely. Toeing the line between still drunk and hung over, he drags himself down to the glowing coals with a washbasin that's spilling this way and that with each step. It gets tossed right on to the heat source without any real regard for the others there. "Finishin' off your master's tasks 'fore I put you out for a week?" he grunts to Brynner, waiting for his water to warm up.
Hugh is walking back to his encampment carrying a couple of wasters with him. He doesn't look so bright eyed, but he is awake, and there is something to be said for that. As he passes closer to Brynner and Veris (and his alpha polishing), he looks at the two appraisingly. "Are you the competition, then? I'm Hugh Asterholm." He grins a little and puffs, "Yeah…I finished all my tasks last night…"
You know, there is only so much truth to that tried-and-true Ironborn method of sand-scrubbing their armor. Brynner prefers an oiled rag and a whole lotta elbow grease, thus when he looks up to greet a sleep-lagged Veris it is with merely grudging acknowledgment. Gods, do you actually exist, Veris? "I take great satisfaction in how shiny Ser Kitt's armor looks on the field," says the classically-handsome but clearly-common lad. Ridiculously alert for the early hour, he switches an assessing look to Hugh, and dips his chin. "Brynner Hunt, aye?" That's his name.
Veris streeetches while he waits, smacking his dry lips and patting down his belt blindly for a flask of water - no such luck there. At least he's wearing a belt. "Competition?" he asks Hugh when the squire approaches, glancing at him through the corner of his eye and yawning. "No, I don't think I am," he says dismissively. He bends over the coals to wave a hand over his washbasin to see if it's getting warm or what. "Maybe shiny here is more matched for you," he says, jerking his head over to Brynner.
The younger lad has been listening to the knights banter, he swallows a grin and looks back at Veris, seriously. "You never know what's going to happen out there. You might have more competition than you think. Especially since, I'm not hung over. But your breath just might knock me down!" And he tries to take a cocky stance, which all just looked and sounded so much better in his head.
WTF VERIS. Yawning is contagious - this is all some master plan to put Brynner off, isn't it? Ser Kitt's squire yawns too, clearly unimpressed by the infectious nature of the expression, refusing to cover his gaping mouth with his hand. He will polish and yawn at the same time! He chokes out a laugh on the tail of his yawn, gargling more than chuckling for the first breath. "Don't call me Shiny, Goofball," he retorts to Veris, rubbing with a particularly stubborn thumb action with his cloth. Shiny armor will be shiny! "'M not hungover neither," he adds deadpan for Hugh's benefit. Like, beware son.
Ooh, now it's getting nice and warm. Veris takes the washbasin off the heat with his fingertips, making a HOT HOT HOT face as he does, dropping it on the ground the first chance he gets. Well now he's really awake. Ish. "I could be gloriously drunk, tied down to a chair, gettin' ridden hard by a pretty blonde thing with tits out to here an' still take both of you out without missin' a stroke," he says, following it up with another yawn, even bigger this time. And then he plops down cross-legged behind his basin and just… stares at it blankly. "FUCK ME, it's early," he yawngrunts, shaking his head. "And don't call me Goofball, Cocklips."
Hugh snorts and tries to hide the fact that Veris has him laughing. "Now that is something I would really like to see you try." And if she has tits out to here, he actually /would/ like to see that. "You think you're all that much more experienced, but you're getting cocky and soft! I'm fresh. I'll bet the blonde could take you out with her tits."
Brynner's concentration on Kittridge's armor wanes, captured instead by the insults delivered by Veris. WTF, VERIS. "Y'can't be strokin' and ridden by a blonde at the same time," he points out less-than-helpfully, his features twisting into a grimace. He adds, just to be contrary: "Goofball."
"Not strokin' like you do alone in your cot at night, Cocklips," Veris retorts to Brynner, shaking his head to Hugh. This guy, right? "Ah, you'll find out one day. If the girls don't run away screamin' after the hurt I put on you today." Instead of splashing water onto his face like most people would expect, he pitches forward and smashes his face into the washbasin, submerging it. SPLOOSH. A few seconds later, he comes back up and shakes his head out like a dog coming inside from the rain. "When I get cocky, I get hard, not soft," he says to Hugh with a snort. "An' I got a thick skull, I can take 'em tits. She could slap me around with 'em all day long."
Hugh pulls back away from the involuntary shower. "Watch where you're slinging your lice, Romeo. So what you're saying is that you're basically a cock?" He sits down beside the fire. "That's what I thought." He then makes a mistake. "What sort of armor do you two have?"
Brynner is about to retort when: WTF, VERIS. A spray of droplets hits him in the face, and he is suitably peeved. He squints his eyes shut against the onslaught, lips curving a tight frown. He slakes away the damp from his mouth with the back of his hand and grimaces again at Veris. "Y'wouldn't know where to put your cock even if the Seven who're one lit the way with their stupid divine light," says the Groves-squired boy, hacking up a mouthful of loogie and spitting it aside. "Maile," he states without hesitation toward Hugh. "You?"
"A good, thick, throbbing dick," Veris confirms to Hugh, turning to face him with a deadpan expression. "And I'm gonna fuck you." Pause. "An' Cocklips over here's gonna live up to his name," he adds as an afterthought, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Brynner before he pats his left shoulder for a towel… which he also didn't bring. Well, fuck. "If that makes you feel better 'bout never havin' gotten your dick wet," he says distractedly to Brynner, looking around for a suitable towel-replacement. Nothing. Shrug, sigh, wipe face with sleeves. The armor question goes unanswered yet.
Hugh nods, "Maile. Ser Riordan's…" He stops as he realizes talking about handmedown maile might not sound all that cool. He gives Veris a quizzical look. "Do you really like boys like that?" He makes a face. "I heard about guys like you…" He shrugs and peers at his toes, hiding a grin. "I prefer girls, myself."
WTF VERIS. Brynner's jaw gapes open once more, but he is not yawning this time. "What'd you just say, Goofball?" He looks toward Hugh for backup. His eyes are all wide and back-me-uppish.
"Har har," Veris retorts to Hugh. It really is a children's playground out here. "Looks like maille all 'round," he says with a shrug, confirming his own armor. "Well, partial-maille for me. Lets me move better." Or so he claims, anyway. A lazy glance gets cast to Brynner as he responds, "I said, I'm the massive dick that you're gonna choke on when we get out there on the field with everyone watchin'." That a problem?
Hugh looks over at Veris and then goggles at Brynner, "Didnt he just say he is a big throbbing dick?" And he can't hold it together any longer. He leans back and howls with laughter. When he regains his compsure, he tries to put on the cool again. "Yeah…partial maile is the way to go!" Especially when that's all you got.
Ruffled, Brynner protests: "I'm not a dicklover!" Whatever armor or lack thereof he is permitted to fight in, he will stick to calling it 'maile' for now. So there is no change of opinion from him on that front. As Hugh starts to laugh, though, he cracks a smile. And hiccoughs. Maybe he was eating just now and swallowed too quick? "I reckon he said that," confirms the shorter squire. He starts to rub again at Ser Kitt's armor.
Veris just snorts a laugh and takes one more dunk in the washbasin before tossing the water onto the coals, eliciting a loud hiss and the accompanying smoke. "Better to be a dick than a withering pussy," that one's to Hugh, "or bruised-up cocklips." The last to Brynner, of course. "Be the fucker, not the fuck…ee. That's my motto, if I had one."
Hugh looks at Veris and then shrugs, "Screw you. Damned if I am going to look bad in my first tournament," he admits. "Not in front of my knight," and the girls… "So if you want me gone, you'll have to knock me out. I'm not going to yeild for anything!" he says with conviction. "I will be a pain in your ass!"
"Stop callin' me Cocklips!" Brynner scowls, equally peeved that the coal-light he was polishing armor by has now been extinguished as he is the new moniker. "I'll fucking fuck-er you, Goofball. You'll be so fuck-ee'd you won't see straight for a - for a week!" Dammit. After the words escape him, dear Bryn realises that a week is hardly a threat, and he curses under his breath. "Cheese and crackers!" In the east, the horizon is growing bluer as the sun begins its daily journey. Bryn inhales a lungful of smoke and coughs to Hugh, "I dun' think that's helpin', lad."
Now it's Veris' turn to burst out laughing. "You can't fuck the fucker, Cocklips. If you think you can fucking fucker me, you'll soon see that I. AM. THE FUCKEST." That has him descend into another fit of laughter. "We'll see, we'll see," he says to Hugh, the grin lingering on his face as he looks to the Nayland squire. "Mosquitos are a pain in my ass, too, 'til I give 'em a good slap."
Hugh listens to Brynner's soliloquy in awe. His grin grows back. He has no idea what Brynner just said, but it was totally awesome! And he is off into pealing laughter again. Seven forbid that anyone is still trying to sleep. He looks back at Veris. Nope…he has nothing!
You know, any self respecting six year old would think Brynner's eyebrows were HELLA BUSHY. He lofts them skeptically toward Veris: the fuckest? This trash talk is abominable, says his expression. But one, two squires are laughing, and so another does in turn. "You all can be pains in each other's asses and slap each other round all you like," he snorts triumphantly, scrambling to his feet as the realisation of dawn finally comes. "But I'm gonna show the Riverlands how a real squire fights!" He casts an amusedly judgey look between the two before turning to drag his knight's armor through the dust toward the Groves camp, muttering all the while about Lady Rosanna being ashamed to give such fools her favor. HE IS NOT INCLUDED IN THE FOOL COUNT. OBVS. (WTF VERIS)
Veris just grins blandly at Brynner and his hella bushy eyebrows. "Well if that's any indication," he calls out to the Groves squire, cupping his hands over his mouth, "Runnin' away ain't exactly how a real squire should fight!" He snorts and gets up off the ground, dusting off his ass. "First tourney, you say, yeah?" he says to Hugh, giving him a clap on the shoulder. "You help me keep that one occupied an' make sure he don't gang up on me, an' I'll make sure you look good when you go down. All right?" Wink wink, nudge nudge. And whether the Nayland squire agrees or not, he's already picked up his washbasin and is headed back to his tent, waving it over his shoulder in farewell. Though a few steps out, he turns and does another two-finger-eye-point-I'M-WATCHING-YOU-HUGH while walking backwards.
Hugh is left grinning and actually feeling both more anxious and less anxious if that is possible about the upcoming fight. He flips Veris off as he leaves, but it doesnt seem all that vicious a gesture coming from a red faced laughing 15 yr old. He stands and gets his wasters. Time to go to work.
