|Wake Up and Live|
|Summary:||Jac wakes Darek up for a couple of lessons.|
|Related Logs:||You Gotta Fight For Your Right|
|Stables and Paddock behind the Rockcliff, The Roost|
|First it's stables, then the horse paddock.|
|22 July, 289|
With so many nobles in the city, most of the stalls in the stables are full, but not all. It costs good coin to get an actual room at the Rockcliff, but only bad coin to get a stall to sleep in. He's traded out the hay himself, so he's sleeping in clean, but he's still sleeping in a horse-stall. Evidently, the squire was playing his fiddle before he went to sleep, or maybe he always sleeps nearly wrapped around the instrument. Of course, the (very small) skin of watered wine on the other side of him probably contributed to the easy sleep despite the solid fist-sized bruise on the left side of his jaw. Then again, even squires usually get to sleep until at least dawn when there's not something big going on, so he's not oversleeping yet — at least by his own measure.
It is not quite dawn, the sun only barely starting to set the eastern horizon aglow. It had been a cool night, though most of the chilly coastal breeze had been dimished by the cliffs and the Roost itself. The hamlet is not expected to be awake and moving for at least another hour, perhaps two. This does not, however, apply to the sleeping squire. Jac Caddock strides quietly through the stables armed with a bucket that sloshes slightly with water, filled to the brim. The Songbird is aware of where his squire has been sleeping, and though he has not ventured to get the boy a room at the inn, he finds the entire thing amusing and a bit sobering. The last time he slept in a pile of hay, he woke stiff and aching, an old man. He does not so much as creep as walk with long and quiet strides up to where his squire sleeps. He actually steps into the neighboring stall. Once properly aligned, he heaves up the bucket of water and pours it right over poor Darek Boldt.
Darek awakens with a wet start, sputtering and rolling over to protect his fiddle, "What the fuck, man!" Evidently, he hasn't noticed just who he's dealing with. Rolling onto his back again and scraping his hair back from his face, "Shit… sorry Ser." Still, he gathers up fiddle and bow, starting to shake them off, "Fiddles don't react well to water, Ser." There's something a little accusatory to the bruise-thickened words, and also a little forlorn. There's no commentary on how squires react to water, given that he's already been squire to the knight's father, and probably gotten plenty of water buckets thrown on him.
Through the boy's reaction, Jac casually sets down the bucket. He stretches his arms out a bit before he brings them to rest against the shared wall of his stall and the squire's. "Then perhaps we should look into getting a case for your fiddle, boy. You cannot control the weather and there will not always be a stables' stall to sleep in." He starts to give Darek a look over, noting the bruise. "So. The rumors are true then… you got into a fight with Ser Martyn Mallister. Best start telling me why." He steps out of the stall, giving the tired rounsey kept there a chance to fall back asleep after all the ruckus.
Darek gets his fiddle shaken off as best as he can and set on some dry straw at the un-swamped end of the stall. He sits back into the wet straw with a sigh, scrubbing back his hair out of his face again, "I usually just use my cloak. 'Course, the rain doesn't usually come down all at once, Ser." A smirk accompanies those words, although it turns into a grimace of annoyance as the expression tugs at his bruise. Sitting up to pull off his now-wet vest and shirt, he starts to wring them out over the straw, "Not quite, Ser. He got in a fight with me. He whiffed twice, some little common girl grabbed my vest, and he was going to whiff again, but I didn't think he was gonna stop until he hit me, so I let him."
"Usually," Jac agrees with a small smirk as he steps to stand in the doorway of the stall. He leans into the frame, arms crossed at his chest. The Knight is fully dressed and armed, a sword on his back and a knife at his belt. He looks over the boy as he works out the water from his clothes and gives his side of the story. He nods his head a few times before he asks, his tone deliberately flat, "And what did you say that upset Ser Martyn?" He raises one of his dark brows over his lighter brown eyes.
Darek frowns a bit in though, tossing aside his vest so he can work on his shirt alone, "I said some lady was stunning or gorgeous or something, or that she would be without the big nasty scar on her cheek." The squire stretches his neck, popping it softly, "Apparently, he's chasin' after the lady." The squire's narrow shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, "I was tryin' to compliment her. She's damned good looking." There's a pause, and he adds, "Well, from the left."
Jac taps his fingers against his own arms, looking over the boy. He smirks. "I'm not sure why a Lord would get so upset over a little common-dirt squire commenting about the loveliness of a Lady he is chasing." The Caddock knight narrows his eyes a bit. "I'm more than certain you said something else." He then sighs. "But I don't need to hear it. What lesson are we on now, boy? Three? Four?" He shakes his head. "Whatever the fuck it is, you remember your manners around nobles of all kinds. I don't care if the Lady has a Nayland nose, a Frey chin, and a huge wart on her forehead… you call her beautiful and you keep it at that. Understood?"
Darek shakes out his shirt, then tosses it onto the straw, going to work on his vest next. The knight's words draw a frown, "Don't remember anything else, Ser." He's not lying. But then again, who really cares about the exact words one spoke the night before. "Three, Ser. I think. Maybe four. And I did call her beautiful. Gorgeous even maybe. Hells if I remember. He was bottling things up something fierce." The squire chuckles a little darkly, "Uncorked a bit on me. But yessir. Understood."
"Our next lesson is learning how to apologize even when we aren't sure we are to blame. You will make amends with Ser Martyn over the next few days," the old Knight instructs before he breathes out a stronger exhale. "Now, are you completely tired of having me instruct you in the ways of etiquette and protocol?" He smirks a bit. "I know I am." He scrubs his hand across his dirty head. "Meet me out in the paddock in ten minutes. We have work to do." And he pushes off the door of the stall, starting down the length of hallway to the open stable doors. "And bring that fiddle with you!"
Darek groans at the order, "Yesser." Rising up to his feet, he lays out his vest as well, reaching down to gather up his second shirt and pull it on. His wet hair leaves a darker ring around the brown collar, and he shakes it back out of his face, "Ten minutes." He moves to find a piece of cloth and start to wipe down fiddle and bow, "What're we doing then, Ser?"
"Five minutes!" Jac shouts back over his shoulder. "And this morning, we work on sword technique. If you can keep up, I will give you the afternoon off… if not… I have plenty for us to do!" Jac is grinning to himself even as he steps out in the paddock. He rolls his shoulders a bit as he starts toward where he has set up an open bit of dirt and several sword blanks.
Darek groans softly, muttering, "Fucking swords." Still, he nods and laces up his shirt. He's probably four minutes (it takes two or three to go take a piss and lace back up), and then he's out to the paddock, fiddle and bow both in his left hand, rubbing the last vestiges of sleep out of his eyes, "So are you just going to beat me around the paddock, Ser, or is there something in particular you want to test me on?"
The aging Bracken Knight is looking out toward the east when Darek comes out to the Paddock. The sun is warming and glowing at the horizon, though it has still refused to peek up and start the day. "I find that beating the tar out of a squire hardly teaches the squire anything than how much pain their body can take. No, I would much rather teach you something." He turns toward the boy now, looking him over with a new critical stare. "Let me see what you do know. Take up a sword, show me an aggressive stance." He crosses his arms at his chest. "What did… Ser Henric teach you so far?"
Darek nods at the first words, "Oh good. I get enough bruises anyhow." He hooks his fiddle into a corner of the paddock, letting it hang and using the bow to keep it into the corner. Evidently, he's done something like this before. That settled, the young man comes over to pick up one of the blanks, "Aggressive stance, Ser?" He settles his feet shoulder-width apart, his weight up on his front foot even as he brings the blank up in his right hand, his left hovering about waist-high, behind him for balance. "With a shield, it'd be more squared off, Ser."
"Do you prefer a shield?" The Knight inquires honeslty as he takes up a lean against the rails, watching the boy take the stance. "Strong, good stance. Show me defensive," he says as he remains leaned, breathing in the cool morning air. "Tell me what makes the defensive stance different from the aggressive… and 'because its easier to defend off attacks' is not an acceptable answer." He waits to see how the boy both takes up the stance and explains it, feeling out just what the boy knows.
Darek shrugs a bit helplessly, "I'll use what I've got, Ser. If there's archers, I want a shield." The next order causes him to whip his sword around in a tight circle at his right side before he shifts his right foot out to his right, balancing his stance a bit more and giving him better balance. The sword lowers slightly and draws back behind him, "If there's more'n one of them, I want a shield. If it's just one other guy, I don't need one." That sounds like information given to him by an authority figure, likely Ser Henrik himself. "For the stance, I want something I can brace against attacks better, and move more quickly to dodge." A bit of a smirk escapes from his lips, "I'm dodgy."
Jac grins a bit to his answer, though he quickly scrubs the look of approval off his face, clearing his throat as he nods. "We will have to see about that." He straightens up as he picks up one of the other blanks. "Acceptable," he says in a gruff voice before he flips about the sword around a bit as if to test its weight. "Now, I'm in defensive stance… show me what comes next," he says, and he draws the boy into several hours of sword practice.