corps-a-corps — francis. & godric. [blitz]
Jan 26, 2019 7:59:15 GMT -5
Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jan 26, 2019 7:59:15 GMT -5
A sword fight, Godric Blackburn had proposed. When the news lapped at Francis's feet, he chuckled and beamed at its absurdity, dismissing it as a mere jest. But, as the days rolled onward and the tabloids irritatingly stirred this out of controllable proportions, refusal became synonymous with cowardice.
And, he could not have his character be doubted or tainted — not when the race was nearing a denouement and not when his reputation had been spotless for long — so he accepted.
Francis made formal arrangements in one of the district's coliseums and stood inside a colorful circle that the bystanders formed, waiting, alert like a songbird that had just picked up the aroma of a storm on the horizon. Godric was picking his swords. Everything was cloaked with an air of solemnity which Francis hated.
He wanted lightheartedness, buzz in the veins, laughter that could tear one's ribs out. That was the McCoy household's trademark: humor and soirees that glowed with hysteria.
“Why are you making us wait this long, sire?” Francis asked. “I thought we'd just whip out our long sabres and have a joyous go at it.” He toyed with the hilt of his saber, whose gold danced in the sun.
And, he could not have his character be doubted or tainted — not when the race was nearing a denouement and not when his reputation had been spotless for long — so he accepted.
Francis made formal arrangements in one of the district's coliseums and stood inside a colorful circle that the bystanders formed, waiting, alert like a songbird that had just picked up the aroma of a storm on the horizon. Godric was picking his swords. Everything was cloaked with an air of solemnity which Francis hated.
He wanted lightheartedness, buzz in the veins, laughter that could tear one's ribs out. That was the McCoy household's trademark: humor and soirees that glowed with hysteria.
“Why are you making us wait this long, sire?” Francis asked. “I thought we'd just whip out our long sabres and have a joyous go at it.” He toyed with the hilt of his saber, whose gold danced in the sun.
