Ailments of the Backfiring Kind
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Summary: Gil wants to go to the fair in the village, but of course Halt won't give him the day off. So he decides to play sick so he can't do anything, then sneak off when Halt goes out… It's a foolproof plan! How hard could it be?
Set: During Gilan's second year as an apprentice (or end of his first)
Characters: Gilan, Halt, Blaze… and anyone else who might or might not come in.
Genres: Humour… and humour…? *scratches head*
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Chapter one: Absolutely foolproof
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Sunlight was just beginning to shine through Gilan's window when he woke up. He opened his eyes blearily and yawned, sitting up as he did so. He grabbed the water jug by his bed and drank, then winced as he realised his throat felt very swollen as he swallowed. Come to think of it, his nose was kind of runny too.
Perfect timing, the apprentice thought to himself with a sudden wicked grin. And he wasn't even being sarcastic. Today was the village fair which he'd wanted to go to since he'd heard of it a few weeks ago, but when he asked Halt, his mentor (predictably) refused.
And it wasn't just his refusal, it was the other thing Halt had mentioned; "Rangers don't waste their time going to meager festivals. And apprentices certainly don't waste their time daydreaming about it. Besides, I'll be testing you on your geographical skills soon, Gil, and you really need to get working on those, if I remember correctly."
Of course, having gotten slightly sulky at the rejection, Gilan had to make a smart-alec comment to that ("You were getting old anyway, you sure your memory's fine?"). He regretted that. A lot. Sleeping in a tree for three nights was not fun.
So, Gilan made a plan. He would act sick, too sick to go with Halt to wherever he was planning on going today and dragging his apprentice along. Then, when Halt was off, he would saddle up Blaze and get to the fair, and be back before Halt, easily.
It was foolproof, Gilan concluded as he swung his legs out of bed. Of course, he didn't take into account that Halt always told him "You're so dense sometimes, the most foolproof plans will fail with you". Maybe he should have taken that into consideration (but then, this is Gilan we're talking about).
Anyway, Gilan gathered that he had approximately twelve minutes until Halt expected him up and out of his room. He glanced at the mirror, satisfied to see that he already looked not-so-perfect, what with the slight flu he was feeling. It was winter, after all, and he'd slept with the window open so his plan would be easier to pull off. Add to that the fact that he'd been sleeping outside in the fairly cold weather for the three nights before that, and he had a solid reason for getting so ill.
Gil had learned years ago that if you wanted to pull off being ill, you had to start off with being at least a little bit sick already, to ensure maximum believability.
Gilan set to work. He started off with working on a slight feverish appearance; he rubbed his hands together fast so they became hot, then brought them to his cheeks and did the same, giving his face a flushed look. Then he tipped some water into his cupped hand, raised it over his head and slowly poured it down, letting the water drip down the front of his hair and forehead. Spreading it gave his face and hair the damp, unhealthy sheen he wanted.
Then he had to work on his eyes. He dug around under his bed cautiously (you do not want to know what he felt under there… or what he thought he felt, anyway) until he found an old rough bit of dark chalk. He remembered using it ages ago to fake a wound on his arm. Now he rolled it between his fingers and carefully rubbed the dark shading under and around his eyes, making them look severely hollowed and dull. Gilan grinned at his masterpiece, but dropped it quickly when he realised it ruined his sick look – ailing people did not go around grinning like they'd accomplished something big, after all. So Gil quickly adopted his best ill face, getting rid of his ever-present grin for a slight frown and looking as bone-weary as he could. He even added the occasional sniff to perfect it.
And so Gilan went on, looking the epitome of someone who'd caught the winter flu.
Gil trudged into the sitting room/kitchen, making sure to step a tad unsteadily, as if his head were spinning. He sniffled a couple of times then looked around groggily for Halt.
"What's up with you, then?" his mentor's voice came from the table, where he was drinking his morning coffee and reading through reports. He glanced up at Gilan and frowned, taking in the flushed cheeks, bags under the eyes, and sweaty face.
"Must've caught the flu," Gil mumbled thickly – that part wasn't too hard. He found that his swollen throat really did hurt when he talked. He staggered to the nearest chair and collapsed in it with a small moan.
Halt sighed to himself. Apprentices really were tiresome things. Couldn't there be one winter where no-one got sick? He put down his reports and got up, going over to his seemingly miserable apprentice.
"Is it just a flu, Gil, or are you heating up too?" he asked, putting a hand on the youth's forehead.
Gilan groaned and coughed a couple of times before replying, "Dunno. M'head's spinnin'… And my throat's killin' me… Ouch."
He had to force down the smirk threatening to appear on his face from Halt's expression. Gil silently prayed that Halt couldn't tell the difference between a high temperature and a warmed-up face, when his mentor let go, standing properly to survey him. Gilan mentally sighed in relied when he saw the look on Halt's face that pretty much confirmed the fact that he really thought Gil was sick.
"Well, I'll make some soup and you can drink that," Halt finally said, frowning. He'd been planning on testing the boy's skills in map-reading and tactics, not to mention taking him out to a high slope where Gilan could practice his knife throwing from angles. Looks like he'd have to change plans then. "Stay by the fire for now, and we'll see what'll happen to you then."
Gilan's eyes widened, but he covered it up quickly with a sneeze (which wasn't faked, by the way). "Are't you goin' subwhere?" he asked, somewhat unclearly due to his now-blocked nose.
Halt raised an eyebrow inquiringly as he made his way to the kitchen. "Not that I'm aware of." He shot his apprentice an odd look, seeing the badly-covered-up downtrodden expression, then shrugged and went to make the soup.
Now what? Gilan asked himself in frustration. If Halt didn't go out of the house, how was he supposed to sneak out to the fair? He couldn't very well just sit there all day doing nothing. That would be… disastrous! And so boring.
Obviously, wherever Halt had been planning to go, he had wanted to take Gilan with him, which was why he wasn't going anymore.
Looks like some improvising was to be done…
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A/N: Improvising, indeed. There's no knowing what Gil would (or could) do to go to the fair… And, yeah, this was short, but it's gunna be a short fic (around 4 or 5 chapters, maybe). I hope this was a good beginning.
Big thanks to Dodo.123 for Beta-ing this :) Oh, and for nit-picking the 'He sniffled a couple of times then looked around groggily for Halt' line because I missed out the word 'looked'. :P
Soo.. review people. What do you reckon Gil's gunna do to get rid of Halt? And how's he gunna do it? (that's a stupid question… this is Gilan, after all).
Cheers~
izzy :D