Choose Your Own Romance
(pg. 2) Surveying my options and making note to appologize to Dragon about the patrol, I finally decided on sitting with my instructors at the center table. Sir Ivon was currently piling his plate with bacon and sausage, and Sir Theodore was sitting on the other side of him with a few slices of fresh bread and some eggs. I approached the table, standing a little away from Sir Ivon and the prospective seat.
"Good morning, Sirs Theodore and Ivon," I said, bowing slightly to each man in respect, "Is anyone sitting here?" The bolbous Scott looked up, a bit of bacon poking out from under his crimson mustache, and furrowed his brow, shrugging roughly and mumbling through his mouthful of meat. I looked hesitantly at Sir Theodore, and he nodded.
"Have a seat, Squire," Sir Theodore told me, patting the table, humour at Sir Ivon's response sparkling in his eyes, "We were just talking about the weather like the old men that we are,"
At that comment, Sir Ivon swallowed his mouthful, and shook the sausage he was working on at the older Knight, annoyance apparent on his face.
"I, for one, am no' an ol' man!" He said, and turned to Jane, "'old' is when you can do nothing but knit and play chess all day. Talkin' 'bout the weather is no' old! I am no' old!" I turned my eyes from Sir Ivon to Sir Theodore as the Irishman went on about the definition of "old". The older Knight's thin lips were crooked into a sly smile, proud of the rant he had begun in his younger friend's mouth.
As I looked on at my instructor, tuning Sir Ivon out, he gestured over to the redheaded man and mouthed the word "denial" to me. I felt my stomach spasm with laughter, and I put my hand to my lips to hide my mirth.
"...so you see, Scotts ne'er get old in reality. An' tha's my final word on the matter!"
"I thought you were Irish, my friend,"
"Irish? Look at meh'!" with a shove, the pudgy knight stood to display his physique. He gestured to himself, a smug look played to Sir Theodore, "You see? Regal stature, crimson locks and a hearty demeanor. Scotch: through and through!"
"Hm. Indeed, you are!" The hoary master knight brought a knuckle to his mouth, seeming to be contemplative, but I spotted the upturned-corners of his mustache. He was covering up his laughter!
I took this time to observe my ancient instructor's face, as his focus was elsewhere. his grey and white hair was long and coarse, reaching past his shoulders, and was pushed back from his face: out of the way. It was a stylish way for a man to wear it: far from Roman, but somehow radiating an aire of refinement. Around his smokey grey eyes were moon-shaped smile lines, which bowed up gracefully, revealing a life filled with joys. Around his mouth and grey mustache were frown lines, molding around his protruding chin, and drooping to various places on his face. I allowed my eyes to follow the paths and contours of the knight's wrinkled face for a while, as he was still paying attention to Sir Ivon's rant. However, I soon found the intense, stormy-grey gaze journeying from the Scottman to meet my stare.
Instead of looking away, I smiled to him brightly, as I was already caught in the act of staring, and his mouth tweeked upward a little underneath his mustache. I turned my eyes from Sir Theodore to Sir Ivon as he stood beside me, describing the differences between a Scott and an Irishman, but my attention was still on the gaze that I could still feel on me from across the table.
"...And tha' is why I don't like green, but orange. You see, the color has to do with which part o' Ireland you're in, an' Scottland is closer to the ora-"
"-Breakfast, anyone?" Rang a chipper voice from our left, and I turned to look at the blessed, raven-haired cook, Pepper, carrying a pan of eggs and bacon. Smiles plastered over our faces, my instructors and I gladly grabbed plates full of the meal...
A. Energy seems to rip through the air ...(pg. 5)
B. Mmm... food! ...(pg. 6)
C I can't seem to take my eyes from Sir Theodore! 3 ...(pg. 7)
