milliways_bar | (no subject)

Did someone mention chainmail?

Well, at least this sword doesn't leak magic.

"Hello, Cimorene," says Mendanbar cheerfully. "You have wings."

Just in case she hadn't noticed.

Thank you, captain Obvious.

"Hello, Mendanbar," she grins, "You have a goatee."

"Yes," says Mendanbar. "I do. And armor."

He sounds remarkably unconcerned about the fact.

Hey, this pales in comparison to donkey ears at the age of eight, okay?

"Are they attached? Your wings I mean."

Because that would be cause for concern.

She cranes her neck around, "I don't think so," she says at last. "I can't feel them. I think they're just attached to the chainmail. I'd rather they wouldn't stay there. They make moving around incredibly difficult."

"And I assume you got them by coming through the door? Rather like the goatee?"

"Yes," she says, "which I suppose is a good sign. I expect they'll disappear when I walk out again, which is more than I could say if I'd gotten them from, say, eating the wrong salad." *smirk*

She hopes the goatee will vanish too, but she's too nice to say so.

Oh, she needn't worry. He's the King of the Enchanted Forest. If he wants the goatee gone, the goatee will be gone. Minor magic, really.

Unless he doesn't want it gone.

"Beware of salads," he says, amused. "They are dangerous things. And if they don't go away, let me know. I'm pretty sure that they could easily be taken care of. Magically speaking."

Unless he doesn't. And then she may just have to tease him until he does.

"Oh, I'm sure they're just vicious," she grins, "And if I happen to have wings upon my return home, well, I'll just fly on over to the Enchanted Forest and have you take care of them for me."

Mendanbar eyes the wings, critically.

"I don't know that they'd actually support you," he says finally. "They look sort of . . . flimsy.

"I suppose we could try to take them off here."

"Well, I can't actually see them very well," she reminds him, "since they're behind me. But do you really think you could magic them off? I've already knocked over a chair with them, and they make it incredibly difficult to sit down anywhere. Much like the ballgown I wore to my fifth sister's wedding."

She twists so he can see the wings better.

Mendanbar frowns. "Not without my sword," he says. "I have to be able to reach the Forest's magic, and that either means being there or having my sword with me. But perhaps we can just take them off. If we took off the chainmail?"

He doesn't want to be . . . forward enough to ask if she's wearing anything under the chainmail. But it's kind of implied.

In fact, she is. Isn't that lucky.

She frowns, "I think I can get out of it..."

Unfortunately, the chainmail is rather more fitted than chain mail usually is. Plus, it has giant wings attached to the back. However, by twisting around not unlike a crazy person she manages to get one arm free...until the chainmail gets caught in her oh-so-lovely crown of stars, trapping her other hand.

"Um....help?"

Mendanbar bites the insides of his cheeks rather hard, trying not laugh, and carefully extricates her crown and her chainmail from each other.

And then he laughs.

Free at last!

She dumps the offending garment (including the wings) onto the floor in a heap and scowls at it. It hits the floor with a loud, heavy sounding jingle. Strands of her hair stick out all over her head around the crown and she tries to put them back in place just a little, failing miserably.

At first she glares at Mendanbar for laughing at her. But it doesn't last for long. She cracks a smile and soon she's laughing along with him.

She had wings for crying out loud!

She did. And he still has a goatee.

"Much better," he says, pulling out a chair for her so that she can sit down.

"Now that you are once again wingless, can I get you anything? Something to drink?"

Still laughing she sits down with a huge smile as though she thought she'd never sit down again.

"I'd love something," she says, grinning, "whatever you're having is fine."

She stretches her arms over her head.

"Chainmail is heavy," she says at last.

And so are wings. Remind her not to make fun of Killer when the time comes.

Cider then. And a treacly, cinnamony, nutty pastry of some description.

"It's supposed to be heavy," says Mendanbar. "It has to protect you from . . . " he pauses, and grins at her " . . . things like dragons."

It must be confessed that he looks quite a bit like he could be standing outside Kazul's cave yelling challenges right now, given the armor and all.

Also, he looks like he could probably at least fight the King of the Dragons to a draw.

"Well, I hardly need protection from them, do I?" she says, smiling.

"Besides, I'm not sure how much good it would do. We have an awful lot of suits of armour in the treasure rooms, and quite a few of them look..." she thinks of a tactful word, "used."

If by used you mean bloody.

And she is not thinking about Mendanbar under those cicumstances. She's not. Really.

"It's like all things," says Mendanbar, practically, taking a sip of his cider. "If you go for showy and ornate, rather than practical and well made, well . . . you eind up eaten by dragons."

Mendanbar would probably happily rescue Cimorene from anything she wanted to be rescued from. Or from anything in his kingdom, whether she liked it or not, because that's his job.

Fortunately, this lets out dragons on both counts.

She takes a bite of her pastry.

"It's true," she says, "if someone came to fight Kazul in armour that was actually sensible then she'd probably think twice about eating them right away. If they ever got to fight her, that is. Which they won't."

And, on some rare (very rare) occasions, she might not even mind being rescued. But don't tell her I told you that.

"Of course not. Because you take care of your own knights and rescuers, even if it means fighting them."

Let us call it "offering assistance" perhaps, and get around the issue all together.

"Yes I would," she grins, "And you know that perfectly well. And some day, I'll be able to do it too. Perhaps I should get some sensible armour of my own. Though I might pass on the goatee."

Mendanbar throws back his head and laughs. "Please do," he says. "I would imagine that a goatee would suit you even less than it suits me.

"On the other hand, it probably would discourage most of your suitors."

"Hah!" she laughs, "You know, I think you're definitely right about that one, though I honestly don't think that's a step I'm quite willing to take."

"And I definitely think I prefer you without the goatee," she adds, helpfully.

Mendanbar grins. "I think I prefer me without the goatee as well. But as it doesn't prevent me from sitting down, and as I'm not anxious to try to shave in the middle of a tavern, I don't think it will hurt anything if I have it for one evening."