Ian Gorman (anotherman) wrote in fableless, @ 2016-11-20 22:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! log/thread, ian gorman, marty solverson |
WHO: Ian Gorman & Marty Solverson
WHAT: Ian uses his sword on Marty.
WHEN: Monday, November 21st. 10:30am.
WHERE: Marty’s Criminology 101 class.
WARNING/RATING: Discussion of beheading.
Every kid who visited the Bemidji library knew that you had to watch out for Mrs. Roberts.The librarian seemed to have a sixth sense for knowing exactly when children ventured beyond their own little corner of the library and into the adult section. And that was exactly why Marty and Ian were proceeding with extreme caution as they scoured the shelves for Robin Hood stories that went beyond the sanitized Golden Book versions. “You check this side and I’ll check the other,” Marty hissed as his eyes darted to the end of the isle, all was safe and quiet for now. Ian had pointed out the problems with this adventure - what were they going to do if they got caught and expelled from the Library? Were they going to be able to read fast enough before they got caught? Because they weren’t going to be able to check out the books unless they convinced one of the older kids on the street to check out library books for them. But then they’d think they were such little nerdy kids for wanting contraband books combined with the fact that they were fairytales. “Got it,” He said in response to Marty’s orders. His eyes tried to scan the spines as quickly as possible, looking for a relevant book. The thing about Marty was, he didn’t worry about being caught until he was being scolded by whichever adult had been paying attention at the time. As his eyes scanned the shelf they finally alighted on a promising sounding title Adventures of ... “Ian,” he whispered as he carefully removed the book from the shelf and held it out for his friend to take. Ian looked at the book, nodded, then tucked it under his arm. “Should we just skim this one or keep looking?” He asked. “Let’s skim it,” once again Marty glanced towards the isle. “If we gather more it’ll just slow us down.” He immediately plopped down in the middle of aisle - too young to care that they’d be in the way of anyone else and not really caring that they weren’t very well hidden. “Alright, let’s look for a story with Guy since Robin will be everywhere.” Marty instantly joined him, eyes hurriedly glancing through the table of contents as Ian opened the book. “There,” he reached over to flip to the correct page in a somewhat pushy effort to help. The sentence that Marty pointed at read, As for my name, I care not who knoweth it. It is Guy of Gisbourne, and thou mayst have heard it before. It was a little egotistical for Ian’s taste’s but it seemed vaguely familiar too. More so than some of his other Guy-based memories. His eyes darted to the beginning to the story. It was an odd sensation, to read a story while separating fact and fiction in your head. Not long since the Bishop sent for me, and said that if I would do a certain thing that the Sheriff of Nottingham would ask of me, he would get me a free pardon … Marty snorted and continued down the page. Ian couldn’t help but uncomfortably shift in place the further he got into the Tale. ‘Truly,’ quoth he, ‘I have heard of thy gentle doings. Methinks there is no one in all the world that Robin Hood would rather meet than thee.’ At this Guy of Gisbourne gave another harsh laugh. ‘Why,’ quoth he, ‘it is a merry thing to think of one stout outlaw like Robin Hood meeting another stout outlaw like Guy of Gisbourne. Only in this case it will be an ill happening for Robin Hood, for the day he meets Guy of Gisbourne he shall die.’ But that was wrong. Ian remembered saying something similar - and in fact he probably wouldn’t have called himself an outlaw. He realized that was probably why there were written works in this world that flip flopped between him being a rival outlaw or a freelancer on the side of the law. His memories told him he was somewhere in the middle, depending on what suited him that day. But he knew he never killed Robin, no matter what the Guy he was reading might think of the future. ‘But thou gentle, merry spirit,’ quoth Robin, ‘dost thou not think that mayhap this same Robin Hood may be the better man of the two?’ It was Marty’s turn to shift uncomfortably, but even as he did so his eyes never left the page. This was the part that was difficult to reconcile with his current self not because Marty couldn’t see similarities, but because he didn’t want to. It wasn’t enough to kill Guy. Robin had to humiliate him first. Twice he shot, but neither time did he hit the wand, missing it the first time by a span and the second time by a good palm’s-breadth. Robin laughed and laughed. ‘I see now,’ quoth he, ‘that the Devil himself could not hit that mark. Good fellow, if thou art no better with the broadsword than thou art with the bow and arrow, thou wilt never overcome Robin Hood.’ Humiliation was an odd memory to have. Because Robin did it well, and so did Marty. But the way Guy and Ian reacted was vastly different. Even at thirteen Ian understood how to minimize it, giving Marty less of an inclination to direct it on him as it didn’t have the effect the other boy wanted. It wasn’t so easy for Guy, who angered easily, Guy of Gisbourne glared savagely upon Robin. Quoth he, ‘Thou hast a merry tongue, thou villain; but take care that thou makest not too free with it, or I may cut it out from thy throat for thee.’ Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea, Marty finally realized as the fight between Robin and Guy started to unfold on the page. It wasn’t exactly how he remembered it of course, but certain things were correct. Guy stabbing Robin in the side before things finally… And, well, what happened after. But they weren’t wise enough to stop before it got worse. “Robin ran around with m-his head?” It wasn’t an entirely rhetorical question. Maybe that bit was fiction. Maybe someone made that bit up. But the sick feeling in the pit of Ian’s stomach knew that his line of thinking was entirely too wishful. Marty was quick to answer, “It was -- a diversion, he was pretending to be Guy, and so he needed the head as proof.” The long rambling explanation might have sounded strange to outside ears, but Ian knew how things had been in those days. “Little John had been captured and … it wasn’t personal.” Granted, it was plenty personal now even if Ian was nothing like Guy. “I’m sorry.” They were different people, Ian reminded himself. Guy’s death has no relation to him, except that he had had the memories leading up to it. He closed the book slowly. “I think I’m done for the day,” he said then passed the book to Marty. “You’ve got more stories to read then I do anyhow.” As Ian practiced using his sword (using the same techniques Guy was so fond of in times past) what he needed to do with it became clearer and clearer. Most of his friends might be upset with his newfound interest in his Tale heritage, but everything seemed to be clicking like it hadn’t before. It was easy to find gauntlet-style riding gloves, though he did lament that they had to be leather rather than steel. With those, and days of practice, he was confident that he was ready this time. He did not stop to talk to anyone after he set out from his home, to the Criminology 101 classroom where “Marty” - Robin, in disguise - stood at the front of the classroom. Ian marched towards him and threw the gauntlet down on the ground. The sound the leather made as it hit the floor wasn’t even as close to as satisfying as it would have been if it was steel. He only frowned at it for the moment before looking Marty in the eye. Marty had paused mid-lecture as his face first registered disbelief and then concern. His gaze drifted from the glove to Ian’s face. The intention was a little too clear but he wasn’t ready to accept it. “What the hell, Ian?” “This is a challenge to a duel,” Ian explained as if he expected Marty to be too slow to comprehend. “Today, we shall fight.” “No,” he spoke slowly, stretching the word as his eyes darted to his TA and then his students, and back to Ian. “I’m not going to fight you.” “Yes,” Ian lifted his sword, ready to strike, even if Marty wasn’t. “You will.” Robin set up Guy to fail once, and now Ian felt no guilt for doing the same to Marty. This was an eye for an eye, or rather, a head for a head. Amid uneasy chattering and nervous glances, VOLUNTEER ONE twisted in his/her seat before pulling out his/her phone and started to text. Apparently, he would have to. Marty edged away from the desk at the front of the room, eying the sword cautiously as he went. Past attempts to reason with Ian in this state had failed but it was worth at least one more try. “Now? I’m not even armed, that’s not a proper duel.” “There is one sword.” Ian pointed out. He used his hand to swing it in a circular motion - more for show than to actually cause any harm. They had an audience, afterall. It wasn’t exactly like their happenings in Sherwood, in the middle of the woods. “If you are as great as you think you are, you will be able to disarm without a second thought.” Oh, great. It was slightly horrifying to watch as this new version of Ian ‘entertained’ the crowd. This one sword had powers attached and Marty was very aware of the fact that no matter how quickly he was able to dodge it would only take one wrong move before this situation ended in tragedy. Maybe if he could just get Ian out of the building … “I guess I don’t have much of a choice.” A pause. “You must not think the same of yourself,” despite the barbed words he didn’t sound angry, just cautious and uncertain. “Need the advantage of a weapon, huh?” Ian, in the right state of mind, could tell the difference in all of Marty’s tones. But, when influenced by his Tale every insult was injury. Ian snarled. “I care not that you think this fight to be unfair. Everyone has advantages or disadvantages at any time.” He gripped the hilt of the sword more firmly. It may have been an effect of mind over matter, but it felt as though the power surged through his body, allowing the swing that followed to have more strength than any ordinary man would. Marty ducked and darted out of the path of the sword to pop up behind Ian as the sound of the sword cutting through air filled the mostly silent classroom. Ian grunted, in anger when the swing missed and his target was suddenly beyond his periphery. MARCO DE FIORE, quick to realize how poorly this could go got up to aid Professor Solverson but was stopped by BILLY SINCLAIR. Marty quickly aimed a blow at Ian’s kidneys, still not fully comprehending the entire situation, the only option now was to get the sword away from his best friend before anyone was hurt. Ian groaned at the punch, but worked to readjust his position to take another swing. However, Ian’s body didn’t have the muscle memory Guys’ had once had. His movements were clumsy, as it would be with someone who was inexperienced with a sword. As he once again prepared to dodge out of the way of an oncoming blow, Marty spoke: “Ian. You don’t want to do this.” “You know not what I want,” Ian huffed. This time he tried to jab the end towards Marty. When the other man successfully dodged again the sword entered the desk that was behind him, causing Ian to have to pull it out with the help of his superstrength. He spun back around, his face clearly contorted in anger at another miss. Attempts to appeal to the real Ian were pointless and that had been abruptly clear long before Marty found himself staring at the mulated desk in horror. It could so easily have been a student. He backed toward the classroom door, it didn’t seem necessary to say anything provoking, Guy would likely follow him anywhere he went. His reasoning was proven true as Ian followed him step for step into the hall. Students inside his classroom, and neighboring ones didn’t hear any other words that were said. It was hard to determine which groans came from who. But the clatter of the sword hitting the ground, and then the cease of all sounds, was the only way any of them could determine that it was over. |