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What’s a Guy to Do (tag: Cameron)
Sir Guy of Gisborne was not in a good mood as he walked through the streets of The City. He kept shaking his right hand, pausing every few dozen steps to glare at it. He wished that either everything in this place was exactly the same as it was back in Nottingham or totally different. He hated that it was both ways.
What had set off his temper this time was a small, insignificant thing. He was starting to accept that the carriages here ran without horses and that lamps and torches produced light without flames. So why didn’t they have axes that chopped wood without giving you splinters? Guy had simply been chopping wood for the stove when he got a splinter from the axe in the palm of his hand. It really was just not fair. Just like in Nottingham, fate was out to get him.
Guy had thrown the axe and stormed back inside the cabin. Jeannie was out, so he could not ask her for help in removing the offending piece of wood. Which was probably for the best considering his mood, but he still needed help. He was so angry he barely remembered to strap on his sword before he left the cabin. Somewhere in this damnable City there had to be a physician capable enough to get the bloody splinter out of his hand.
He had almost calmed down enough to ignore the minor pain and head for home to wait for Jeannie when some idiot bumped into him. Hard. And, naturally, he had hit Guy’s hand, re-igniting the pain. Sir Guy cried out in anger and frustration. He finally resorted to using his teeth to try to grab the splinter and pull it out.
The look in the knight’s eye as he stood on the sidewalk, gnawing on his hand practically dared anyone else to run into him. Realizing his teeth weren’t doing any better than his fingernails had, Guy had just about had enough. Pulling a small, curved and extremely sharp knife from his belt, he prepared to cut the damn thing out of his hand once and for all.
What had set off his temper this time was a small, insignificant thing. He was starting to accept that the carriages here ran without horses and that lamps and torches produced light without flames. So why didn’t they have axes that chopped wood without giving you splinters? Guy had simply been chopping wood for the stove when he got a splinter from the axe in the palm of his hand. It really was just not fair. Just like in Nottingham, fate was out to get him.
Guy had thrown the axe and stormed back inside the cabin. Jeannie was out, so he could not ask her for help in removing the offending piece of wood. Which was probably for the best considering his mood, but he still needed help. He was so angry he barely remembered to strap on his sword before he left the cabin. Somewhere in this damnable City there had to be a physician capable enough to get the bloody splinter out of his hand.
He had almost calmed down enough to ignore the minor pain and head for home to wait for Jeannie when some idiot bumped into him. Hard. And, naturally, he had hit Guy’s hand, re-igniting the pain. Sir Guy cried out in anger and frustration. He finally resorted to using his teeth to try to grab the splinter and pull it out.
The look in the knight’s eye as he stood on the sidewalk, gnawing on his hand practically dared anyone else to run into him. Realizing his teeth weren’t doing any better than his fingernails had, Guy had just about had enough. Pulling a small, curved and extremely sharp knife from his belt, he prepared to cut the damn thing out of his hand once and for all.