Saturday, February 2, 2013

Week 4: Write a humorous scene about a warrior who is brave in battle getting all nervous when getting her ears pierced in preparation for a ball. (Inspired by Song of the Lioness Quartet)

Steel twirled his mustache. He had spent the better part of three years growing it to the length it was now. He waxed and trimmed it with the same precision he used on the battlefield. He tried to put his hand on the hilt of his rapier only to remember it wasn't there right now, neither was his pistol. He only wore his form doublet, breeches, cloak, and feathered hat. The Lioness Ball was in a few hours and it was there he was supposed to meet the contact from the queen, a Monsieur Franques D’Lamont. Monsieur D’Lamont would approach the man with the symbol of fleur-de-lis on his ear. That meant two things; first Steel had to cut his hair, which he had already done, and second he had to get his ear pierced. The man who was to do the deed was set to arrive at any moment.
Pacing back and forth, Steel weighed the earring in his hand. It had been too heavy to glue to his ear. He had thought about tying a string to his ear but it would look strange for a man to be dangling an earring from a string around his ear. Count Domiquo had been firm on the point though, he must be wearing the symbol of the fleur-de-lis on his left ear to get Monsieur D’Lamont’s attention. Steel held up his black mask, it was his disguise for the evening. The Count had suggested that Steel cut his iconic mustache, as it was well known he was a mercenary. This had been the line he had drawn however. He would pierce his ear if he must, he shivered a bit at the thought, but he would not cut his mustache. 
There was a rap at the door. Steel answered it. A man in his late fifties, bald with a turkey like neck stood in the doorway; tools of the trade in hand. 
The man stuck out his hand. “Monsieur Lefevre, how pleasant to meet you.” 
'Lefevre' was the alias that was given to the man. “A pleasure as well. I see you have brought your,” Steel swallowed, “um needle.” He really wished he had his own ‘needle,’ but then again if he did he might just stab the man with it. 
The old man smiled at him and gestured to the chair. Each step to get their was like a sleepless night at sea. His legs felt as if they wobbled back and forth. He managed to make it to the chair which reclined. The chair could have been a torture device in of itself because of how uncomfortable it was.  
The man turned his back to steel and laid out all of his equipment onto a little table. 
“Relax, Monsieur. I’ve done this thousand’s of times.” There was the sharp smell of alcohol and steel closed his eyes, trying to remember the beautiful brown eyes of Victoria.

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