[Re-Introduction: Sir Dinadan]

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

Dinadan awakens, which is already several positive steps ahead of where he thought he'd be this morning (viz. in the void from which there is no awakening, or in the hereafter that he has done nothing particularly to avoid). A giddy thrill of relief washes through him. He cautiously cracks one eye open, and then the other. For a moment, the sunlight's brightness overwhelms him--an aching reminder that he is, somehow, alive.

But as the sunlight becomes bearable, he realizes that he is somehow, impossibly, once again, in Sagramore's cabbages.


"Christ, do you really only have one joke?" he calls to the sky--but he's grinning all the same. A life condemned to cabbages is better than a death condemned to Hell or the void, and given those are the only two options, he'll gladly take the cabbages.

Friends and strangers may find a tall, blond knight minstrel wandering around in Sagramore's borrowed clothes, occasionally strumming his rebec, definitely not touching anything he shouldn't.

Comments

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

"Nigh infinite."

[futaille]

"As easy to see as his artwork."

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

Finally, Dinadan's serious facade cracks; he cackles, eyes crinkling. "I like you so well," he says. "I'll only mock you a little in verse."

[futaille]

And his own expression shifts to one of mock affront. "That will never do. Mock to your heart's content! No man deserves any less, least of all me."

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

"But sir, my heart will never be content!"

[futaille]

"Good. What a horrific world it would be if I weren't to be subject to mockery."

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

"But you give as good as you get, I'm sure."

[futaille]

"Oh, I'm not sure about as good, but I at least make some semblance of effort."

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

"Go on, then; come at me."

[futaille]

"Such a heady task after five minutes of acquaintance. Of course, it stands to reason that it's one you would set now to ensure volleys you can withstand."

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

"Oh, subtle and underhanded; I'm impressed!"

[futaille]

"Why, thank you! I hope to remain impressive."

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

"Let's try your skill at praises, then!"

[futaille]

"The first one that comes to mind is how difficult it was to think of any mockery!"

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

"So quick on your feet! Like a dancer with the spoken word!"

[futaille]

"A nimbleness born of a truly ridiculous amount of practice, I assure you."

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

"In what arena did you practice, to become so proficient?"

[futaille]

"Why, the cafés and backrooms of Paris, truly an unmatched training ground."

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

"Paris--I've heard of Paris! Very cultured, isn't it? Palaces and cathedrals and whatnot?"

[futaille]

"Indeed! Although I've never set foot in the first and only rarely in the second. Well, I suppose you could say I have walked into a palace if you count palaces that have since turned into museums."

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

Curiously, "What's a museum?"

[futaille]

"Oh. It's a place where things are displayed for the public. Most specialize in some way, for instance art, or curiosities of nature, and the like."

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

"And kings gave their palaces for these public displays?"

[futaille]

"The Louvre was an old one which had been set aside in favor of newer and more well-appointed palaces, so the building was designated to house artists under royal patronage, and eventually from there became a museum."

[rebecs_with_the_straps]

"A king so wealthy that he can afford to give up one of his palaces, because he has better? Truly, Camelot's more of a backwater than I thought."