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“Flowers
gathering in the morning,
Afternoon
they blossom on,
Still
are withered by the evening;
You
can be me when I’m gone.”
Fortune
Cookie, Sandman
The sound of clashing metal echoed
off the wind.
In the open fields of endless
grass, the sun came down on the two knights as they stood alone. Far displaced from the city life, the only
sounds around them were the buzz of insects and the blowing wind which
carried the scent of possibility and adventure.
Armand held his brand out, the
long straight blade shining in the sunlight.
Dressed in a silk red shirt and loose pants, his black trench coat
hung around his knees. In front of
him, Everett
stood ready, holding a short ninjato.
His cotton red shirt swept in the wind while his trench coat waited on
the ground behind him.
The two paired off, slowly
circling the other. Their brows were
wet with sweat from the exertion of their sparring; their foot prints
littering the ground around them.
Armand lunged at Everett, the long blade shooting straight
at Edgar’s chest. Edgar let the blade
get close and lunged forward, moving just to the side so Armand’s blade
slashed by his left. Sliding his
sword’s blade through Armand’s extended arms, he disengaged his right hand
from the ninjato’s long handle, letting the sword’s straight blade pass
between Armand’s body and his left arm.
Grabbing the blade with his hand behind Armand’s back, Everett pushed the dull
side into Armand’s shoulder. He drove
Armand down face-first into the soft soil.
Armand growled in frustration
before Everett
let him up. He backed away and Armand
exhaled, aggravated. “Those little
tricks are getting on my nerves.”
“Tricks?” Everett said with a laugh. “It’s called leverage.”
Armand grumbled, holding his sword
ready. Everett resumed his stance. Armand began to circle around Everett, his sharp eyes watching Everett’s balance. “Hips and shoulders,” Everett encouraged. “Forget my feet. My feet aren’t going anywhere my hips don’t
tell them to. My hands aren’t going
anywhere my shoulders don’t tell them to.”
Armand whipped his sword around,
slashing it at Everett’s
head. Everett ducked out of the way, dashing
behind Armand. The younger knight
whipped around, slamming his sword into Everett’s. The clang of metal echoed again before Everett stepped around
Armand’s legs and shoved into him with his shoulder, knocking him to the
ground.
Armand hit hard, groaning. “What’s wrong?” Everett asked, helping Armand stand. “You don’t normally fall for this stuff.”
“Fall nothing,” Armand
complained. “You’re getting faster.”
Everett smiled, slightly embarrassed. He sighed and looked up at the sky,
blocking the sun from his eyes. “Come
on,” he said, dropping his hands.
“Let’s call it a day.”
“That’s the thing I just don’t get,”
Armand said as he and Everett stood in front
of Everett’s
car. Parked on the side of the lonely
country road, the engine idled. Everett stood with his
trench coat arms tied around his waist, his red shirt sleeves rolled up to
his shoulder. Against the car,
Armand’s red shirt flapped open to reveal the white tank top beneath. “If this Crimson Rose guy isn’t a knight,
why the black and red?”
“No idea,” Everett said, looking around, his
sunglasses gleaming in the afternoon sun.
“I mean, its not good camouflage.
I can’t see it symbolizing anything other than knighthood.”
“Maybe we can use that to our
advantage,” Armand posed. Everett looked at him,
interested. “What if we challenge this
guy to a fight? Or call him a
villain. No knight will ever stand for
being called a villain.”
“And no knight will back down from
a challenge, especially a formally issued duel,” Everett agreed. He considered it for a moment. “How would we challenge him?”
“Newspaper?” Armand
suggested. “This guy knows where to find
local street crime and stuff. He’s got
his hand on the pulse of the city so he’s got to read the newspaper.” Everett
shrugged in thought. “The fish ready
yet?”
Everett turned to the hood of the car and
opened it up. On the engine, two wraps
of metal foil shimmered quietly in the motorized heat. Everett
picked up the cooking tools by his side and opened the wrap. “Oh yeah,” he said, his mouth watering
instantly. “They’re good.”
Armand reached through the
rolled-down window and turned the car off as Everett delicately placed the two wrapped
pieces of fish on the ground and closed the hood. He carefully carried the fish to the trunk
of the car where two plates with salads and rice waited. He distributed the fish before picking up
his own plate.
Armand placed two sodas on the
trunk and leaned back, sampling the food.
“This is the life,” he smiled, his mouth half full. The two ate in silence for a while before
Armand looked to Everett. “What’re you going to do when you
graduate?”
Everett was quiet for a moment. “I honestly don’t know,” he finally said,
as if focusing on his food more. “I
guess I always assumed…” He
shrugged. “I don’t know what I
assumed.”
“Are you going to stick around
here?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t see there being too many jobs for
Poli-Sci majors in the immediate area.
I guess DC maybe?”
“What about grad school?” Armand
asked. “You’ve got a history
minor. Considered getting a masters in
that?” He smirked. “You could learn from Edgar.”
Everett chuckled, having trouble
swallowing. “Are you kidding?” he
exclaimed. “That would be the hardest
class in the world. He would ride me
night and day.” He took a few more
bites, laughing. “With other students,
if they did bad on a test, he’d, you know, pull them aside and say all
sympathetically ‘hey, what’s wrong, why’d you do so poorly’. You know, professional and stuff. With me, he’d pull me aside, punch me in
the chest, and say ‘what the hell?’.”
Armand laughed as well. “No, man, seriously. What’re you going do? You’ve only got, like, what six credits
left or something? You’re going to get
that over the summer. You’ll graduate
in August.”
Everett smiled bittersweetly. “I don’t know, man. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He looked out at the road and the endless
horizon it ran to. “I honestly never
thought I’d get here, you know. I
never thought I’d see the day when I was staring down graduation.” He went back to eating. “I mean, I never planned to write grants
for the county health department and stuff for the rest of my life, but I
don’t know.”
As the words escaped his lips, a
splatter of red erupted between the two.
Armand and Everett both dropped to the ground, flattening themselves
against the pavement. They heard several
more pops as shots whizzed by them.
“What the hell?” Armand exclaimed, leaping up to his feet. He moved around behind the car, Everett coming around
the front to join him. “Who the hell’s
shooting at us?”
Everett felt a splatter against the car and
looked. Red and florescent orange paint
was covering his windows. He looked
out at the field, an angry glare appearing in his eyes. “Roland,” he growled. “It’s gotta be.”
“Dick,” Armand announced as more
shots came by. He looked in the
direction they were coming from. “What
do you want to…” he asked, turning back to Everett, to find him gone.
Running in the street, Everett stayed low,
sprinting across the pavement faster than the eye could follow. Pellets of red paint went shooting past him
as raced to the tree line on the other side of the pavement. He leapt down the tiny drop from the road
and pressed himself against the trees.
He heard several more shots rip against the car and then felt a few
splatter against the thick tree he was behind. He glanced around at the trees, getting his
bearings.
Without a sound, he turned. Sprinting along the edge of the forest, he
passed over the underbrush towards the shooter. The figure in red and black turned, aiming
the paintball gun, but Everett
cleared the distance too quickly.
Grabbing the barrel of the gun, he
pushed it up before punching the shooter in the stomach and yanking the
shooting arm back down over his shoulder to flip the attacker down onto the
ground. Holding onto the offender, Everett bent his wrist
backwards, pinning him face-first to the ground.
“God, ow!” Roland yelled, tapping
his hand rapidly on the ground. “I
give! I give!” Everett
let him go with an added twist. “God,
it was just a prank,” he said, standing, unable to keep from laughing. He looked at the gun and grinned. “Knights one, paintball gun zero.”
“You know, this reminds me of the
time you and Ledger started training with BB guns,” Everett said parentally as Armand came
running down the embankment. “But you
guys didn’t connect that there were soft plastic BBs, so you were training
with the copper ones.” Everett started to laugh. “And I had to drive your mom to the
hospital because you had your dad’s car at the time.”
“Ah, good times,” Roland said as Everett helped him up.
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