Liane (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pucelleflambe) wrote2012-10-13 08:51 pm
pucelleflambe) wrote2012-10-13 08:51 pm
Entry tags:
Memory: The Rude New Allies and the English Officer
The friends are on their way to Chinon, passing through the Soir Valley. Jeanne, Roger, Liane and the two soldiers Jean and Bertrand are now being accompanied by the Duke's soldiers, rogue Colet and child archer Marcel. They ride along the path, Colet and Marcel bickering. Colet, with his thick accent, is certain the world has gone insane, saying a woman has no business meeting with the dauphin, and the duke is crazy to have sent a little boy like Marcel to guard her. Marcel, for his part, is spacing out and fawning over flowers.
Finally, Colet looks back at Jeanne. "I hear you are quite ze lucky lady, 'Pucelle' . . . but just take care your luck does not run out here. Otherwise you weel end up like zees country: an appalling fart zat eez falling apart, ho-hoh!"
Jeanne bristles. "Don't you have any love for France?"
"Quoi? 'Love?' 'Love,' she sez. Ho-hoh, do not make me laugh! 'Love,' har har!" The soldier starts ahead. As they go, Marcel trots alongside Colet to show him a bug he found; the phrase "beetle bwain" reaches back to the trio of friends as they continue.
"If those two are soldiers, then it's no wonder France is losing," Jeanne mutters to her friends.
"Exqueez? What was zat you said? Say zat to my face!"
Jeanne turns away, gritting her teeth with frustration. "Forget it. Just be quiet. Please."
"Hawumph! I cannot work under zees conditions!" Colet kicks his horse to a gallup, followed shortly by Marcel, crying for the older man to wait up.
"What an awful thing to say," Jeanne observes. "How could anyone have knighted a man like him?"
Her head snaps up, attention shifting when Marcel screams up ahead. "What was that?" The friends charge forward. The two rude soldiers are tangling with a spear-wielding lizard on a bridge; the friends dismount and rush in, weapons drawn. As they approach, an ornately-armored Englishman orders the lizard to stand down, and moves forward.
"Forgive me," he says. "I had no idea a woman was in your company."
The officer starts to walk away, as if that was the end of it -- and then pauses. "Let alone a woman of such high station! The Pucelle . . . France's savior, or so I'm told."
Colet and Roger move to support Jeanne against the Englishman. "You're English," Jeanne growls. "What do you want?!"
"What do you think? I want that armlet off your wrist," the Englishman says.
"What?"
The Englishman spins to the lizards and pudgy and purple dark elvish archers that make up his troop. "Attack!" he cries.
"We don't have time to face these scum! Come on, let's make a break for the northern border!" Jeanne orders.
"Har! No need to get excited, lass," the Englishman said. "I'll kill you soon enough."
So they fight, always pushing to break through the enemy troops, not able to let the inhuman opponents slow down the fighting retreat. They cannot afford to truly engage the enemy here. Following the others breaking free from the enemy, Liane notices that she is the last on the battlefield -- and scrambles to try catching up. "I-I'm the last one? Hey, wait for meeeee!!!"
Finally, Colet looks back at Jeanne. "I hear you are quite ze lucky lady, 'Pucelle' . . . but just take care your luck does not run out here. Otherwise you weel end up like zees country: an appalling fart zat eez falling apart, ho-hoh!"
Jeanne bristles. "Don't you have any love for France?"
"Quoi? 'Love?' 'Love,' she sez. Ho-hoh, do not make me laugh! 'Love,' har har!" The soldier starts ahead. As they go, Marcel trots alongside Colet to show him a bug he found; the phrase "beetle bwain" reaches back to the trio of friends as they continue.
"If those two are soldiers, then it's no wonder France is losing," Jeanne mutters to her friends.
"Exqueez? What was zat you said? Say zat to my face!"
Jeanne turns away, gritting her teeth with frustration. "Forget it. Just be quiet. Please."
"Hawumph! I cannot work under zees conditions!" Colet kicks his horse to a gallup, followed shortly by Marcel, crying for the older man to wait up.
"What an awful thing to say," Jeanne observes. "How could anyone have knighted a man like him?"
Her head snaps up, attention shifting when Marcel screams up ahead. "What was that?" The friends charge forward. The two rude soldiers are tangling with a spear-wielding lizard on a bridge; the friends dismount and rush in, weapons drawn. As they approach, an ornately-armored Englishman orders the lizard to stand down, and moves forward.
"Forgive me," he says. "I had no idea a woman was in your company."
The officer starts to walk away, as if that was the end of it -- and then pauses. "Let alone a woman of such high station! The Pucelle . . . France's savior, or so I'm told."
Colet and Roger move to support Jeanne against the Englishman. "You're English," Jeanne growls. "What do you want?!"
"What do you think? I want that armlet off your wrist," the Englishman says.
"What?"
The Englishman spins to the lizards and pudgy and purple dark elvish archers that make up his troop. "Attack!" he cries.
"We don't have time to face these scum! Come on, let's make a break for the northern border!" Jeanne orders.
"Har! No need to get excited, lass," the Englishman said. "I'll kill you soon enough."
So they fight, always pushing to break through the enemy troops, not able to let the inhuman opponents slow down the fighting retreat. They cannot afford to truly engage the enemy here. Following the others breaking free from the enemy, Liane notices that she is the last on the battlefield -- and scrambles to try catching up. "I-I'm the last one? Hey, wait for meeeee!!!"