Scene #404: A Friendly Sparring Match

Owner	Pose
Sir Bedivere	In the innermost bailey, the courtyard that the castle keep itself overlooks, most of the snow has melted into bare earth as the supernaturally wintry weather seeks more of an equilibrium between winter and the crisp autumn it should be. The keep itself has been restored, or at least several servants' chambers serving as guest quarters, and the lord's chamber, where Bedivere himself has (presumably) been staying. From salvaged lumber, he's dragged pieces together to form a proper quintain, or jousting dummy; and a few targets for archery, as well as pells, stave-swords for practise. This evening finds the dedicated marshal unwinding from his work with a bit of practise-work, and the harsh /crack/ of his wooden sword against the wooden training dummy is audible through all three of the castle's courtyards. He wears his full armour and mantled cloak; while the snow gradually melts, it's still quite cold out, and the sun is slowly sinking. Quiet and soft-spoken Bedivere is single-minded in his attack of the quintain, so compeltely focused on his form and movement that he may not even notice the arrival of anyone else.
Gawain	Sneak sneak. The sounds of the footsteps of someone..or something move through the courtyard, light but not completely silent. It's hunting..and it seems to have found it's victim. Suddenly, behind Sir Bedivere, it shouts! "Sir Bedivere, react!~" Clad in his silver floral armor, wooden sword in hand, Sir Gawain is /dreadfully cheerful/ right now, as he comes at Sir Bedivere with the wooden sword, attempting to lightly bonk him with it!
Sir Bedivere	WHACK. CRACK. The wooden sword sweeps through the chilly air in precise, swift movements. Even though he may not be on the same level as the Servants that are his friends and allies, Sir Bedivere still moves with respectable skill. Among the Round Table, he had been one of the more skillful knights. Alone among his brothers, he had survived the hell of Camlann, although it had cost him everything. His reflexes are quick, too; lent even more speed by sudden fear. Bedivere does not being like snuck up upon, even if it had simply been because he was focusing on his task. With a strangled, 'Ghh--!' he spins on his heel, lashing out at the intruder -- and possibly cracking Gawain a painful blow, for he moves not with the good-natured cheer of a brother-knight seeking a friendly duel, but the swift and deadly earnest of a man surprised and not altogether convinced he's in friendly territory. For a moment he can almost hear the iron shocks; the rising of the horns -- and he shakes his head, staggering back when the blow rebounds (either from Gawain's sword or his head). There are still scars he is, slowly, recovering from. Camlann is a nightmare he still struggles to banish from his subconscious. "I... forgive me, brother. I--I did not know you were there." His half-smile is half-hearted. "Stay, will you? I should enjoy the opportunity to cross swords with you. It has been too long." Approximately never, in fact. Bedivere had never crossed swords in friendly sparring with his fellow knights; much like Arturia, he had worn a cold and impartial mask, and his duties had kept him too busy to entertain the thought of such a thing.
Gawain	NICE GOING, GAWAIN. The wooden sword cracks upon Gawain's forehead, not actually hurting him much but causing him to flinch and take a step back. The cheer doesn't fade much, but the fear in Sir Bedivere's face does surprise him, as he realigns and smiles warmly. "It is alright, Sir Bedivere. I was the one who snuck up on you. And of course! A duel with you is something I've been asking for many years, has it not?~". Sir Gawain lifts his wooden sword. "I will go easy on you, brother. I'd rather not lose you so soon.~"
Jeanne d'Arc	Jeanne d'Arc is watching in the shadows with a hunk of salted boar meat. Nomf.
Sir Bedivere	The marshal sighs, something in his expression a little disappointed. He had not meant to react that way, least of all to a knight he had always held to the same respect and fondness as he'd considered his own blood-brother. "No, brother, it is not alright." His statement is quiet as the stave-sword lowers, and he shakes his head. "By the Lord God, it is not alright. But... we will speak of that later, perhaps." He considers the pell in his hand, carved and sanded and wrapped with leather for its grip. "Unfortunately, I could not give you that which you had asked, then, or any of my other brothers who had asked. I needed to remain impartial; like our king, for as her left hand, to show favour would have reflected poorly on her..." He smiles at the pell, a little. "But I am under no such compulsions now." The wooden blade rises, held vertically, both his hands around the grip. Bedivere is... /grinning/. Whoa. "I think you will find I am not the easy prey that you expect, just because you are a Servant and I am not, brother. I will enjoy this." "Come, then!"
Gawain	Sir Gawain shrugs lightly, and then nods to him slowly. "I would be happy to speak with you any time you need, brother.". Sir Gawain smiles at Sir Bedivere..oh shit he's grinning. Sir Gawain fakes being /aghast/, before laughing and grinning himself, taking the blade in his right hand. "Well then, this should be fun!". Sir Gawain dashes forward, swinging his blade horizontally. He's holding back, atleast for now, testing Sir Bedivere's defenses with the swing.
Sir Bedivere	The hallmark of the marshal's combat style, from what others had seen on the battlefield, had been footowrk and agility. He did not have the brute strength of Gawain or the staying power of Lancelot, but what he lacked, he made up for in speed and cleverness. Where he lacked them, Bedivere made his own advantages. It was what had earned him his position as marshal; it was what had kept him alive those many years. Assuming a defensive position, Bedivere gauges the speed at which Gawain charges, giving his sword an experimental swing as he backs half a step away. It's not without cost; Gawain's blade strikes a telling blow against his shoulder as he withdraws, prompting the marshal to bare his teeth in momentary pain. And then he... ...lets Gawain charge right past, leaping out of the way and lashing out, striking at Gawain's ribs. It would be a stinging blow if he had any strength behind it, but Bedivere pulls his strength -- it's meant more as a stinging riposte, if it manages to land.
Gawain	Sir Gawain grins as he hits Sir Bedivere..and keeps moving, getting taken by the riposte straight to the rib. Grunting, and then laughing, swiveling. "Nice footwork, brother. Take this!". Charging forward, he's going for a jab straight to the chest plate!
Sir Bedivere	When the pell lances straight for his chest, Bedivere immediately notes its speed. Much as he had observed when he'd asked Arturia to show him what a Servant was capable of, Gawain's speed and strength are hideous. He knows the Knight of the Sun is holding back by a fair margin. He narrows his eyes, trying to throw himself backwards. He's not fast enough to avoid the blow entirely, for he can feel the jab of it through the steel of his breastplate, grunting at the pain of the blow, but he can at least keep it from knocking him to the ground. Using the closeness to his advantage, Bedivere whips his blade around, trying to crack the wood against Gawain's right wrist, hopefully with strength enough to cause his fellow knight to drop his pell.