The One Knight Stand

.: All I Could :.

27 | All I Could 

I could talk about the jousting event.

I could talk about the crisp cool air, the stench of burnt popcorn and unwashed bodies, and the clamorous thrill of the bloodiest sport known to Priiah Chin.

I could talk about Lady Asger's breathy welcome and invocation over the amplifier.

I could talk about Blue hefting her dull tipped bamboo lance and thinking It's just a super long pointy sword.

I could illustrate her stretching out her tight biceps, flexing in the stables, oiling her stiff joints. Clumsy and endearing and driven.

I could talk about villagers young and old shyly asking Blue to sign their paraphernalia, and the weird looks she gave them as she scrawled her messy signature. And her asking you sure you got the right squire?

I could talk about Blue soothing Windsor with a sugar cube after finding strange powder around the horse's nostrils and mumbling the fuck is this?

I could talk about Windsor nearly bucking her off in a fit of unbridled rage when Blue tried to mount him.

I could compare the standing ovation the Mornami squires received when they rode into the Playing Circle and the noticeably quieter applause for the Oolas and Anachakarians.

I could describe the white painted lists outlining the battleground. Or the pages scurrying behind their larger than life knights, fetching extra helmets and tobacco pipes and striped lances twice as tall as them.

I could describe the deafening clang. The bamboo shattering on metal. The squires' pained groans and grunts as ten wooden feet break on their chests. The audience's ecstatic gasps and the sidelined knights' bellowed advice.

I could explain the G forces jolting through the squire's bodies, the pressure exploding through their suits turning their young bones into tuning forks.

Vibrating.

Resonating.

Brittle.

I could describe Blue charging down the tilt. I could mention how she always struck her opponents with her eyes closed.

I could talk about the wild glee in Hodge's eyes, a tasty morsel with a bloodlust.

I could explain Princess Hadwisa's significant advantage other the squires and how she never flinched when the point struck. If it ever struck.

I could talk about the feverish prayers sent up to the Universe -- begging to survive this event if they survived nothing else.

I could talk about the Oolas accepting another win. About the disappointed jeers, and the raw pride shining behind K'awai's stoicism.

I could make a side note about Prince Rowan's decorative hairpiece falling out mid-joust, and Wu roasting his ass like a crispy boar in the pseudo-shady way only nobles manage.

I could talk about Windsor almost kicking a page's teeth out and the half hour Blue spent coaxing and apologizing and coaxing some more.

I could describe the winter cicadas droning from the Boiling Pond, and the freckled children gathering bamboo shards from the earth as horrid souvenirs, and the violet welts budding under Blue's brown skin, and the jolly ditties the knights sang reminiscing their juvenile glory.

But I'm not going to.

Blue shelved the day as one she'd rather forget.

And so should you.

If not I'd have to describe how Blue scanned the stands for a very specific, very familiar set of gold flecked eyes.

I'd be forced to tell you that she never found them.

I'd have to illustrate the tropical disappointment flooding Blue's veins no matter how much she denied attachment.

I could write a five hundred page epic about that single moment alone.

...But what kind of love story would you be reading?

And what heartless sort of author would I be?