Second (History Plays, Book 1)

14: it is our pleasure; we will have it so

Gaveston

Hockey games are weekly, and while fencing practice is brutal, our first tournament isn't until the week before Thanksgiving. It's out of town as well, which is exciting enough to distract me from the inevitable holiday.
But it is out of town which means only the fencing team goes. Theoretically.
"Put Gaveston and Windsor down—,"
"No, I'm not leaving them; we shan't be separated," Edward, picking Teddy and I up. It's one of my additional Saturday afternoon sabre practices and Coach appears to be regretting every life choice he ever made.
"It's okay, you can just hide in my fencing bag and stow away," Clare, who is also here for the entertainment, says.
"You remember what happened last time we were separated," Edward asks, snuggling me unashamedly.
"He has a point," Mannix is also here for entertainment.
"He does not."
"I'm coming, I'll just show up. It's a free country, you can't stop me—,"
"I actually can—,"
"I'll run away—I'll wear a disguise—,"
"I'll help him—,"
"So will I, this is honestly funny—,"
"Fine, you know what? Fine, go ask your other father to think up a good excuse as to why you should get to come along on the trip and I'll sign it all right?"  Coach sighs, rubbing his face.
"Yes!" Edward hops a little but is still holding onto us. We wiggle away so that we can go and find Father Thomas.
About halfway to the chapel it occurs to Mannix that, "Wait, should we be concerned that we all just knew he was talking about Father Thomas?"
"Guys, I spent Christmas with them and Mr. Ambrose last year. They are my dads whether they like it or not," Teddy says.
"Yeah, I'm just going with it," Clare says.
"I didn't know where we were going. I assumed you did," Edward says.
And that's about all we discuss it before getting to the chapel where Father Thomas is busy getting ready for a sermon or preach or whatever you call it or whatever it is religious people do with their free time. I don't know. Anyway, he's not overly surprised to see our entire crew plod into the chapel and check for spies before starting.
"Can I come on the fencing trip?" Edward asks.
"Go ask my agnostic half who is usually mucking around with weapons," without looking up, "It's his team of stabby children, not mine."
"He said to ask you, for a good reason I should get to go 'cause I think a good reason I should get to go is last time we were separated my favorite and my son got attacked by the entire rowing team and Coach said we needed something that looked good on paper as a reason and that didn't," Edward says, hands clasped innocently.
"Oh did he?" Looking up, mildly annoyed, but clearly not with us. Teddy and I take a step back to be sure though. "I suppose he also suggested I write it up so all he has to do is sign it?"
"Sir, he did imply you were better with coming up with excuses."
"That's because last time he came up with an excuse—which for the record was stupid—I said it was stupid, however theoretically he is better at coming up with excuses—," so tired.
"If you don't have a good excuse we could think of one—,"
"Or just hide him in a fencing bag—," Clare and Mannix offer.
"No, no, just a minute—videographer. That's a good excuse, we need images and footage for promotional items, ha, go tell him that—no don't that's immature I'll tell him myself. That's all children, yes, of course you should come Edward why not, what's one more?"

Edward

Coach Marlowe is less cheerful about it, just growling at me that I'd better help him watch them as I'm coming along. All the fencers in Teddy's classes generally mind me as they're small and I'm tall and mature looking I guess. And Gaveston is their little tiny hero since he let them beat him up in front of their parents and I'm attached to Gaveston so they all really mind us. We take charge of monitoring them for the bus ride, while Coach snaps vague threats at my peer group which largely keeps them in line.
The tournament is all day Friday and Saturday. Now, let me be clear, the information I am about to give on it is based solely off of watching and hurried explanations that are only partly in English (Gaveston sometimes reverts to French when he's nervous or upset so that's cute and I am beginning to suspect he does not know, but I'm learning French so it's all good). So. Two days of a variety of slots, not everyone from our team fences in one go. The boys and girls are separated now for their bouts. Obviously in practice it's coed, but actual tournaments like this it's not. The tournament will allow them to amass points which will allow them to qualify for things like bigger tournaments such as Junior Olympics, this year Olympic scouts will be there for the Olympic team. Points are amassed through won bouts. So you don't have to win every bout to qualify for the next tournament, and you don't have to win in order if that makes sense, you can lose a couple and not be disqualified for a bit. That's the extent of my knowledge on the subject. I'm not clever; loads of people are, Coach Marlowe for one is lucky I understand how to score in hockey.
Each discipline, pokey, very pokey, and the thing Gaveston does, (epee, foil, and sabre but I pretend not to know what they are 'cause Mortimer makes weird sounds when I call them that), has its own rounds for the tournament. You can do multiple disciplines, but you don't have to. Due to relatively few opponents, Sabre fencers usually will also fence in Epee or foil because they'll be done with each other by the end of the morning, while Epee and foil will easily take the two days. The only Sabre entries we are bringing are Gaveston, Clare, and Mortimer, then the only entry from the lower age group (whatever it is, I forget how it's spaced, point is Teddy is in it) that we are entering is Teddy. Coach is mostly letting Clare and Teddy enter it for exposure, as they only have him and Gaveston and each other to fence. They don't fence Mortimer 'cause apparently he really really whacks people with the little bendy sword.
We leave Thursday night, as the tournament starts early Friday. We've got a hotel about ten minutes away from the convention center, so we leave after classes on Thursday afternoon. The fencers get out of last period to go help get their stuff together and pack. I don't 'cause I'm not actually fencing.
Father Thomas comes to help chaperone due to the number of children (12 total plus me) and we are packed onto the bus.
The drive is six hours, which sounds like a long time to be on a bus with fifteen other people and it is. Gaveston and I cram into the last row where I slide my hand under his shirt for the entirety of the ride. Because they are real friends, Mannix and Clare take the opposite seats and fold up together like girls get to, and don't mind us vaguely snuggling. Teddy sits with his friends in his age group at the front of the bus because Coach is more concerned about them eating plastic. I don't know why he says that, and he says it a lot so something must have happened at one point. I don't know.
We stay mostly entertained. Coach makes the biggest mistake of his life and lets us take turns picking music so naturally we all pick the same song forty-two times in a row until he tells Father Thomas to pull over so he can throw a couple of us out as a warning to the others.
We stop for dinner late, at a chain restaurant I've never been to. The place is crowded with locals and noisy. By then we are all tired and hungry, and we take up a half a dozen booths, cramming as many people into them as possible so Gaveston winds up with Clare in his lap and I with Teddy in mine. We tickle them often, so that's not distracting. Then Mannix, Isabella, and Mortimer, pack into the other side like normal people.
Dinner is more fun than I imagined. Isabella isn't cross with me anymore it seems and she chats happily with Teddy and even Gaveston. After we all inhale the bread the poor waitress brings to the table, we all order our various dishes. Gaveston actually can't order well; he's too busy laughing at watching us RichChildrenOfPriviledge be completely unable to comprehend normal ordering and menu options.
"There! That's that weird inedible thing they serve at school!" Mannix, triumphant.
"That's spaghetti, I've told you that. It's spaghetti," Gaveston, so tired.
"Well, what's that?"
"Probably a trap," Mortimer says, deadpan, but his lips twitch in something like mirth.
"That's lasagna. It's a food, people eat it, poor people," Gaveston says.
Eventually we find things we expect to be able to stomach. Once we order, even Mortimer opens up a little, chatting generally with the group as they regale me with past tournament stories. Gaveston is used to tournaments, but in a different part of the country so other than Junior Olympic people he doesn't know anyone, and since the girls and Teddy were the only people to go to Junior Olympics in the past he doesn't remember any of them, since they never would have fenced each other.
The waitresses start coming back with food. Father Thomas walks around apologizing for us and offering to pray for them or something, Coach follows him, just paying them more money to keep feeding us and not call the cops. That sounds like an exaggeration but one table is still singing the song from the bus.
Gaveston got some, like, chicken thing that he inhales in about five seconds. I got this party plater for three people because I know what my boyfriend is like. The others who don't usually eat with him just stare as I quietly keep putting food on his plate, he says 'really' and I nod, and then he eats it. It's very soothing for me and until they stare I don't realize that it's that out of place.
"I realize this may be rude, but five minutes ago I decided I didn't care. Does he always eat like he's never seen food before?" Mortimer asks.
"Yes," Clare and Mannix, who are almost definitely betting on how much he can finish.
"I'm always hungry," Gaveston says, by way of explanation. Though, to be honest, he eats with less desperation than when he first came here.
By the time dinner ends we are all sleepy and somewhat compliant in being herded back to the bus.
"Now, if I agree to let you play a game, will you all please not act like bizarre nitwits?" Coach, so tired, face in his hands like he knows the answer. We agree to play EyeSpy. By the time we get to the hotel he has called a crisis hotline twice to have someone sane to talk to and has tried to convince Father Thomas to help him open up an anti-murder hotline aimed at educators. Father Thomas agrees it might be a good idea when for no apparent reason the younger children start chanting 'sandwiches'.
It's late and everyone is ready to get off the bus and be in bed. Some of us are asleep. Gaveston is one of these people.
"His bedtime was an hour ago, he's now out," I say, he's been asleep on my shoulder.
"Well, move him," Coach says, snapping his fingers.
"But—," He looks cute when he's asleep.
"Edward."
I shake him, but he knows me and what a coward I am even when he's asleep and he mumbles happily in French and tries to crawl in my arms. I don't understand all of it, but I do tell him he has to wake up. He responds with something to the effect of 'oui prends moi au lit ma jolie' which I vow to look up later. Whatever it means, it does not mean 'yes I'll wake up now' because he does not and instead keeps trying to go back to sleep in my arms. Then Isabella get tired of waiting for us and screams at the top of her lungs and that gets him awake and looking for a weapon.
"Who is—,"
"Chill, we needed you to wake up," Coach, actively stopping him from ripping a fire extinguisher off the wall and attacking someone.
"Come on," Isabella snaps her fingers. He growls at her. She sticks her tongue out at him.
Checking in to the hotel is an ordeal. We pack into the lobby and Gaveston and I get the littler ones largely in line and quiet, while the older ones just mill around being sleepy and arguing about who is in what room which we already got told we didn't get to pick.
The hotel staff can't decide if they object more to the group of us, or the dog. For the record, both we and the dog, are all dressed in matching mustard yellow Admirals t-shirts and assorted jeans. Well, the dog isn't wearing jeans. Eventually they decide the dog is an easier battle.
"No pets are allowed in this hotel," the receptionist says, boldly.
"Does he not look like he needs help?" Father Thomas points at Coach Marlowe who just finished doing a mouth sweep on a sixth grader, got plastic, and is now examining the plastic.
They do agree with that and in the end we are all assigned rooms. Clare and I are unreasonably indignant that we do not get to room with our same sex lovers and instead, due to an uneven number of girls, have been put together as we are related. Coach did fix Teddy with Gaveston so that's all right.
The rooms are nice enough. For hockey, we don't usually stay over the night if we can help it, but I have been in my share of school budget hotels.  Clare and I are entirely used to each other, though we don't necessarily usually share a room; we aren't opposed. I let her shower first and instead go and make sure Gaveston and Teddy settled in all right. Isabella has had the same idea which means I can't be soft with a very sleepy bilingual Gaveston, which annoys me a bit, though I have to appreciate her sentiment.
"You all ready for tomorrow?" Isabella is asking Teddy when I come in. The door is propped open, as Father Thomas instructed us to do when we go visit each other. He's patrolling and making sure we're ready for bed. Coach went out to smoke, walk the dog, and exercise a few of the more jittery fencers.
"Do you think we'll see anybody who might know me?" Teddy asks, fiddling with a blanket.
"It's been almost a year, different hair cut—different name. They're not gonna recognize you," Isabella says, sitting next to him on the bed. He's showered and changed into sweats and a sweatshirt.
"Okay," he says, quietly.
"And if they do, call me, I'm just gonna be watching," I assure him, "Okay?"
He nods.
Gaveston is lying in bed, face down, mostly under the blankets, probably clothed, catatonic. It's our usual bed time about, but he was already asleep on the bus. For hormonal reasons, I sit down on his bed.
"Okay, see you bright and early," Isabella says, hugging Teddy.
"Night," I say. She smiles a little at me. She's not cross then.
"Thanks for coming," Teddy says.
"It's a pleasure—oww—," at the sound of my voice, Gaveston just leans up to tug me down with him, but mostly just strangles me. I un-warp his arms from my neck. "Go back to sleep, I've got to go to my room."
He doesn't appear to hear me, but contents that I'm holding his hand.
"You really think no one will recognize me?" Teddy asks.
"No—you're in different groupings now—no, they're not," I promise, "Get some sleep. You'll do great tomorrow. You're really good."
"You don't even understand how fencing works," Teddy says, smiling a little.
"I do," I lie, getting up to hug him goodnight. He gives me a squeeze.
"I feel better with Gaveston there. Should I tell him?" He asks, glancing at the bed.
"Do you want to?" I ask.
He shakes his head no.
"Okay then, we won't, simple," I say.
"Can you tell him to look out though? I feel safer—I know he'd help," he says, quietly.
"Yeah you want me to? Or you want to ask him?" I ask.
"Can you?" He asks.
"Yeah, of course," I say, "It's gonna be fine."
"Yeah. I should sleep."
"Night now."
"Night," he says, giving me a good squeeze, "You're great, you know?"
"I'm working on it," I say, rubbing his hair. Then I cover Gaveston with the blankets he half crawled under, and kiss his cheek. He doesn't stir or seem to notice.
"Goodnight, sweet one," I whisper in his ear.