Chanda & Baklava Collab Pt. 2
"Oh, a performer? What kind of performance? If I had to guess, you look like a juggler. Perhaps a puppeteer?" he wondered. Oliver couldn't help but smirk; this girl was really something else. She really needed some sort of ego check, and soon. Any performer who's actually famous doesn't go around handing out flyers for their own show, so these "many fans" probably weren't that many, but judging by the sort of show she put on he didn't doubt that what fans she did have were most certainly unpleasant. He was interested to see how she'd react to being figured for a lowly juggler.
“Erm,” Lynnette smiled, cocking her head to the side as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “Not exactly.”
Wrong. So WRONG. In fact, she felt a little physically sick. Her? A juggler? A p-...puppeteer??? Of all the….
They’d been locked away for a few decades. No doubt they were quite out of touch when it came to the arts… right? For this reason, and the fact that she wanted very much to be on Ikana’s good side, she decided to let it slide… just this once. She let loose a quick and subtle sigh between her teeth before continuing.
“Very good guess, though, sir,” she nodded with a well-rehearsed chuckle, “I have a few different titles, but I’m primarily a singer, dancer, and acrobat. I also use water and shadow magic in all of my contemporary performances.” She seemed to forget all about the knight’s mistake whilst she proudly listed her repertoire of skills, certain that the knights would be impressed.
"Mmm, rather troublesome. Never in Ikana would we allow the arcane arts to be perverted by mere minstrelsy. Well, in Ikana we never much cared for magic at all. Perhaps the rest of Termina has become softer in our absence. Troubling, yes, troubling," muttered the knight, shaking his head. There almost seemed to be a physical droop to Lynette’s perfectly curled bangs and ponytail—the corners of her lips leveling out into perplexed frown.
Oliver sincerely hoped the rest of the Ikana knights weren't this condescending, otherwise his interest in becoming one would likely wane with time. "Oh, but where are my manners? Then again I suppose you Clock Town folk are accustomed to impertinence, but this is beside the point. I am Sir Richter Flass, but I was given the title of Grimblade as my honorbrand. You are welcome to address me as either," he continued, with a polite bow in Lynette's direction. She curtsied in return as best she could with her cloak. She seemed to perk up a bit at the opportunity to use her well-practiced but rarely ever used etiquettes. After all, there weren’t many worth curtsying to in Termina.
"Sir Oliver Pike, was it?" he asked, turning to Oliver for the first time. Oliver nodded, with a bit of pronounced apathy in his expression; he didn't much care for the way Grimblade had said "sir" so mockingly. "Well, Sir Oliver, I must say I am puzzled as to how you managed to come across that dashing blue cape of yours. That sigil is printed in a similar way to an Ikana noble family but I do not recognize this particular bloodline. Who is your father? A deserter from Ikana, perhaps? A tailor with a penchant for obscure forgeries?" queried Sir Flass. Oliver had cooled down the point where the insults just rolled off his back at this point; there was nothing to gain from squabbling from this man.
"Well, Sir Richter Flass, my father was Sir Cecil Pike II, fifthson of Oliver Pike III, master of the demon-forged blade Flametongue and slayer of the King of White Wolfos. He rode under the banner of Sir Daniel Fortesque to tame the wild of Termina Field. You may know him better as Swiftblade," explained Oliver, rather nonchalantly. This was obviously not the first time he'd introduced himself as Swiftblade's son, as one could tell from how rehearsed that little speech was. Instead of the shocked response that Oliver expected from Sir Flass, Grimblade returned only a flat, cold stare. If Oliver had to sum it up in one word, he'd say the knight was clearly nonplussed.
"I see that jokes in the rest of Termina lean more towards absurdity than substance these days," noted Grimblade, with a sigh. He'd only spoken to Oliver for a brief moment and his patience already appeared to be wearing thin.
"Does Swiftblade still serve the King? Or did he perish at the hands of the undead scourge? I must know this, Sir Flass, and then I will trouble you no more," insisted Oliver. He'd nearly given up hope that Grimblade would be of any service at all, but he figured one more shot wouldn't hurt. Grimblade responded with a scoff, and then opened his mouth as if about to speak. Then, suddenly, as if coming to some sort of realization, he stopped, and a wide, almost sadistic grin spread across his grizzled face.
"I'm afraid that I'm not authorized to speak on such matters, unfortunately," he smirked, obviously withholding the information on purpose simply to spite Oliver. The young swordsman clenched his fists so hard he could almost feel his fingertips going numb. After a moment of tense silence, Oliver took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself down, something that seemed to work for the time being. Grimblade seemed almost disappointed that he hadn't managed to get a rise out of Oliver.
Lynnette keenly watched Oliver and Sir Flass’ subtly heated exchange. Was Oliver making a joke or not? His father wasn’t really an Ikana Knight… was he? Either way, watching the way the Knight seemed to take so much pleasure in depriving someone of knowing whether or not his only known relative was alive or dead... she couldn’t help but feel bad for Oliver. Not to mention, in depriving Oliver of his answers with such an excuse, he was also depriving Lynnette of hers-- and she couldn't have that.
“Sir Flass?” Lynnette stepped forward with a disconcerted frown, placing a hand on Oliver’s shoulder, “Please don’t think me rude, but… surely there must be something you can tell him about Swiftblade? Anything at all? I also have family members who were knights and I’d very much like to know if they’re alright… if it isn’t too much trouble, Sir Flass.” She lowered her chin, timidly biting her lip and gazing up at him with concern etched between her eyebrows—blinking twice just for good measure. She had yet to meet a man who could refuse a request from her when she used this technique.
Grimblade was taken aback for a moment; at least he appeared to be, as far as Oliver could gather. "Well, I suppose I could part with a few choice details. After all, how could I refuse an enchanting young girl like yourself?" he asked. Oliver heaved a sigh of relief. Although he himself was a little weirded out by Lynette's sudden show of coquettishness, he made a mental note to thank her later. Although, he had no idea if there would be a later; after all that had happened between the two, he doubted he could just show up to one of her shows now. However, just as Grimblade once again seemed like he was about to to spill some secrets, he stopped himself and resumed grinning.
"Oh wait, I remember how. Like this," he smirked, before promptly turning around and walking away, chuckling to himself while doing so.
Lynnette’s jaw dropped. She clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white and she could feel her nails digging into the palms of her hands. She grit her teeth and exhaled sharply, wanting so badly to whip the water out of her canteen and send it hurtling towards the back of his big dumb shiny head… but she wouldn’t dream of stooping to his level of immaturity. Well… not out in the open like this anyway.
Oliver gave a slight sigh of disgust as he watched Sir Flass leave, his crisp red cape flowing behind him as he walked. Apparently he was dead set on being absolutely no help whatsoever, although by this point such an attitude hardly surprised Oliver. Eager to forget about the whole encounter and seek other leads, Oliver pushed such thoughts from his mind, deciding he would try to smooth things over with Lynette first.
"At least we know for sure that chivalry is dead in Ikana. Hopefully not all the knights are like him, otherwise I may not be so keen on meeting my father," joked Oliver, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Lynnette sighed, dropping her arms to her side. The very thought of chivalry being dead in a place she’d always thought would have it pouring out the wazoo really put a damper on her dreams.
“Yeah…,” she nodded with another sharp sigh of contempt as she glanced after Sir Flass. If she was to retain any sort of optimism she would just have to convince herself that not all knights were that horrifically pompous and rude.
"I appreciate you trying to help me out. I'm sure when the mayor is done with his negotiations the borders will open back up and we'll be able to find out ourselves," said Oliver, thinking aloud.
“I sure hope so,” Lynnette chewed her lip, her voice trailing off as she stared blankly at the Mayor’s office door, lost in thought. Suddenly clearing her throat, she shook her head as if casting away something troublesome, “Well, I better get going. I’ve got a lot to get done before my show, so… good luck to you, I guess.” She shrugged before heading off towards the park, seeing no reason to bring up Oliver’s disinterest in seeing her performance. Not after all that at least.
