dizzy_land | closed(ish) rp, Percy and Beaufort

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closed(ish) rp, Percy and Beaufort

Beaufort woke up and realised something was incredibly wrong, even before he spoke. His clothes were...distinctly not a suit and not made in the 1940s. In fact, it struck him more as something distinctly historical. He frowned, wondering when he invaded one of the exhibits for clothes, how drunk he was, and where the hell he got that much alcohol from. There was also a sword. He was pretty sure it was not a good idea to go to sleep with a sword attached. After having woken up and realising his accent was...coarser, less educated and more prone to swearing at the situation, he shook his head and decided to head outside to see what the hell was going off.

Part of him, somewhere, was looking for one man in particular, as there was a pirate in him. A rather angry pirate.

((Peanut gallery is most welcome, but don't, um, interfere just yet, pleaaase))

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Marguerite looked over at Percy strangely before looking over to Beaufort and growled like a petulent child of 5. "Yer honor?" She asked, huffing about that shooting the pistol hadn't worked. "Ye kill each others, I ain't touchin' yer mess!"

The words settling in, she cried, "OR JUST DON'T LEAVE ME WITH A BLOODY HUSBAND A'TALL! THEN WHATS GOOD IS YER HONOR ANE'WAYS?"

He badly wanted to reassure Marguerite that all would be well, and he wouldn't lose, but instead he yelled, "Aside, woman! Aside, ye infernal woman, before ye get yerself hurt." Which he was sure was a caring way of saying that he could handle himself, don't interfere...or something.

Percy turned his attention once more towards Beaufort, his rapier raised and at the ready. "Come on then, man, or are ye all talk? Fight me like a man instead o' the dog I know ye are..." He took a threatening swing at the larger Frenchman, inviting him to parry and strike.

Beaufort was preparing himself by attempting to remember all the theory of how the hell to do this from when he was a kid, as the Great War didn't help him much in the how to use a sword part. He instinctively took a slightly unsteady step back and raised his sword to parry, attempting a strike of his own once he got more steady on his feet. This was not going to go well.

The talk might have been a buccaneer's, but the swordsmanship was all Percy's. It occurred to him that his own wife had never seen him use a sword. He could always blame it on the Park.

Beaufort attempted a hit and Percy easily swayed to the side to avoid it, quickly cutting down on the man's blade with a step forward. It was like he was barely aware of what he was doing.

The sword was a lot heavier than Beaufort had first imagined, and he ended up grasping the handle in both hands, just to get it to do what he wanted, and not what gravity wanted. Luckily, he was quite a big, strong man, and he got used to the weight, if nothing else. He pushed Percy's blade off his, forcing it upwards, making an attempt at a dramatic swish of his sword, not really aiming for anything apart from the general area of Percy.

This swordsmanship was also, all Beaufort's. Just in an interestingly different direction. There was the sensible part of him cowering inside, hoping nobody'd get killed because of actions he really couldn't control.

If Percy was afraid of one thing, it was the sheer size of the man he was fighting. He had ghastly images of the sword bearing down on him and cracking his skull, or perhaps worse, someone stepping in to try and put an end to the fight and getting this bull of a man's sword through their chest. He didn't think Beaufort would be able to stop himself once he got going.

Percy's lightweight rapier was thrown into the air, but he quickly recovered himself and tried to barrel his way through Beaufort's strikes to disarm him. Or disleg him. He laughed out loud at his own little twisted joke.

Jean-Etienne was aware of one thing, mainly, and that was that he had the size advantage, if nothing else. He had no idea what he was doing, but hopefully, being bigger and stronger might just get him through alive. Even then, there was a desire he couldn't explain, or control to...swashbuckle? He took a few steps backwards, nervously fending off Percy's blade, now distinctly on the defensive, although still trying to throw in the odd prod and jab here and there.

Percy wore a smug smirk as he drove Beaufort back. "Bilge-sucking Frenchie!" he swore, suddenly laughing that inane, familiar laugh of his...only slightly more gutter-rat than previous times.

In a rather suave move, Percy spun a bit on his heels and managed to get beside his French adversary, kicking a leg out and then backwards quickly to trip the man. As he really didn't fancy running him through, not really.

Beaufort was really starting to lose his balance and timing at this point, and when Percy tripped him, he fell back hard, the hilt of his sword slamming into the floor and jumping, sending the blade along the inside of his palm, "Foutre." He looked at the blood on his palm, and was terrified, but yet, all that came out was a distinctly piraty "Go on, then you English dog. Or 'aven't you got the balls to follow through on your threat." Oh Dieu, he was inviting the man to kill him. Why was he doing that? Why couldn't he stop it? He was bleeding, and still unable to stop it. That really hurt, for a start.

Part of Percy was absolutely horrified to see the sword run through Beaufort's hand, but the other, more dominate part of him, yelled in triumph when he tripped and fell. "I always give a man a sportin' chance," he replied with a low smile and a wink.

"They seek 'im here, they seek him thar, them Frenchies seek 'im everywhere! Be he in heaven, he might be in 'ell, that demmed an' dastardly Pimpernel!"

Percy cackled and stepped off. He had won the fight, clearly, even did that stupid little poem of his in...whatever it was that had overcome him. Oh well, at least he wasn't making out with men this time. "Be off now, before I do run ye through fer real."

Beaufort was far too proud to hold his hand to his mouth and cry in pain at the searing pain in his hand, swords were clearly not his thing. After all, what kind of man could cut his own sword hand. Clearly, despite the voice, the clothes and the hair, this pirate thing was not him. Ever. It was quite probably one of those park things.

He did, however, even as a pirate, know when to accept defeat. He left the sword on the floor, feeling somewhat betrayed by it, and got to his feet using his good hand, wrapping his hand in his shirt and gritted his teeth at Percy's taunting as well as the pain. "Alright, but one o' these days, I'll 'ave you, and I'll run ye through fer once. Yer gonna regret letting me go." Again, with the ballsy talk. Just go, Jean-Etienne. He turned and left, quickening his pace to find that new doctor. Who hopefully wouldn't laugh. Maybe he could tell him he was left handed.

"Yer all talk," Percy huffed, sheathing his rapier and letting it hang by his side in his rather pathetic victory over the Frenchman. He actually hoped the man found some kind of proper medical attention, but instead just glared as he walked away.

Now, on to a different matter entirely.

"Marguerite!" He marched up to his wife, catching sight of her bust and deciding that these little pirate trousers were just a bit too much. One could say a good swordfight was a rousing sport. "Home, Marguerite," he demanded, then picked up his wife and threw her over his shoulder. "Now."

"If yer thinkin' that yer gettin' anythin' from me you've got 'nother thing comin'!" Marguerite cried as she was hoisted over his shoulder.

"Aye, aye," Percy sighed, sallying forth towards their little cottage in Adventureland. "Fight all ye want, missy, ye know the struggle jus' makes things more interestin'."

Percy grinned. He rather liked this Park Event.

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closed(ish) rp, Percy and Beaufort

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