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The Baron drew his blade with a thin smile. “I seek no mercy from you, dark lord. Your reign of despair is at an end.”
Marcus laughed mockingly. “Better men than you have sought me out, my friend. And all perished before me, begging as the flicker of their worthless lives were extinguished in oh god!” He moaned savagely and raked his hands through his hair. “Why the fuck am I saying this?” he demanded of the world at large. “Why? It's just so... I mean, jesus, who says this crap?”
The Baron nodded. “It is rather trite, isn’t it,” he said speculatively, his head on one side. “And now that I come to think about it...” His gaze fell to his sleeve. “Why am I wearing black leather?”
“Yeah, and look at all those straps and buckles,” said Marcus, pointing. “I’m surprised you can even bend your arms.”
“It is rather difficult, I admit...”
“Can you even walk in those boots?”
“I think they’re cutting off the circulation to my hands, now that I come to notice it...”
“And why have you got a black cape? It’s not like you could possibly get any warmer in that suit.”
“Oh, bother these buckles...”
“I could just grab it and pull it over your head, or strangle you, or trip you with it. Is that silk? You’re wearing a silk cape? Are you expecting to fly at any point during this battle?”
The Baron paused in unfastening some of his more uneccessary straps and calmly shot Marcus an appraising glance. “Well if we’re discussing the impracticality of costume...”
“Fuck off.”
“I can’t help but notice your coat...”
“Shut up!”
“Not that it isn’t very impressive, mind you...”
“Look, I didn’t design this bloody thing, did I?”
“Mmm,” replied the Baron doubtfully.
“Oh please. Look at this collar. It makes my head look like a satellite dish. And all these little chains, what the hell are they supposed to be for? They don’t do anything. I can’t think of any conceivable situation that would call for my sudden need to attach my wrist to my shoulder. Why would I want to wear anything like this?”
“I was actually referring to the little silver skulls.”
“Oh, christ,” groaned Marcus. “I hadn’t even noticed those.”
“They’re very nice,” said the Baron soothingly, taking pity. “Very, er, intimidating.”
Marcus shot him a murderous glare.
The Baron searched for something to change the subject, and found it in his hand. “I do wish I could remember why I decided to take this with me.”
“What?” muttered Marcus, still sulking.
“This sword. At least, I assume that’s what it is. It may well be a large ornamental letter-opener...”
“Doesn’t that hurt?” frowned Marcus.
“The hilt? Well, these leather gloves protect my hands somewhat. I wouldn’t like to try using this barehanded, however.”
“It’s so... spiky.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
They pondered the numerous spiky qualities of the sword hilt.
“Perhaps your armourer wants to kill you,” suggested Marcus.
The Baron nodded. It was as good an explanation as any.
This post has been edited by Rhubarb: 05 July 2005 - 04:07 AM
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