Post by Luke Porter on Mar 2, 2021 10:10:11 GMT -5
It was the first sunny day in March and Charles Krenko was enjoying the Times the the Blue Parlor of The Unicorn. A half full cup of lukewarm tea and the crumbs of what was a delicious scone festooned the table next to him. And there was a tapping on Mr. Krenko’s shoulder. When Charles turned his gaze fixed on the face of Lord John Highsmith and three of his hangers on. “Charlie, be a good chap and let us have this table, we are wanting to play a few hands of wist and the light elsewhere is insignificant.”
“Lord John, I would prefer if you addressed me as Mr. Krenko. If it was good enough for Lord Nelson, it is good enough for you.” Charles snapped his paper but did not give up his seat.
“Charlie stop being unreasonable, you’ve those goblin eyes and can make do with even a mere taper. It makes no sense that you should occupy the brightest seat in the Blue Parlor.”
“My eyes have nothing to do with it, Lord Johnny. The point is I am enjoying my paper and my tea and I’ll leave when I am finished with both.” said Charles, signaling for more tea from the footman by the parlor door.
“Charlie …”
“Lord John, that is the third time you have addressed me more familiar than is appropriate. I asked you to address me properly and you have ignored me. Go home and ask your governess to give you a proper thrashing until you learn the correct manner of address. Clearly she has, thus far, failed to teach you any manners.” his accent from Hull becoming ever more pronounced with every word.
“That is enough, I was kindly asking for you to take advantage of the attributes of your kind, and allow we fair folk an afternoon of leisure. Sir, you go too far.” with that Lord John removed his hat and handed his waistcoat to one of his lackeys.
Charles removed his spectacles and carefully placed them in their case, gently folded his paper and rose from the wingback chair.
“Alright Lord John, I will leave it to you. Fisticuffs, steel, or lead - it makes no difference to me.” his north country accent on full display. At 5’9” Charles had to look up into the eyes of Lord John, who was half a head taller, thin and 20 years his junior. Lord john settled into a stance exactly from Jack Broughton‘s manual on boxing.
Charles’ skills were not learned from a book in a gymnasium, rather they were hard won from over twenty years in His Majesty’s Navy, in ports like Havana, Tortuga and New Orleans.
Lord John shot out a straight left jab, bloodying Charles’ nose. Then Charles smiled.
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It was not a fight, not really. Lord John’s left eye was swollen shut and he was sure he had a few cracked ribs; Charles returned to his paper and tea as if nothing had happened at all.
“Lord John, I would prefer if you addressed me as Mr. Krenko. If it was good enough for Lord Nelson, it is good enough for you.” Charles snapped his paper but did not give up his seat.
“Charlie stop being unreasonable, you’ve those goblin eyes and can make do with even a mere taper. It makes no sense that you should occupy the brightest seat in the Blue Parlor.”
“My eyes have nothing to do with it, Lord Johnny. The point is I am enjoying my paper and my tea and I’ll leave when I am finished with both.” said Charles, signaling for more tea from the footman by the parlor door.
“Charlie …”
“Lord John, that is the third time you have addressed me more familiar than is appropriate. I asked you to address me properly and you have ignored me. Go home and ask your governess to give you a proper thrashing until you learn the correct manner of address. Clearly she has, thus far, failed to teach you any manners.” his accent from Hull becoming ever more pronounced with every word.
“That is enough, I was kindly asking for you to take advantage of the attributes of your kind, and allow we fair folk an afternoon of leisure. Sir, you go too far.” with that Lord John removed his hat and handed his waistcoat to one of his lackeys.
Charles removed his spectacles and carefully placed them in their case, gently folded his paper and rose from the wingback chair.
“Alright Lord John, I will leave it to you. Fisticuffs, steel, or lead - it makes no difference to me.” his north country accent on full display. At 5’9” Charles had to look up into the eyes of Lord John, who was half a head taller, thin and 20 years his junior. Lord john settled into a stance exactly from Jack Broughton‘s manual on boxing.
Charles’ skills were not learned from a book in a gymnasium, rather they were hard won from over twenty years in His Majesty’s Navy, in ports like Havana, Tortuga and New Orleans.
Lord John shot out a straight left jab, bloodying Charles’ nose. Then Charles smiled.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was not a fight, not really. Lord John’s left eye was swollen shut and he was sure he had a few cracked ribs; Charles returned to his paper and tea as if nothing had happened at all.