The Tragic of England

The Sea Lover

Has cussing at end. I can't remember if there is in any of the other chapters, but enjoy my characters weirdness

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     I stumbled down the stairs to the kitchen, but found no comfort in trying to force food down my throat, so I simply left my waffles on the table and went back upstairs to shower. I threw on blue jeans and a red long sleeve shirt. I vaguely noted how my plate had disappeared from the table before I disappeared from the house, going out the front door to the clearing. I ripped the sword from the statue's hands and turned to where green eyes gaped in shock.

     "Yes, I do have the violent streak my whole family has," I growled at him. Sword fighting, word twisting, and temper mental issues is what the Harvey dynasty is known for. Shouldn't Arthur know this? My family originated from his country!

     "Well then, mind if I watch?" I honestly hadn't expected that. I nodded. He leaned against a neighboring tree while I positioned my grip on the hilt. I took a swing at the tree then remembered just who was watching me and turned back to him. He raised a bushy brow, "yes?"

     I glided to the statue and took his remaining sword and offered it to Arthur, "would you like to spare?" He seemed a bit taken aback at first. When he didn't make a move for the blade, I was a bit saddened. His hand then reached out for the hilt.

     "I won't be able to go for too long, but maybe a round or two. Good practice for the both of us," he seemed to be convincing himself. I readied my blade after stepping back to the other edge of the clearing. We both paused then launched. Our blades tasted the other's metal with a high pitched clang. Dodge. Attack. Attack Dodge. We were on and off with offensive and defensive. I honestly thought I was on the loosing end until I saw the opening. My foot tripped him and I used this as my opening to sit on his chest, the tip of the blade resting on his throat tissue. He was surprised, but I smiled for the first time in a while.

     "One more time," I begged, helping him to his feet. He nodded and we wasted not time throwing ourselves into battle. I watched the blades. His moves became irregular and unsteady, but then became dangerously close. "A-Arthur! With moves like that! You're trying to kill me! Stop! We're only sparing!"

     "I'm fighting for keeps, Lass," his voice rasped. It wasn't his voice though. Arthur's soft voice had become rough and wild. I was bemused, but it became clear when my back ran into a tree and the offending blade stuck into the rough bark. The man who was sparing with me had changed. He wore a half buttoned collared shirt, a velvet red overcoat, a matching hat with a feathery plume, leather boots, and he was bejeweled in every different color jewel.

     I panted, not in exhaustion, but in fear. This man was not the man I'd began to spar with. This was not kind, caring, easily-offended Arthur Kirkland, Britain's man. This was ship-driving, alcohol-loving, sword-wielding Arthur Kirkland, Captain of the Seven Seas. This was the feared opposite side to the attachable side.

     "You scared, lass? Go on, faint. See what you wake up to," he jeered. Only one problem. I wasn't fainting. I was scared, to the point of shaking, but I wasn't losing my consciousness like I should be. I opened my mouth to possibly scream, but only angered words flew out.

     "Go to hell, you sea-loving bastard," I growled. Then my sword flung at his head.