A Gary Snapshot - Humour
Summary: A snapshot inside the life of our favourite desk knight. Gary of Naxen: in denial about his weight gain, discovering Delia's underwear and overreacting to an inkspot.
Dedicated: to Kangieee (Rosie), the poor sod who lost a bet to me ;) and now needs cheering up because she misses her English teacher
Author's Note: Blatant Gary-love. You won't beat me, so join me .
The suite was a mess. Boxes, trunks and stray furniture littered the usually impeccable sitting room. Piles of dresses and clothes were draped over chairs to prevent crushing; papers were strewn over tables in a rather disorderly fashion. Servants scurried from room to room, retrieving forgotten items, attempting to pack stray belongings, and carrying - or rather dragging - the couple's possessions towards their new suite of rooms.
In the midst of the chaos stood Sir Gareth of Naxen the younger, digging through an open trunk. A maid looked on, looking faintly pale at the manner in which the clothes and books she had so carefully packed were now in a messy heap next to the Prime Minister. He was completely oblivious to this though, intent of finding the scroll he needed.
Cythera entered to this scene, instantly looking ready to throttle her husband. "Gary!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to him. "What are you doing?"
Abandoning his search, he looked up. Seeing Cythera's cross look, Gary glanced sheepishly at the trunk, seeing the pile next to it for the first time. He winced. "Looking for a certain scroll, that's all. I thought it might have been in this trunk…" he trailed off, the look on his wife's face silencing him.
She motioned to the other trunks and boxes throughout the room, all in similar states. "Or in any of those? Or-" she pointed to the large table in the corner, covered in scrolls, "among those?" Cythera tutted, "Really Gary, all you had to do was make sure that anything that is ours is removed from the room. You weren't supposed to create more work for our people! Which scroll were you looking for?"
Gary stared at his wife. She was in one of her moods again. After twenty years with her, he knew better than to test her while she was like this. Cythera might have been a sugary darling when they were younger, but lately she just reminded him of his mother, the late Duchess of Naxen. "The Law regarding Compensation for the loss of a serving knight's body part while off-duty." He replied obediently.
Cythera stared at him shrewdly. "Who lost what?"
"The young Kennan knight. Jealous wife, you see." Gary loosened his collar awkwardly, glad he was not in that situation. "Apparently, she reasoned that if he only had one, there would be less chance of him fathering another bastard child."
Cythera was speechless for a moment, before she began to giggle. She wrapped her arms around his neck, blue eyes meeting brown. "I'd never have to worry about that, would I Gary?"
"Well, obviously no, because you're female…" Trailing off, he kissed her nose playfully. "Of course not, my dear; after all, who else would want me?"
"True" she conceded, untangling herself from their embrace. "Back to the Law though; there is no possible way it could have been in this trunk Gary." She reached down, picking up a brown velvet tunic, and dangled it front of him to demonstrate her point. "Look at these old things, dearest. They're all from your early knighthood days."
"I remember that!" Gary exclaimed, taking the tunic from his wife. This brown velvet beauty had been worn to Jonathan's nineteenth birthday party. He grinned, holding it up, admiring himself in the looking glass on the far side of the room. It had been a very memorable night, and he personally thought that he had looked quite dashing.
His wife's disgust interrupted his thoughts. "What in the Goddess's name are these?" She indicated to a pair of small white panties hanging from the end of the silver candle holder in her hand. She refused to touch them, looking absolutely revolted.
"They're-They're not yours?" Gary inquired, feigning innocence.
Cythera glared at him. "Mine have never had 'Delia of Eldorne' on them, have they, Gareth?"
He flushed. "I-I'm-Well-I don't how they got there." He protested feebly, hastily adding, "Not that I ever did anything to acquire - I mean, that would result in the acquisition of a pair of – are you sure they're hers?"
"See for yourself." Cythera used the candle holder to thrust them in his face.
Reaching up and gingerly plucking them off his shoulder, Gary could see that 'Delia of Eldorne' was indeed embroidered in curling writing, the thread her trademark emerald green. He blinked, and raised an eyebrow questioningly at his wife.
She exhaled furiously in revulsion, snatched them back, and threw them at the nearby maid. "Burn them." She ordered, waiting until the girl scurried off to obey her, before she turned to Gary. "Can it wait until we've finished moving?"
"I suppose." Gary shrugged, watching Cythera peer around the bustling room. "I'll just go change, then."
She raised an eyebrow. "Into what?" Seeing the brown velvet tunic he still clutched, Cythera eyed him warily. "Surely you don't mean those rags?"
"Rags? This isn't a rag!" Outraged, Gary continued, "This is the finest velvet, even if it is almost twenty-five years old!"
"Of course, of course," his wife soothed. "What I mean, is that fashion cuts have changed. The current styles you wear are far more flattering, darling." She beamed at him.
Gary inhaled sharply, offended. "Are you trying to say that I'm too - too fat – to wear something from my early knighthood? I mean, I know I've put on a little weight, but that's just age, and-"
"A little?" Cythera bit her lip, trying not to smile. "Gary, dearest, you've put on more than 'a little'."
Gary sucked his stomach in, drawing himself up to full height. "You're one to speak."
"I bore three children. What is your excuse?" She snapped. "Mind you don't go outside if you do decide to squeeze yourself into that. I heard that several of the field knights are going wild pig hunting." Cythera huffed out of the room.
He watched her leave, slightly miffed. Shaking his head, he then headed for their bedroom, brown velvet tunic in hand.
Since becoming Prime Minister, and thus a fully fledged desk knight, Gary had found that he was more solid than before. His height allowed him to carry any extra weight well, though, so he had never though much of it. Not to mention that the Naxen colours (brown, peach and silver) were very good for hiding any flab.
Gary contemplated this in his office, as he picked up his quill, poising it above the parchment in a most scholarly manner. He shifted slightly, still holding the quill, and feeling the brown velvet stretch even tighter over his stomach. Years in that trunk must have caused the tunic to shrink.
Suddenly, he pushed his chair back, and looked down. He could see his pot belly – surely it was only slight! Hardly noticeable, he decided. He poked it a few times, and reasoned that the slight jiggle was a result of dizziness due to dehydration; or something along those lines. Squinting, he critically analysed it for a moment. That was when he saw the inkspot.
It was ever so small, but nevertheless, still there, right above his left hip. Cursing, he threw the quill back onto the table. He regretted it a moment too late, as he watched it skid across the law, leaving black inky tracks. Ignoring the ruined paper, he turned his attention back to his precious brown velvet. The spot stared back up at him like an ominous foe, stubborn and unpredictable.
Standing up, he heard a clunk on the floor. He had dropped his wedding band, which he had removed because it had been cutting of circulation to his finger, and bent over to pick it up.
He heard cloth tear, and froze. Reaching up, he was shocked to discover that the culprit was not the tunic, as he had expected, but rather his pants. Straightening up, he groped his behind, feeling for damage. Gary walked over to mirror in the corner of his office, looking over his shoulder to his reflection. Now he could see just how tight his pants had been, and was astonished; maybe he did need to work out at the practice courts a little more.
Gary attempted to remove his split pants, but found that not only was the velvet ridiculously hot, it was also constricting. Struggling, he yanked it off over his head, and threw it into the corner. Now with more movement, he tugged his pants down, wiggling for a faster exit. They got stuck around his knees though. Hopping over to the middle of his room, where there was more space, he fought to remove the pants.
This was the scene Wyldon of Cavall entered to. The Prime minister was wearing only a shirt (having discarded any form of overtop) and was now fighting to pull his pants off. Wyldon copped an eyeful of Gary's loincloth-clad backside, noting that the Prime Minister had piled on more than he'd first expected, before clearing his throat.
Gary looked up, colouring. "Wyldon, I-"
The ex-training master averted his eyes. "I don't think I want to know."
Standing straight (at least, attempting to), Gary tried to explain himself. "You see, I found my brown velvet-". Unfortunately, he never got to finish his sentence. Tripping on his tangled pants, he crashed to the floor.
Wyldon hesitated, unsure whether to help the knight, or call a healer and have the Prime Minister's head checked. Possessing some form of sympathy though, he opted for the first, and assisted the man up. Gary leant on the shorter man, much to Wyldon's agony, and tried to get his breath back.
The doors opened for a second time. Duke Gareth entered this time, and halted. His son was in a state of undress, arms draped over Wyldon of Cavall.
"This isn't how it looks." Gary explained, as Wyldon extracted himself from their 'embrace'.
Gareth raised grey eyebrows. "I'm sure it isn't," he replied mildly, "Why don't you explain?"