curling lessons, now (finally) happening

[moraldyslexic]

Now that Lennox was finally feeling better and he knew he wouldn't get into trouble from Stephen for going into the rink and actually curling, he'd thrown up a sign on the bulletin board a few days ago, announcing that the first curling lesson was finally going to happen that Tuesday. If he was completely honest, he wasn't sure how it was going to

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[holdthebucket]

Gordon Cutter, Brier Winner, Lord of his Realm, and currently high as kite on the moon, stood on the bleachers and observed his realm.

What fertile fields to be tilled, these tyros were! Ripe with ignorance, brimming with the possibility of untapped talent, bumbling and stumbling though they were. Out of twenty they may be able to cultivate into a player of decency, but one was enough to build a team on.

In his mind, Gordon has visions of leauges.

"The first rule of curling is sportsmanship. Honor. It is an examination of the soul, a Judgment." He tilted his head up nobly, briefly marveling at the starbursts and rainbows suspended a few feet off the ice.

"The rest...the rest is just drilling and resolve. If you think you have morality enough to touch the ice then step forward. Otherwise...I invite you to turn heel and run."

[cryptogam]

The old man was either a deep old file, Stephen thought, or else he was raving mad. Either way, his speech was intriguing.

"Pray, sir, why is morality required to play this game?" he inquired with great interest.

[holdthebucket]

"You best pray," Gordon advised, grunting as he stepped down off the bleachers. "For luck or talent - this is a game of a chosen few."

"It requires honor because we are sportsman, my boy. Sportsman to our core. The celebration of another's loss is abhorrent, and we as players call our own fouls."

He clapped the young man on the shoulder. "It takes a dedicated spirit to exist under such conditions. Do you suppose you'll test your mettle with us?"

[cryptogam]

At the ripe old age of 38, Stephen would have been rather surprised to be thought of as a "young man" (though perhaps rather flattered).

"But is there some quality to curling which is lacking in other sports?" he asked. "Or do you merely speak of sport in general?"

[holdthebucket]

Being not much older than his son (his son that was not the version of his son that existed here), Gordon felt comfortable sliding anyone into the slot of 'young man'. It perhaps meant that he was not yet such an old man.

"What? What?" he blustered, "Of course there is, my boy! Of course. You've seen the Americans at their football and baseball - the steroids, the lies, the blatantly horrible sportsmanship! Rioting in the stands, screamed profanities..."

Gordon waved all this away. "The likes of such people do not even exist with in the realm of curling, that much I can assure you."

[cryptogam]

"I have not, sir; I was born in the year 1775, and have spent little time in America," Stephen replied bemusedly. "There are no steroids and few lies in sport of any kind in my time, though profanities are common enough. I dare say curlers take the name of Our Lord in vain as often as any other sportsmen."

[holdthebucket]

"Our Lord has precious little to do with the game of Curling," Gordon intoned severely. "And our men are plays of the highest caliber. Any that brings a hot head to the ice is soon removed from it."

[cryptogam]

"Then are you saying, sir, that curling is a godless sport?" Stephen inquired archly, raising his eyebrows. "I am a religious man, sir; perhaps I ought not to make the attempt."

[holdthebucket]

"I prefer to think that any gods have better things to become involved with than the sports of men," Gordon scoffed, "But I invite you to try your hand, at the very least."

[lonewolflives]

Arya gave it some thought. Then she stepped forward. She was a Stark; even if she'd been the sort to run - which she very much wasn't - her place was on the ice.

Plus, she was curious. "Is the first rule really sportsmanship, or is it like with knights, when everyone always says honour is the most important thing but really they just care about themselves mostly?"

[holdthebucket]

Gordon observed the child with a stern look. He did not talk down to her. He did not endevour to crouch down to her own high. He simply made a firm, sharp gesture and raised his voice.

"The most important thing in life is honor and sportsmanship, my girl. And so shall it be with curling. We are a game unique among tourneys."

[lonewolflives]

He sounded like Father, or at least the words and the stern look did. The similarities were a little less when she got a closer look at his pupils.

"Okay, then," Arya said, then nodded sharply in return. "That's good. It sounds like a very Stark sort of game, in that case."

[holdthebucket]

"The rules are indeed straightforward and precise," Gordon agreed, his eyecontact briefly broken as he tracked the progress of a bright purple beetle the size of a dog meander across the ice. He coughed.

"What do you say, my girl? Do you think you have the stuff?"

[lonewolflives]

Arya tried to see what he was watching, then gave up and looked back at him. She nodded again. "I think I do." Then she remembered that sometimes trainers liked you to be very certain so she amended it to, "I mean, I know I do."

[holdthebucket]

Gordon's laughter boomed impressively. He clapped her on the shoulder, limping to the ice, stepping over several objects that, for the general populous, were simply not there.

"That is what I like to hear! Well done. What's your name, girl?"

[lonewolflives]

The man was a bit strange, but Arya liked strange.

She stood a little straigher and said, "Arya Stark, of Winterfell, in the North."

She was standing on ice; Summerfell didn't seem appropriate just then.