fandomhigh | Practical Weaponry [Wednesday, Period Four]

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practical weaponry

Practical Weaponry [Wednesday, Period Four]

The class was back in the Danger Shop this week, which was set up to resemble a high-class dinner party. Resplendent in a perfectly tailored dinner jacket, Bond was there to greet them.

"There are some situations that a person cannot go into with a weapon," he said, gesturing around the spacious ballroom. "For example, many diplomatic situations, or high-class casinos, or the like, have weapons detectors, and highly trained security staff. However, that does not necessarily mean that you will go in unarmed.

"Apart from any training you may have in unarmed training, you have your wits, and your clothes. In a situation such as this, your choice of clothing can be If you look like you belong, you will be unlikely to attract much notice. If you're working in a team, having your partner wearing a stunning couture dress can distract your enemies at a vital moment." Or leave you distracted at a vital moment, it could backfire sometimes. Not that Bond was going to mention that. "In a pinch, a stiletto heel can be quite a potent weapon indeed."

Bond gestured to an unassuming door. "There is a wardrobe with suitable clothing and footwear through there, and changing stalls," he said. "You will outfit yourselves in a manner befitting this party, and spent the rest of the class mingling and getting information on various party guests, as well as looking out for any fixtures in the room that could be used as weapons. If you have trouble choosing an outfit, I will be happy to help."

Once the students had entered the wardrobe to choose their outfits, they would have noticed that it was filled with stunning couture dresses in every style, fabric, and colour imaginable. After a few more minutes they would have noticed that there wasn't a single suit in sight.

After all, it was unfair to only expect the girls to wear spike heels.

[ooc: ~~wait for~~ ocd up.]

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"No, I'm saying that men don't wear dresses," he returned, bristling, "So let's end this pointless discussion and move on to the suits, shall we?"

Bond nodded. "So it's too insecure," he said. "Mr Pendragon, I assure you that your masculinity isn't actually affected by the clothes you wear. You don't have to be afraid of that." If he sounded like he was trying to soothe a small child, it was indeed deliberate.

And that was going to go over very well. Really. "I am not insecure," Arthur told him, "But by all means, if you wish to disprove me--"

He reached back and tugged out a black dress, "Why don't you show me how it's done?"

He, too, sounded like he was talking to a small child. It just happened to be a small child he was being very pleasant at.

And somehow, that tone just didn't have very much effect from someone who was half Bond's age.

"Oh, no," Bond said, shaking his head. "That one doesn't suit your figure at all."

He came into the dressing room long enough to pick out something bright red, strappy, and slit to mid-thigh. He held it out to Arthur. "This is much better."

That didn't mean Arthur was going to stop trying. He was Arthur Pendragon, and he had a mission.

"Oh, no, you must have misunderstood," he said, with utterly fake earnesty, "I mean I would appreciate it if you would show the rest of the class how exactly yourself would show off your masculinity by wearing this."

He shook the dress happily. "It suits your features well, I find."

And if it had been almost any anyone but Arthur asking, Bond might just have done it.

"I'm afraid it would be unethical for me to get changed with my students," he said, with a small, shark-like grin. "Or to leave them unsupervised in order to change in another room."

"Yet it would be ethical for you to be around while your students change?" he checked.

Just for starters.

He was willing to stand here and argue until class ended, yes.

"I haven't so much as looked in the direction of the actual changing area, let alone any students using it," Bond pointed out blandly. "Not to mention the fact I only came into the wardrobe because unlike the rest of the class, you're apparently unable to follow simple instructions."

"Did you, now," Arthur returned, dryly. "Don't worry, I was merely expressing my concern for your wellbeing. My curiosity in that regard has been satisfied."

Read: Yes, Bond had clearly lost his mind.

"However, any leader, including the professors of our fine school, should join their men in whatever noble exercise they send them on. Now, I don't take you for a dishonourable man, and neither am I, so I am perfectly willing to stand here, and not go anywhere, while you show my clearly lesser intellect how a man wears a dress."

Note to Arthur: this is not going to end well.

As of yet, Bond had lost neither his mind or his temper.

Bond unconcernedly examined his fingernails. "Tell me, Mr Pendragon," he said. "Given, your statement about leaders, exercises, and honourable men, am I to take it that outside of this school you are a military man?"

"I am a knight of Camelot," Arthur allowed.

He was very suspicious about where this was going to go, but very confident in his chances.

"I was in Her Majesty's Navy myself," Bond said, in that same bland, unconcerned tone. He might as well have been asking about the weather. "A knight? So you'd be relatively high in the chain of command then?"

"Head of the knights, actually." Yes. Suspicious. Very.

"So you'd be responsible for giving a lot of orders then?" Bond sounded almost bored there. Like the answer was totally unimportant.

"Yes, I am."

He felt a little like he did in some conversations with Morgana, where it all started off nice and logical and then by the end of it everything was his fault, and also he was covered in pudding.

This was not a good feeling.

Well, Bond didn't like Arthur enough in any way that pudding would be involved, so he was probably safe there.

Probably.

"And what would you do if someone under your authority refused to do what you'd told them to, questioned your sanity, and and then expected you to follow their orders instead?" Bond's voice hadn't risen a single decibel, or lost any of that smooth blandness.

Morgana rarely liked him well enough to mean well with the pudding, so he had some experience there.

"Then I would reconsider the validity of my orders," he returned, smoothly, "Sir."

Well, maybe not if they were talking about a knight hazing.

Bond simply raised an eyebrow.

He mightn't have been the most intimidating woman in the British Isles, but he was remarkably good at copying her facial expressions.

Particularly the ones involving disbelief at being expected to buy something. He'd seen those more than enough times.

"Also," Arthur continued bravely on, even if that eyebrow didn't spell much good, "You don't create loyalty or a wish to serve by making your subordinates do things you wouldn't be willing to do yourself."

Bond's facial expression didn't move one millimetre, yet somehow invited Arthur to keep digging.

"I'm not wearing a dress," Arthur informed him again.

Although if he did, he'd be the best l--

No. No, not going there. He refused.

Bond's eyebrow only moved maybe half a millimetre upwards, but managed to tack on a query about trying to out-stubborn someone who had once been intimately familiar with the sensation of having their manhood beaten with a knotted rope.

It was a very eloquent half-millimetre.

It was. It certainly made Arthur shut up.

It also made Arthur cross his arms and stare straight back at him.

See who rusts first.

Another fraction of a millimetre let Arthur know that said tenderised manhood had also been in very real danger of being removed from Bond's person, and yet it was still attached and the potential remover was no longer amongst the living.

Bond's eyebrows were all about nuance.

Yes, well, Arthur would find someone to tenderise his manhood with a knotted rope if that meant he was going to win this one. It was a dress. Come on.

So he set his jaw slightly more in that way that implied that well, he might have the eyebrow advantage, but Arthur had the Pendragon Death Glare which was crafted from many years of gryphon-hunting and that one time Morgana socked him in his crotch with a practice sword.

He still refused to acknowledge that that had been any kind of win.

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