Be Gay, Do Crimes: Ros Vs Everything, Apparently

doest thy daughter hark to the red-clothed maiden

"This is ridiculous," said Marcus, dropping his sword arm and tossing the shield onto the mat. "There's no point to this, Jackson."

Jackson looked worried. "But a correct riposte can stop you getting stabbed."

"But I'm not going to achieve a correct riposte, am I?"

"...You might." Jackson said unconvincingly.

"I won't." Marcus told him firmly, handing him back the training sword. "My father realised this a very long time ago. I'm no good with a sword. It's very kind of you to try and help me, but I may as well only take a shield in with me."

Jackson picked nervously at the leather covering of the sword's hilt. "That's not a very good idea."

"It increases my running speed and weighs me down less, and I think I'll be doing more running than fighting," Marcus reasoned. "It seems like a bad idea, but I find it quite practical."

"Oh," Jackson blinked. "Uh, yeah, sure..." He turned back to the sword rack.

Marcus wandered over the window, looking out onto the Blue Forest. In truth, he'd only really agreed to come and practice with Jackson so that he could get some isolation from the rest of the students. He came up with his best plans when he was more or less on his own. Still, it had helped to blow off some steam, even if it had also exposed his distinct lack of mastery over swordplay for the hundredth time.

"I wish I could go with you," muttered Jackson, replacing the swords on the rack with the precision of someone who's done it a million times. "I'd defend you."

Marcus looked over his shoulder at him. "That's good of you," he said.

"It's true," said Jackson, uncharacteristically heated. "We'd be a good team. It sucks that you have to go in there on your own."

Marcus, who had thought that was simply how things went, and there was nothing much to be done, looked curiously at him, turning around to give him his full attention. It occurred to him that it was very unusual for him to give anything his full attention. He was always elsewhere, working on a puzzle. But he found Jackson to be a puzzle as it was. Usually amiable, but randomly flustered, or charming, or heated, at odd times. Not as consistently inconsistent as Alex, who changed at a whim, or as easy to parse as Chinhae, who had a very varied range of subtly different inscrutable expressions. He was just... Jackson. And that was hard to understand.

"It's not so bad," he said, confused. "Worst-case scenario, I'll get hurt and drop my flag."

"But I don't want you to get hurt," Jackson moped.

Marcus didn't really know what to say. "Oh," he said. He took his glasses off and cleaned them absently on his waistcoat.

Jackson followed the movement. "Isn't that going to smudge them even more?"

Marcus looked down at them. "Probably." he said.

He put them back on.

"Yes."

Jackson grinned. "You're funny."

Marcus, who thought he probably meant funny as in odd, smiled weakly. "Yes. I suppose so."

Then Jackson's face dropped again, morose. "Can we come up with a plan?" he asked. "I'd feel better. You like plans, right?"

"We?" said Marcus, confused. No one had ever wanted to participate in one of his ideas, before. They were all hypotheticals. Rosalind was the one who executed schemes that were actually fun.

Jackson reddened. "Oh--um, it's ok if you don't want me to, I know I'm a bit thick and would probably just be a pain..."

"You're not stupid," said Marcus. "I was just surprised. No one usually cares much for my plans."