Saturday, March 12, 1977

[sign_seeker]

Will sits on the living room floor, back resting against an armchair, petting the Stanton's Welsh collie Raq. Their other dog, Ci, looks hopefully up at Bran, sprawled on the couch; he reaches out to rub the dog's ears absently.

They're silent, for the moment. It's an easy companionable silence, but Will occasionally has to stifle the urge to glance at Bran in concern. He's been too quiet this visit, polite but preoccupied. Worried for his father back in Wales, Will knows, though he hasn't the slightest idea what to do to help that.

Comments

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

If there is quiet, then James to the rescue!

The sixth Stanton son bursts into the room, waving a flyer in one slightly chubby fist. "Bran, Will, you have got to come see this with me -"

[theravenboy]

Bran does not look up. "We have got to, have we? What is it that we are predestined to see, dare I ask?"

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will does look up, and directs a look half inquiring and half amused at his brother.*

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

James rolls his eyes at Bran, and passes the flyer to Will.

"I've been waiting for them to show this again, I missed it last time because I had the 'flu, you remember -"

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will takes it, and his eyebrows go up.*

*mildly* Monty Python and the Holy Grail?

[theravenboy]

Bran does look up, this time, both eyebrows raised. "Monty Python and the Holy Grail. An odd title, that is. I don't believe Sir Monty was in Malory."

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

James stares at both of them.

"Honestly, where do you two live, under a stone?"

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*tranquilly* We can't all share your pop culture obsessions.

Though I have heard of this, I think. Hard not to, with you in the house. Comedy thing, isn't it? John Cleese or whatever his name is?

[theravenboy]

"A funny thing, the Holy Grail." Bran does not smile. He takes the flyer and scans the cast list quickly; his face lightens the slightest bit. "Mostly men, it looks like."

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

"Monty Python's almost all men," James informs them. "Terry Jones, Graham Chaplin, Eric Idle -"

He could go on. Quite a while.

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will knows this, and interrupts.*

Mostly men's parts, isn't it? And a bit of dressing up like women, but it all sounded rather ridiculous the last time you were going on about it.

*And the time before that. And the time before that.*

So, er, what is it about, really? I mean, Camelot, or a bunch of knights running about the countryside, or what? I can't see them focusing on the romance of it much, from what you've said. Malory's chivalry and all. Don't they go in for slapstick, more?

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

James gives his brother a pitying look. "'Don't they go in for slapstick' - Will, they're comic genius. They focus mostly on sort of sketch comedy, so I'd imagine that this one is a sort of grouping of Arthur-related sketches - and I've heard they sing in it, too. In Latin."

Clearly James assumes that this is the main draw.

[theravenboy]

Bran relaxes very slightly, and looks solemn. "Clearly there shall be no peace in the Stanton household until we see this act of comic genius. The flyer says it's starting soon, too."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will glances at him, then grins.*

Well. Far be it from me to keep James from sketch comedy with Latin songs.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

"You'll be glad you went," James promises. "Get a little culture in your ignorant lives for once. I'll just phone ahead for tickets -"

And he flies out of the room.

[theravenboy]

Bran's lip twists wryly at Will after James leaves. "Culture, is it? I suppose it should be...interesting."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will snorts.*

Oh yes. That if nothing else.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

James comes back into the room, with the Important look of one who has Got Things Done.

"All right - the movies in half an hour, so we'd best rush. Grab your coats, kids -"

And he heads for the door without waiting. The Holy Grail is before them.

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will mouths "kids?" at James's back, with a tolerant eyeroll, and heads for the coatrack.*

*Within twenty minutes, they're at the theater, and five minutes later they're settled in their seats, with popcorn for all and strange-colored gummy candy for James. The theater is nearly empty, with only a few other patrons scattered near the front.*

[theravenboy]

The credits begin to run, accompanied by gratuitous pseudo-Swedish. Bran's eyebrows rise again, only to descend a minute later when the screen reads, 'ENGLAND: 932 A.D.'

Quietly, so as not to disturb the patrons in the front, Bran mutters, "Bah. Four hundred years off and in the wrong country."

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

*Will snorts, but does not deny it.*

*He also doesn't mention that he thought much the same thing, though Bran can probably guess.*

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

James looks tolerantly over at Small Brother and Small Brother's friend (which is what Will and Bran will always be, alas) and pops a gummy in his mouth. Indistinctly, and rather more loudly than Bran had spoken, he whispers, "Shhh, you'll miss the beginning!"

There is a majestic sound of hooves.

And then, there is Arthur. And coconuts.

[theravenboy]

"Who goes there?"

"It is I, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon of the Castle Camelot, King of the Britons, Defeater of the Saxons, Sovereign of All England!"

"Pull the other one."

"I am!"

He is bearded and serious, although his voice is high and purely English, and his armor is approximately as authentic as his horse. Bran just stares.

[sign-seeker.livejournal.com]

Will is not staring quite as blatantly as Bran.

But he's still staring.

"You're using coconuts!"

"What?"

"You've got two empty halves of coconut and you're bangin' 'em together."

"So? We have ridden since the snows of winter covered this land, through the kingdom of Mercia, through--"

Disbelief is gradually turning to a kind of stunned amusement.

Coconuts. Of course.

[sixth-son.livejournal.com]

James is, of course, chortling wholeheartedly.

"But African swallows aren't migratory!" is, in fact, nearly drowned out by his bray of laughter.