Joust: Casper vs Monte

High noon. The day is already ramping up to be a hot one, as spring wanes closer to summer. The Faire is in full swing, which means midday is full of back to back jousting events. Those physically capable crederians face off in a tournament-style matchup, two at a time with the winners funneling into their own tier to be paired up again until there would be just one left. On this day, the third round of winners go head to head. 

“G’maaaahn Monte! Let’s see some hustle out there!” A voice cries from the crowd. The audience sits on logs and benches surrounding the jousting arena, packed shoulder to shoulder and high in spirits. A dark furred leloko with blue bangs waves two paws emphatically in the air. His voice carries well despite the cosmetic stitching that stretches between his jagged lips. With the tournament comes a betting crowd— far from all of the audience, but a good subset— with certain individuals who would facilitate such deals, taking all bets and dividing up the winnings. Ace didn’t have much coin to spare at the start, but he’s made a small increase on a couple of obvious wins— all on Monte, the great big king bab who performed at the joust every year. The higher the odds, the less the payout, but Ace loves the energy of it all and isn’t interested in losing coin. He hoots and hollers from the stands, lost in a sea of other voices, as Monte takes his place on the eastern end of the arena. 

“Aaaannnd our challenger, Casperrrr!” A disembodied voice is projected loudly over the crowd— the announcer of the tournament introduces the competing jouster to the western side. A tall, lean kanti steps up to bat, his tail swishing haughtily behind him. A chorus of voices pipe up from the surrounding audience, with a mix of cheers and jeers floating over from the end that Monte stands with. Casper was noted by many as one of the more capable of the escort team, wheeling sleepy lelokos about on the back of his wagon with ease. His size doesn’t stand up to the hulking bab across the arena, but his self-confident persona has won him a fair few fans in the stands. With his front paw he gives a tap tap to the dirt beneath, shrugging forward a shoulder and shaking hair out of his eye in the same motion with which he smiles at his audience. His horns and magic patch are lit up with an icy blue, the same color of the aura with which he telekinetically holds the lightweight lance at his side. He gives a wink, maybe to someone in particular, and squeals erupt from the crowd at once. 

“Boooo, BOOO!” Ace shouts from way on the other side of the ring, cupping his paws around his mouth to jeer with as much emphasis as he then breaks down into a laugh. That dumb Kanti has more fans than he does…! But it’s all in good fun, for now. He’s relying on Monte to put that cocky horse in his place. Speaking of which… 

The large, pale-green bab paws at the earth, scraping back the dirt into clouds around his legs. He gives a snort and lowers his head, showing off his curving, forward-facing horns. Despite that this would not be a proper fight, the crowd eats it up, roaring up in an attempt to drown out the opposing side. Monte holds his lance the same way Casper does, though Monte’s aura is a bright yellow-green. The bab lifts his heavy head and puffs out his chest, jutting his lance forward as he speaks.

“Alright, pretty boy! Let’s see if your strength matches your looks!” 

Casper turns his smile to Monte, shaking his mane out and stamping his hoof. “Bring it on, big man! Underestimating me will be the last mistake you make.” 

The crowd roars at the display. Both crederians know how to work an audience, and exchange serious squints from across the arena before the announcer counts down. 

“Two… one!” 

The crowd falls into a hush. Monte’s steps thunder from one end, Casper’s galloping speeds from the other. A few cheers rise up as the two pass eachother and then die out in disappointment and confusion as the jousters slow to a trot. 

“No point!” The announcer calls, and the crowd murmurs. Neither lance made contact, and Monte looks frustrated. He keeps his cool and makes his way to the end of the line. Casper smiles at him from the other end. 

“What happened?” Ace mutters, and a voice nearby answers. “The big one couldn’t hit him, he missed.” Ace squints, Monte is now on the far side of the arena from where he started and hard to see, see he cups his maw and calls out, “C’mon MONTE! You’ll get him in the next one!!” 

The great bab doesn’t actually hear one particular leloko, but he squares up and steels himself for another lap. The announcer counts down again, and they race. 

Monte squints at the approaching kanti, magical grip tightening on the lance at his side. He pulls it back just before they’re face to face, and Casper huffs a “come on,” under his breath, and then— one lance is thrust forward, swinging beneath the back hooves of a Kanti clearing four feet in the air. Missed again— but the momentum doesn’t end there. Casper’s lance makes contact with Monte’s shoulder, harder than he’d expect from a lithe little thing, but not hard enough to take Monte out if he was braced. Alas, throwing the lance left him unbalanced enough that Casper’s opportunistic move throws Monte’s weight where he has no legs to catch himself with, and the great bab stumbles before hitting the ground, skidding into a great cloud of dust. Shocked silence errupts into a chorus of whooping and booing from various sides of the audience. The results are in. Ace’s “Noooooo,” falls short of the duo, but he wails nonetheless. 

“S… seriously?” Monte grunts, pulling himself to his feet. “What was that jump?” He snorts and dusts himself off one paw at a time, ignoring the cacophony of the audience. 

“Bigger they are, the harder they fall. Sorry, pal, them’s the breaks,” Casper says, trotting up to where Monte stands on the other side of the barrier. “Good game, though. Maybe next time, old man,” Casper says, and then makes a show of a big, gracious bow. Monte huffs, nods his head and holds it just long enough, and pads out of the arena to lick his wounded pride out of eyeshot. Casper struts down to exit the opposite side on light hooves, ready for his break before the fourth round. Ace slump out of the stands and crawls away to find some food to take his mind off his lighter pockets. He’ll be back to bet on that dumb Kanti next round.