Words of the Week 3.25

George’s horse stamped her hoof impatiently. The sun was baking down on them like a air-fryer and the flies were thick enough to carry them away, horses and all.
“Cornet Troop. Forward — March.” said the tannoy.
Finally. With a clatter their company of five began their formation. Turning a slightly wonky right angle and lining up on the roped-off strip of grass.
Brendan, raised his coronet to his lips. The tinny blurp set all the horses charging down the field, as if eager to get away from the sound. George had hoped for cheering from the crowd, but a quick glance showed most people had retreated to the refreshment tent. Which was a pity because they missed the site of Brendan’s pony bucking him off when he tried to play his coronet again.

After he had handed over his horse to her gum chewing owner, and excavated his hose from his arse crack, he went to see what refreshments were available to a weary cavalry officer.
A wench spilling over the top of her purple brocade corset handed him a paper cornet filled with candied nuts. He could have murdered a steak, or a shower. These wool uniforms were not made for the African sun.

Elliot grabbed his elbow, before he could throw the nuts into his open mouth. “Dude, come-on.”
“Where?” He muttered already following along. They plunged through a crowd of elves. “Hey what do you call a group of elves?” he asked, sidestepping over a pointy ear that had been dropped on the grass.
“Nerds?”
“Dude. Everybody here is a nerd.”
“Yeah, but we are like historical. We don’t get into massive battles over made up shit.”
George, reflecting on why Jasper was currently taking a break from their friendship decided not the press the issue. He had in any event lost Elliot in the thick scrum outside a stall decorated in dragonscale.

George was admiring a range of Pride T-shirts, socks and undies, when Elliot finally reappeared. He was clutching a pastry cornet of ice-cream in each hand and George would have gladly gone on one knee and sworn fealty at that moment.
“Did you hear?” Elliot asked, emptying George’s cornet of nuts over the top of both ice-creams before binning the paper, which someone had taken the time to stain it with tea for a more authentic look.
“What?”
“Brandon’s coronet got busted when he fell off his horse.”
“What?” he said laughing, and trying to cover it with a hand smeared with cream.
“Yeah,” said Elliot, not trying to rein in his guffaws. “It bounced hard, like pieces flying everywhere – looked like a dropped chandelier.”
“Oh, thank god!”
“Right man? See I told you cavalry would be a good idea.”
“That’s what made him want to learn to play that stupid thing!”
“And now it’s gotten rid of it. Shit man, it’s hot. Let’s get some shade.”

They weaved through a corridor between the stalls and a rough stone wall to come out into the open air tavern. Two feet into the entrance they stopped with shared groans. Brandon was across the room with the musicians, one of which was handing him an instrument.
He raised it in the air and waved at them. “Hey guys, look its a cornet!” he shouted. He raised it to his lips and blew a shill scream of sound that wiped the grin off the musician’s face and made the crowd jump.
“Well shit.” Said Elliot.

Dictionary

Cornet

• A musical instrument of the brass family, slightly smaller than a trumpet, usually in the key B-flat (looks exactly like a trumpet but smaller)
• A piece of paper twisted to be used as a container
• A pastry shell to be filled with ice-cream
• (obsolete) A cavalry troop, so named for their coronet player