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Sir Percival, a knight of considerable fluff and questionable bravery, had a dilemma. His armor, once gleaming silver, was now a rather uninspiring shade of rusty brown. It creaked when he walked, clanked when he breathed, and sometimes, if he stood still for too long, a small patch of moss would start to grow on his helmet. This was hardly the look for a knight meant to inspire awe (or at least, polite applause).

“How can I rescue a princess,” he mused to his trusty steed, Buttercup, a rather sleepy pony who preferred napping to heroic deeds, “when I sound like a bag of old spoons rattling down a hill?”

Buttercup snorted, probably agreeing.

Percival had tried everything. He’d polished it with butter (made it greasy). He’d scrubbed it with soap (made it slippery). He’d even asked the village blacksmith, Bertha, for help. Bertha, a formidable woman with muscles like small boulders, just laughed and said, “Sir Percival, that armor isn’t rusty, it’s… vintage.”

One morning, while trying to dislodge a particularly stubborn rust flake from his elbow, Percival heard a tiny, high-pitched squeak. It was Pip, the mouse from the castle kitchens. Pip, known for his love of shiny things and forgotten crumbs, was scurrying around Percival’s boots.

“Oh, Sir Percival,” Pip squeaked, “your armor is so…textured! It reminds me of the old watering can in the garden. And you know what makes that shine?”

Percival leaned down, nearly toppling over. “What, Pip? Tell me your secret!”

“Lemon juice!” Pip declared triumphantly. “And a little bit of baking soda! My grandmother, who was a very wise mouse, always said it worked wonders on stubborn stains.”

Percival was skeptical. Lemon juice? Baking soda? He was a knight, not a pastry chef! But desperate times called for desperate measures. He borrowed a lemon from the royal kitchen (much to the cook’s dismay) and found a forgotten box of baking soda in the pantry.

With Pip supervising from his shoulder, Percival began to scrub. The armor fizzed and sputtered, and a strangely pleasant citrusy smell filled the air. Rust flakes began to flake away, revealing glimpses of the shining silver beneath. It was messy, it was sticky, and at one point, he accidentally squirted lemon juice into his own eye, leading to a rather undignified squawk.

But slowly, miraculously, Sir Percival’s armor began to sparkle. It wasn’t perfect, but it was certainly less rusty and much more… knightly.

“Pip, you’re a genius!” Percival boomed, feeling a surge of confidence.

Pip puffed out his chest. “Just doing my part for the realm, Sir Percival.”

From that day on, Sir Percival was known not only for his bravery (which improved considerably once he stopped sounding like a junk heap) but also for the faint, pleasant scent of lemon and baking soda that always seemed to emanate from his gleaming armor. He never did rescue a princess, but he did win a local pie-eating contest, which, to him, was much more satisfying.