Tri-District Tournament Day One: Valerie vs. Scarr

I’m so fucking tired.

That’s the echo pounding in my head as I walk through the doors of the District Four gymnasium for the fourth exhasting day in a row. I’ve lost track of how many matches I’ve already won, and there’s new callouses on my palms from where the cool metal of my weapons has taken temporary residency. The fights yesterday had been tough, to say the least – but I’m grateful for the bruises they brought with them. They’ll serve as reminders when I return home that not every fight can be won with strength and speed; it’s the quiet creeping of endurance and stamina that wins wars.

I should know this already, though, and I can practically hear the venom of my mother’s voice telling me as much. I’d grown up watching similar tournaments all my life, dragged along by my mum and told to spar in the corner of the room as she would umpire the matches, eagle-eyed and watching for new techniques to pass onto me.

And honestly? This shit looked like more fun when I was a kid. When the aching limbs or swollen lips from a poorly blocked punch healed more quickly. When I could safely watch from the corners, suspended in that weird age between too young and not old enough.

When the threat of expectation wasn’t yet weighing on your shoulders, weighing you down.

But it’s hard to stay brooding for long, especially when District Four has so much more to offer than District Two in terms of scenic views. Not for the first time this week do I find myself thankful, so thankful, to have finally been allowed outside of Two’s borders – to be able see more of this strange, beautiful world I’ve only ever seen in the picture books or through the lens of a television screen.

Credit where credit is due, it must be said that the tournament organisers have gone above and beyond this year. The whispers at training for weeks had been that the recent Victorship of one Nixie Summers, coupled with the impending 90th Quell, had set the stage for another inter-district tournament. The timing had been perfect – a welcome change from the familiar faces of the careers of Two, the friends and foes I’ve grown up with. After all, you can only fight a Hammerfell so many times before you learn their tells, can predict their attacks even before they can.

Such combined competitions were a rarity – a treat and privilege that you had to earn. I know I should be grateful. But really, I’m just so fucking tired.

But I’ve already fought my way into the top 16, come too far to back out now – as if my stubborn pride would allow it. So I plaster a grin on my face as I take my place on the mat and try to pretend my arms aren’t two pillars of cement as I extend one hand towards my opponent – another girl from Two, if my memory served correctly.

“Good luck,” I mutter, flashing the dark-haired girl a small smile – razor sharp and curled at the corners – before I’m moving, stepping quickly towards her, blade poised and polished.

xx attacks cleo with naginata (glaive)

vmtLCxU25uglaive

stabbed in stomach -- 9.5

“Fuck.”

Her quiet exhalation hits me like a tidal wave, and my heartbeat quickens as I ready myself for her incoming attack. She narrows her eyes at me, determined, but there’s something more there. It’s clear to see that she’s more than just your typical Career girl. That she’s battling with her thoughts, something more beneath the surface and just out of reach.

She looks uncertain even as she tries to look intimidating, and it’s the split second of hesitancy that has me dodging her attack easily. Her sword falls short, failing to find purchase on my skin, and the annoyance is clear on her face.

If I was somebody else, I might offer her some moral support or words of encouragement. “Focus,” or “you’ve got this,” or “you’ll get me next time!” But I’ve been burned before – know that kindness can be so easily manipulated and used like a weapon reflected back at you.

So I don’t say anything. I simply swing once more.

xx attacks cleo with naginata (glaive)

2CRWQySSDoglaive

sc right forearm -- 3.5

She keeps looking away, somewhere off to the side, and it’s easy to strike when they’re distracted like this. Most of the spectators have opted to watch the bigger names fight, and I can’t say I blame them. Besides, I prefer the lack of an audience. Less watching eyes, less pressure. So when I follow her gaze, I don’t really know what we’re looking for.

Even so, she must see something that I can’t – something that lights a fire in her chest, because all at once she’s swinging, catching me off balance and carving a deep gash in my arm.

And, ouch.

“Okay. No.” I shake my head at her, bringing my hand to my arm and watching the crimson sheen of blood coat my fingers. It’s a good hit, I must admit, and I almost tell her as much. But when I look up from my wound to find her eyes, she’s looking to the audience again, still searching for something.

I find myself frowning, annoyance flashing across my face.

“Hey! The fight’s here, not over there!” It’s instinct that finds me shoving the girl to the floor, and she falls easily, caught off guard and still looking into the audience. I aim the tip of my blade at the centre of her chest as she finally looks up at me.

“You need to focus. What are you even looking for out there? Got somewhere you’d rather be?”

What are you really fighting for?

“Save yourself the embarrassment if your heart’s not in it.” I offer her my left hand, keeping my weapon aimed on her all the same.