Gaining Control (Open)

(Okee, are you alright with my character using a sword for the first few posts, and if it doesn't work out, change to knives? The character is supposed to be trained with knives, so it would be in-character for him to be beat half way across the room with the sword, then give up using it and change to knives. XD

The beginning is a little before the end of your post, okay?)

"Alright, alright, you win, Timothy..." Allen gasped. "I knew I was no good with a sword."

"Of course," his fraternal twin said brusquely. "You waste too many movements." He twirled the practice sword like a baton, looking around the training ground with his default expression of vague irritation. "I'm going to go get us some lunch. Stay here. Don't move."

"Right, right," Allen said tiredly, making to get up. He was stopped by Timothy's sharp sound of shock. "What?"

"You're moving. Just. Sit. There." Timothy said firmly. Allen stared.

"Until you get back from whatever resturaunt you're going to?" He asked, stunned.

"Yes. Don't move. Don't cause trouble. Hell, don't even breathe." A slow, rare smile curled on his face. "Alright?"

"Yes, yes," Allen snarled, his stomach growling. Timothy still wasn't convinced.

"Twin swear." Allen made a cry of impatience, and got up. The boys began a rather complex series of movements with their hands, which eventually ended with them grabbing each others wrists and shaking them like shaking hands.

"Good." Timothy said, finally satisfied. He left, and as soon as he was out of sight, Allen walked over to the battle ground. In hindsight, this was a bad move.

A boy that neither Allen nor Timothy knew personally, but knew by name and sight, was swinging a sword about with a definite feeling of expertness. Timothy picked up a real sword (Again, awful choice in hindsight) and tried to mimic the other boy's movements.

And then the boy charged.

Allen, not exactly used to being charged by random Careers with very sharp looking swords, flinched back a bit, then remembered his brother's words.

Stand your ground and don't waste movement.

Gritting his teeth, Allen managed to block the blow enough so that it didn't cut off his arm. The cut dribbled and stung, an interesting contrast to the various aches and bruises he'd won from his spar with Timothy, which were probably glaringly visible.

Damn it, I really should have stayed where I was supposed to... Swords weren't even his specialty. If he had his knives, maybe... But Allen was beginning to get the sneaking suspicion that Timothy was going to have to carry him home in itty bitty pieces, probably in a plastic shopping bag...

But there wasn't any backing out now, and before he thought too much about it, he tried a move that he used in knife fighting, sliding to the side and swinging at the opponent's torso.

Sword: [dice=200+1000][rand=71236910764127971857775407843291866662150947377099235823871567845]

Timothy whistled as he walked down the path to the place where he and his brother had been sparring. He carried two bags, each with a meal of hamburgers, fries, and a drink. Outwardly, he didn't seem incredibly tough; in fact, wearing the sweater jacket his mother knitted him, with his elegantly handsome face and long hair tied up in a tail, he looked downright cuddly... He got to their spot and smiled at his bag of personal items.

"Right where I left you," he said contentedly. He frowned at the distinct lack of Allen, then heard an outraged, if slightly panicky roar.

"You cut off my arm, you psychotic little drip!" Timothy closed his eyes and absolutely did not entertain a daydream of strangling his twin.

"Not where I left you," he snarled under his breath as he stalked over to the battleground. He got there, did a double-take, then held his head in his hands and died a little inside.

His brother, pale, white haired and thin, in the time it taken to walk down the street and back, had become an amputee. Now, he was standing in front of the rather smug looking boy who had done it, looking paler than ever and a bit faint.

Timothy walked down to the court and sighed, shaking his head and trying not to let too much concern seep into his tone.

"What has the world come to, where a twin swear no longer means anything?"

Timothy scowled as Allen started, and actually managed to look a bit sheepish.

"Not my fault," the younger twin growled. "This psychotic idiot thought it'd be fun to randomly attack people." Timothy shook his head.

"I heard you from over there, you big baby," he said, a bit spiteful. Allen gaped at him.

"Perhaps you don't quite understand what's happening here," he choked. "I am missing my arm!"

"What did you expect, fighting with a sword? What were you even thinking; you're terrible at swordfighting." Timothy shook his head in disgust. "At least you managed to pink him, though I suppose that was a lucky shot in the dark?" Allen stared, throughly stunned by this.

"This has happened to you before hasn't it?" He said glumly. Timothy shrugged and glanced at the arm.

"It's a clean enough cut. If you hurry to the hospital, you can get it reattached." He stooped and picked up the severed limb, then shoved it into Allen's arm, along with his lunch. "Hail a taxi, eat something, get it fixed. And stop whining; it's not that big of a deal."

Timothy raised an eyebrow sharply and crossed his arms.

"Dismemberment isn't a "cut"," he said coolly. "Treat it like that in a real combat situation and you'll die quickly. And, if he was using what he was good at and not something he'd just picked up, you wouldn't have had such an easy time." Critical as Timothy was, he was loyal to his brother. He was allowed to critique and direct and, if the situation called for it, mock. Others who took that liberty weren't warmly received.

Timothy turned to Allen, who was a bit pale, but otherwise composed. "I thought I said get to the hospital?" Allen sighed and left, carrying his arm and lunch with him, drawing a few stares.

Timothy picked up Allen's bloody sword and held it steadily and expertly.

"Now then, Hotshot," he said coolly. "Do you want to go first, or shall I?"

Timothy watched, unimpressed, as the boy showed off, resulting in nothing more than a cut on his cheek.

He stuck his tongue through the cut out of curiosity. It didn't really hurt, and the taste of blood was only slightly irritating. He made no reaction other than a sigh of impatience.

"If you're going to be that ridiculous..." he muttered. He stuck the sword into the ground and walked over to the weapon's rack. Whistling, he picked up a rather large battle axe and turned. "There's no reason to be swift if all you're going to do is show off. Now..." His eyes narrowed.

"Are you done?"

Without waiting for a reply, Timothy charged forward, swinging his axe at the other boy. His swing hit, but only lightly. It didn't matter.

He waited.

Axe: [dice=200+11000][rand=9513743503484875480688741663470861093195199500769416531916428357363]

"You just don't shut up, do you?" Timothy muttered, pressing his hand briefly against the gash on his stomach. It was bleeding quite a bit; he'd have to wrap this up quickly. It wouldn't be nice to have his innards spilling all over the battleground, would it? The janitor already had enough to worry about with his brother's blood all over the place.

With an irritated sigh, he swept at his opponent's legs, and smirked as the swing hit home. It was actually rather gratifying, after all the smug egotism, to see the other boy's right leg fly away. He smirked.

"That was fun," he said briskly. "Ready to quit? Or are you under the impression that you can fight just as well with one leg?" He was far out of sword and arm reach at the time, and smiled inwardly.

"Timothy Hearst, at your disposal."

Axe: [dice=200+11000][rand=8624749637674542160082869231701591873042518273856374500785023]

Timothy stumbled, shocked. He had turned to call for someone to call an ambulance, only to have Dimitri take advantage of that and quite literally stab him in the back.

Though the pain was quite intense, he couldn't help but be a bit impressed. Still, he wasn't entirely sure what to do.

"Do I pull it out?" He asked no one in particular.

"Of course not!" One of the Career girls said, shocked. "Just stay there, both of you. Someone's calling for the hospital."

Timothy felt a bit woozy, and the pain was more than a little distracting. He sat down on the dirt next to the legless Dimitri and held out his hand, smirking a little.

"Nice meeting you, mate."