All Of Life Is A Competition - [Kire]

Rolex Ghram

He looked around the crowded training gym as he pulled his knife from one of the dummy's eyes. It was over-filled, and a little too crowded for his liking, but the only alternative was boiling alive outside. He grunted as the dagger came free, then set on removing the remaining knives from the target. He had done pretty decently with knife-throwing, but his best weapon was still the sword, he could defeat almost any opponent with his favorite one-and-a-half handed blade. A small smile curled the edged of his lips up as he remembered the feeling of swinging the sword through the air. Shaking his head, he returned to the throwing line, setting two knives on the floor before him while he kept the other three in his hands. Raising his right arm, in which hand he held the knife he was going to throw, he aimed, adjusted the knife carefully in his hand, and swung his arm forward. At the right moment, he released the weapon, sending the blade flying end-over-end towards his target. He smiled as it struck the dummy in the heart, sinking in up to the hilt. I guess that I'm pretty good with knives too.

He took the second knife from his left hand, pausing as he saw the lack of people around him. Puzzled, he turned to see that most people were crowded around the fighting mat. He shrugged, then turned back to the knife throwing dummy. He didn't much feel like watching sparring, he'd rather be a part of it. Maybe he would do some sword fighting after he finished throwing a couple more rounds of knives. He raised his hand, the second knife held in its grasp, aimed, swung and released. Grabbing the third knife, he did the same, raise, aim, swing, release. There were two soft thuds as the two blades sunk into the dummy, one in its abdomen and one in its neck. He grimaced at the one in the abdomen, it wasn't a killing shot. He comforted himself with the idea that who ever he'd have hit would have bled to death relatively quickly, then bent down to retrieve the two knives he had placed on the floor.

When he straightened, he found there was someone else standing beside him. A blur of steel and four dull thuds signaled the boy had thrown knives. Rolex turned to look at the dummy in front of the boy, there were four knife handles protruding from it, one in the knees, on in the arm, one in the head and one in the chest. A fifth knife stood planted between the dummy's feet. "Shit." Rolex shifted his gaze to the boy as he exclaimed his disappointment. Shrugging, he turned to face the target in front of him and threw the two knives, one right after the other. Raise, aim, swing, release, grab, raise, aim, swing, release. He was happy to see that neither dagger missed, though one dipped down and struck the dummy in the thigh rather than the chest, and the other only struck the shoulder. Making a face at the poor shots, he trotted down to the dummy to retrieve his weapons. It seems the other boy had retrieved his own knives in the time he had been throwing, and two blurs flew past Rolex, only a couple of feet away. He didn't flinch though, just kept walking. Yanking the blades from the fake material of the dummy, he returned to the line again.

Raising an eyebrow, Rolex suddenly had a thought. He placed four of the knives on the line, then took the fifth with him as he walked to stand about three or four feet from the throwing line. He grimaced in concentration as he stopped, turned around and set the knife into the proper position on his palm. Raising his hand above his head, he took careful aim, making sure to adjust for the distance. Leaning back to get more power behind his throw, he swung himself and his arm forward, releasing the knife at the right moment in his swing. It sailed forward, flipping blade-over-haft until it sunk deep into the dummy, the hilt sticking from between the dummy's eyes. Not bad, he thought, impressed that he had hit the dummy, let alone with the accuracy that he had done it with, I guess I am better than I thought.

Rolex Ghram

"Lucky shot." Rolex lifted an eyebrow as the icy voice reached his ears. He turned to look at the boy who was training at the dummy beside his target. The words could have only come from him. "That was just a lucky shot." The boy's tone let Rolex know that he felt he had been snubbed. He didn't understand why though, he hadn't been showing off, he had merely wanted to see if he could do it. He opened his mouth to tell the boy so, when he was cut off. "I don’t think you’re as good as you think you are."

Rolex shook his head, chuckling slightly at the foolishness of the words. This boy really thought he was trying to make a statement with that throw, as if he wanted to brag and tell the world he was some amazing knife-thrower or something. No, it was time to set this guy straight. "I'm not that good, honestly. Knife-throwing isn't my talent, nor do I think it is." He flashed the boy a lop-sided grin. "Personally, I prefer a sword to a knife, but that's just me. Even still, I'm not the greatest swordsman, and I'm not gonna claim to be either." He shrugged. "I'm just me, whoever that is." He watched the boy's face, waiting to see what his reaction was. He would bet his critic would be surprised at his reply, but that was partially why he had said it. The other reason why he had said it, was because it was true. He wasn't about to overestimate himself, if he was sent to the arena, it would get him killed.

As he studied the other boy's expression, he also took in his appearance. A mop of blonde hair covered the boy's head and drooped into his eyes, under which were dark bags. His navy tank top was wet, and slightly-dirty Khaki shorts adorned his lower half. He wore no shoes or socks and his feet were dirty, Rolex guessed he had been training outside. Returning his gaze back to the boy's face, he gave the boy a smirk, then turned and picked up his knives again. He raised his arm, one dagger in that hand and three in the hand by his side. In quick succession, he tossed the weapons, making a face as the last one only clipped the side of the dummy's head. He winced as it struck the wall behind the dummy and stuck there, leaving a decently sized hole. Giving a deep sigh, he trudged forward to collect the weapons. How am I going to explain this to Coach?

Rolex Ghram

As he walked back to the throwing line, and the boy, Rolex heard him say, "I’d like to see you wield a sword, if that’s your specialty, I’d like to see it." Then he nodded to him and carefully picked up his weapons, walking to the table and placing them down. Well alright, but you may be surprised with the results. Of course, it all depends on your skill with a sword. Not many can match me with a blade. Rolex knew he may be being cocky, but he was good with a sword, one of the best in fact. Or so people had told him, personally he knew that was just because he had been in training since he was six. Shrugging, he made his way over to the table where the boy had placed his knives. He began to put his own in their proper place when he heard the boy speak again. "The wooden swords are on that table, I’ll meet you on the mat after I get my own."

Rolex just nodded to show he had heard, now putting the boy's knives away. He knew where the practice swords were, he had used them many times, but there was a special practice sword that he had been given by Coach when the man had realized his talent with a sword. It had a partner which was a real weapon, though only he and Coach knew of that sword, and he only used it in private practice. Turning, now that his task was complete, he made his way over to where his practice sword was stored and retrieved it, hefting it with ease. It was a hand-and-a-half sword with a two foot blade, it was made of oak and weighed close to the real sword. Flexing his wrists and stretching his arms, he meandered over to the mat, a calm expression on his face. If this boy wanted to see what he was like with a sword, he would certainly get a show.

Standing on one side of the mat, he faced the boy, his sword in his right hand. The tip of the blade pointed at the ground, and his hand was in the middle of the lengthened hilt. Casually, he adjusted himself into a fighting stance, sword still at his side. He would let the other boy dictate the rules of the match, it may add some challenge to this. Rolling his shoulders, he waited patiently for his opponent to ready himself.