[Day 1] Sabre Round 1: Blunt vs. Galvez

oh now feel it comin' back again, like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind
forces pullin' from the center of the earth again, I can feel it.

Mustang Galvez, the boy with a tainted name, entered the arena with his head bowed. He carried his helmet with both hands, pressing it firmly to his chest. He didn't need to look up at the cameras; they were already trained on his mop of dark hair, his downcast eyes. Mustang Galvez of District One, the Olympic arena boomed. He could almost hear Caesar Flickerman's voice buzzing in his ear. He would say, oh yes, remember this boy from the 66th? His name was actually announced at the Reaping! Talk about a breakdown in District One politics. Luckily Argonite Shore, the boy with the hat, came to the rescue. It's too bad we couldn't have Shore boy here today instead!

And Mustang couldn't even disagree. There was something about being labeled a coward in front of the entire world that made it easier to accept the mantle. He had never been the strongest, quickest, wisest Career. His trainer made the best of the situation, and pointed out that he would always be seen as a disappointment. Mustang Galvez, the underdog.

Except this wasn't the Games and no one cared about the underdog. They just wanted medals and prizes and what meager glory they could eke out of the tournament. He would not have been there at all, if not for the crippling pressure from his family. Of course they didn't have to lift a weapon and tag a complete stranger. It was easy enough for them to manipulate him onto the strips. They had nothing to lose.

"Mr. Galvez? Your sabre."

He took the weapon - decidedly not his, which he'd been forced to leave in One - and tested it. He flipped it from hand to hand, dropped the tip and flicked it up. It was heavy but well balanced. He crossed himself once, and then hoisted the helmet over his head. He finally lifted his chin, staring at his opponent through the grate. The other boy was taller but not heavier. They seemed reasonably well matched. He nodded, muttering "Well met." And stepped forward.

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oh now feel it comin' back again, like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind
forces pullin' from the center of the earth again, I can feel it.

Don't be a coward.

That's what his mother had said to him over the phone, just before the match. He hated the sound of her voice in his ears, hated that he agreed with the missive. Don't be a coward, like it was so terribly easy to be brave. What did cowardice even mean? He was still here, still alive, unlike the boy who had volunteered for him. He was still around to take phone calls from his mother, to bow his head and lift his sabre. And it certainly wasn't brave, this sport of touches and turns. It was just faking the Games. It was all a charade.

Still, he lunged and his weapon met resistance. He twisted as he stepped back, readying for the next bout. The mask hid the ghost of a smile as his opponent swore at him. It was ungentlemanly, against the rules. But it was brave.

"I'm sorry, just eager," Mustang said, all sincerity as he bent his knees for the next bout. It was clear this Darrion Blunt was not trained in fencing, but his speed and tenacity more than make up for it. Mustang dodges, but he's not fast enough. The points add up, dead even for them both. "You're from Two, right?" He swung wide and then crossed, drawing the sabre close to his opponent's.

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Total points: 4

oh now feel it comin' back again, like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind
forces pullin' from the center of the earth again, I can feel it.

It's just a glorified stick, and Mustang's wearing full protective gear, but the last strike hurts. He can feel the bruise puckering even as he shuffles backwards to his side of the strip. It's a jab that hurt inside and out. He's never friends with his fellow fencers back home, but they always make friendly conversation. And he really should have thought of something more intelligent to say.

He readies himself, behind but who is surprised by that? but determined not to lose too badly. It would be a relief to watch the rest of the matches from the sidelines. "Guess that's right. Just never know these days, what with all the theft in this district."

When it was time, Mustang stamped down once and rushed. Speed was his only hope now.

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Total points: 5

oh now feel it comin' back again, like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind
forces pullin' from the center of the earth again, I can feel it.

Every hit of his sabre stings or pinches. Every single one is a reminder of how epicly he's failed. He tried to pivot, to be faster and lighter on his feet. It's never quite enough. Darrion is naturally agile, and despite years of training, Mustang has never made up for his lack of physical gifts.

Another hit and they dance apart. The sweat on his brow trickles down, outlining his face. "Right, yeah, thefts. All the pirates? Last time they hosted the Olympics some of the medals went missing. Hope that doesn't happen to us."

Not that it would really matter for him.

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Total points: 6