[Day 3] Epee Round 2: Pine, P. vs. Sol

He did not know his opponent but this was no surprise seeing as he did not really associate with anyone anymore. He wondered if knowing someone was recognizing them or knowing them, as in knowing their favourite things and what they didn't like or maybe what they were allergic to. He knew Cilla though. He thought he did at least. It was because he knew her scent and what her face looked like when she was crying. He didn't know her favourite colour though.

The other day he had spoken to her, real words. He hadn't meant to, they'd slipped out. Last night he had stood in front of his mirror and worked his mouth open and closed as he pressed two fingers against each bruise he had won himself. It was an odd thing for sound to travel through him as his silence had been so complete for so many months.

He didn't think it was a terrible thing to speak if Cilla was the one who was listening.

Now however, he had to focus on the sword in his hand and the opponent across from him. He did not want to, it was boring. If he won or if he lost, it did not particularly matter to him. He was here because his parents had sent him, he did not have his own agenda. However, that being said he is rather good at what he does for the pleasure of his parents. He is no easy opponent.

When the signal is given to begin he does not waste any time but lunges forward instantly, as if there simply is no other way to fight but to move towards the sharp end and hope to be caught.

N o b o d y
covers for the
M A T A D O R

GWfNbmx41-4

He considers the points scored against him, looking down at his body to see where they were landed. He can feel where they hit on his body, strong and true. His opponent does not need his own wish for good luck, he has it already. Still, Sol steps backward, opening his mouth in an effort to make words come out, to wish him the same courtesy. The words seem to get stuck in his throat, like they cannot even consider emerging without Cilla there to witness them as well. He tries for a moment more before simple nodding his head, extending his left hand outwards as if bowing to his opponent.

First blood has effectively been drawn.

It does not slow him down. He is a fierceness, a match to be met despite the sorrow he carries so heavily upon his slim frame. When he holds a weapon in his hand, it is as if he is dancing. The blade flies through the air, hitting his target again and again in repeated attempts at aggression. It is the only aggression that he is still capable of, everything else about Sol is weak from the thinness to his frame to the scars that line the inside of his arms.

Here at least he is a worthy foe.

N o b o d y
covers for the
M A T A D O R

liuirtC_1-4

He enjoys the ferocity of his opponent, the growing hatred for himself that he can feel coming through that emotionless mask. That is good. It does not bother him to be hated. Nothing moves him, he is a rock, an emotionless island in the sea of people. It does not phase him to feel the point of the epee hitting his chest; his lower torso. He stills for the softest of seconds, surviving the force that his much stronger opponent holds.

Within moments he is pushing forwards again, scoring a point there, backing up for the briefest of seconds and scoring a consecutive point there. He is a force to be reckoned with, a danger point that he was never truly aware of. There was a time when he was proud of his abilities, when Luna and he were shown off to their district as top athletes. He had forgotten that, regained his humble demeanor when it was not needed.

He was a devil with a sword.

N o b o d y
covers for the
M A T A D O R

mkcwCz|81-4