Fight until the smirk on my face vanishes {Flint/Qila}
Jul 5, 2016 2:39:59 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jul 5, 2016 2:39:59 GMT -5
F l i n t A r c hD i s t r i c t 1 | C a r e e r | S i x t e e n
"Is that all you got?" He asked with a taunting smirk on his face.
He was soaked. The rain falls on the ground of the arena in sheets, each drop a platinum tear. Even if there wasn't a shower, he imagined that he would be soaked either way, from sweat.
Flint expelled a breath from his lips, managing to calm the rise and fall of his chest. The clothes he had been wearing was now damp and had put on extra weight from the water, restricting his movements. He hated it. The material prevented him from stretching his arms out and made it harder to lift his legs. But, his mind was not affected by this problem. In fact, he was feeling fantastic. Raindrops fell on his eyelashes and some blocked his eyes, which was irritating. He could see but no as good as before. The girl in front of him was still visible though. She also seems to be disturbed by the sudden shower but still had her weapon in hand.
"I should say this, you are not bad at all," Flint said, in the form of a compliment, raking his fingers through his wet, damp brown hair and pushing some locks back into place. The rain helped his features look more attracting. His hard-developed abs were transparent through the fabric of his shirt, his entire torso was. Numerous scars painted his skin, a few on his arms and many on his chest and abdomen. The rain was acting as an obstacle against their eye-sight but when looked clearly, it was obvious that they were scars from swords- tiny cuts and scratches.
"In fact, you make a good opponent, what's-your-name." His tone did not make it clear if it was sarcasm or the truth. He did not intend to make it clear. Flint was not a fan of complimenting others and most of the time he did, it had always been sarcastic comments. He had laughed at his own stubbornness and hotheadedness, impressed by them. He'd always been confident of himself, since his childhood. He trusted his own skills and loved the physical appearance of himself.
He'd not been entirely sure if the girl heard him. The sound of the pouring rain was the most audible thing in the stadium. It was oddly similar to the roar of a lion, a continuous roar that did not stop shortly. The grey clouds on the skies implied that it will be a long shower. He tightened his grip on the cool, heavy handle of his blade and raised it again, holding it with both of his hands.
Everything went still for a solid seconds. It was almost normal, the rain falling in sheets and the mini rays of sunlight that pierced through the thick clouds catching the raindrops, making them sprinkle. It was beautiful. Like myself, he thought before outstretching his blade and sprinted towards the girl.
Her skin gleamed under the water as if it was a precious metal. Her hair was soaked along with her clothes but judging from her face, he guessed that it was not bothering her much. He spotted a glimpse of himself inside her big eyes as dark as the night. He did not fail to notice the sudden glint of the sword he raised to slash at her. Flint had taken into knowledge the ripped muscles of the girl's arms. Why was he studying her features even if he is not into girls? It was only for the fight.
You need to know about your opponent first. Everything can be a weapon for them too.
The words were pinned to his head. It was a method he uses in battle, taught to him by himself. A punch from her would be painful. Flint had knew she was a career since the start of their little duel. No other person would have the skill to evade and parry his attacks. Picking swords as the main weapon-of-choice for this spar was a grave mistake. The girl was clearly a master of wielding the weapon, seeing the techniques she performs with her blade. They were mostly thrusts.
"So, you are a fencer, huh?" He spoke again, his voice taunting. The strike earlier had been countered back and he'd taken steps back, in a safe distance with his blade still outstretched. He was taking in fast breaths and water still to have followed, pleasing his throat. He gulped down the collected rainwater inside his mouth, satisfying his thirst and shaped himself into a fighting stance again.
"Wanna bet who's going to lose?" A clear flame of excitement flickered inside his eyes and he attacked again.
Flint expelled a breath from his lips, managing to calm the rise and fall of his chest. The clothes he had been wearing was now damp and had put on extra weight from the water, restricting his movements. He hated it. The material prevented him from stretching his arms out and made it harder to lift his legs. But, his mind was not affected by this problem. In fact, he was feeling fantastic. Raindrops fell on his eyelashes and some blocked his eyes, which was irritating. He could see but no as good as before. The girl in front of him was still visible though. She also seems to be disturbed by the sudden shower but still had her weapon in hand.
"I should say this, you are not bad at all," Flint said, in the form of a compliment, raking his fingers through his wet, damp brown hair and pushing some locks back into place. The rain helped his features look more attracting. His hard-developed abs were transparent through the fabric of his shirt, his entire torso was. Numerous scars painted his skin, a few on his arms and many on his chest and abdomen. The rain was acting as an obstacle against their eye-sight but when looked clearly, it was obvious that they were scars from swords- tiny cuts and scratches.
"In fact, you make a good opponent, what's-your-name." His tone did not make it clear if it was sarcasm or the truth. He did not intend to make it clear. Flint was not a fan of complimenting others and most of the time he did, it had always been sarcastic comments. He had laughed at his own stubbornness and hotheadedness, impressed by them. He'd always been confident of himself, since his childhood. He trusted his own skills and loved the physical appearance of himself.
He'd not been entirely sure if the girl heard him. The sound of the pouring rain was the most audible thing in the stadium. It was oddly similar to the roar of a lion, a continuous roar that did not stop shortly. The grey clouds on the skies implied that it will be a long shower. He tightened his grip on the cool, heavy handle of his blade and raised it again, holding it with both of his hands.
Everything went still for a solid seconds. It was almost normal, the rain falling in sheets and the mini rays of sunlight that pierced through the thick clouds catching the raindrops, making them sprinkle. It was beautiful. Like myself, he thought before outstretching his blade and sprinted towards the girl.
Her skin gleamed under the water as if it was a precious metal. Her hair was soaked along with her clothes but judging from her face, he guessed that it was not bothering her much. He spotted a glimpse of himself inside her big eyes as dark as the night. He did not fail to notice the sudden glint of the sword he raised to slash at her. Flint had taken into knowledge the ripped muscles of the girl's arms. Why was he studying her features even if he is not into girls? It was only for the fight.
You need to know about your opponent first. Everything can be a weapon for them too.
The words were pinned to his head. It was a method he uses in battle, taught to him by himself. A punch from her would be painful. Flint had knew she was a career since the start of their little duel. No other person would have the skill to evade and parry his attacks. Picking swords as the main weapon-of-choice for this spar was a grave mistake. The girl was clearly a master of wielding the weapon, seeing the techniques she performs with her blade. They were mostly thrusts.
"So, you are a fencer, huh?" He spoke again, his voice taunting. The strike earlier had been countered back and he'd taken steps back, in a safe distance with his blade still outstretched. He was taking in fast breaths and water still to have followed, pleasing his throat. He gulped down the collected rainwater inside his mouth, satisfying his thirst and shaped himself into a fighting stance again.
"Wanna bet who's going to lose?" A clear flame of excitement flickered inside his eyes and he attacked again.
words:775;
