[Day 2] Epee Round 1: Pine, T. vs. Firestorm

tobias {♔} pine

Recollections of the previous night flickered through my mind, though I couldn’t make sense of much. I had stayed away from the actual events as much as possible, only proceeding to actually pay attention when the glares of those who weren’t competing were simply too much to bear. I had caught the end of the day’s decathlon events, and honestly, I wasn’t very impressed (if this was all the upper districts had to offer, districts elven and twelve had a better shot at another victor than we did). Of course, I’m not saying that I could exhibit more aptitude, because I was anything but a career. In fact, I loathed them all in the same way that I had loathed Ares, so when I take my place on the mat, anger causes my grip to tighten against the handle of the epee, and if you could see my knuckles, they’d most likely be white.

I suppose now would be the time for good sportsmanship, but it’s lost in the thoughts of Ares Pine and the deep seeded anger he had begun to sow at such an early age.

(“You have it in you, Tobias, but you aren’t willing to do anything about it.”

“It’s because I don’t want to be like you, Ares.”)

But now, with the weight of the epee light in my hands and the thoughts of striking out prominent, I realized Ares Pine had found something, though I wouldn’t necessarily call it potential.

I shoot a smile in his direction, before chuckling and tossing out a casual, “I’ve never really cared for people like you.”

tobias {♔} pine

“Nice hit. You’re from two, right? Least they show something.”

Oh, if only you knew. Despite the fact I had set foot in the training center multiple times, career was definitely not a term I would apply to myself if the question arose. They hadn’t taught me anything, especially skills that would help me to jab another with a thin piece of metal. However, the thought that I had held my own against someone who claimed to know what he was doing sent a feeling of satisfaction down my spine. The chance of being victorious was slim to none, but the chance of pushing this guys’ buttons was much higher.

“It says something about your training when a boy who’s held a sword a total of six times in his life can hold his own against you, doesn’t it?”

He lands another four touches against me, and the feeling of success fades into one of desperation.

“Bro, let’s just, settle this over a drink or something, we can like, arm wrestle for a gold medal.”

tobias {♔} pine

“Drinking contest once this match is over? Loser pays the tab.”

I have turned down many things: the opportunity to succeed in something I didn’t believe in, girls whose thoughts and ideals didn’t match my own, and occasionally the knock of common sense at my door. But never, ever, had I turned down a drinking contest.

I wouldn’t break that streak.

“So okay, let’s be clear, you’re basically offering to pay for at least three rounds for me, right? Because that’s what I’m hearing.”

At this point, his grip stumbles and his sword strikes with half the intensity of the last two, and I chuckle as he regains his balance and attempts to pull himself together. It was quite the sight, and for a moment my focus fades as I’m completely enthralled with the picture of him falling face first, and more than anything it was about all I wanted to see.

(The bigger they are, the harder the fall.)

“You might have the strength training down to a tee, but you might want to work on your agility a bit.”

tobias {♔} pine

Though I wouldn’t admit it directly, the boy-man whatever he was had struck some sort of fear into my heart. However, he had proven to be more brawns than brains, and thankfully, I was able to use this to my advantage to bring the point numbers to an equilibrium. However, I doubted that I would be able to give myself an edge large enough to ensure victory. In fact, I was sure the opposite would happen, regardless of my previous touches. They had come in high numbers, four, three, four, and now, I only needed four more, and though it was plausible, it was most certainly not probable.

Thoughts wouldn’t trump in a battle of physicality.

I felt like a young boy standing up against a giant, with a flimsy sword in my hand rather than a slingshot, my target not marked upon the place between his eyes but the area square in the middle of his chest. It could be done in only one more strike, but I’m certain it will take me at least three more.

“I’m sure it’ll work out for you in something, even if isn’t this.”