[Day 4] Epee Round 3: Aubergine vs. Sol

His opponent was a lady from the place that he had come from too.

She was fair in appearance, pretty. He was slightly surprised that he was able to discern this. He had been unable to love, to feel any emotion that did not relate to himself for a long while. It was like having Cilla in his life was forcing him to participate in the world with the rest of the human race.

Cilla had lost her match yesterday and Sol had not known what to say in the situation presented so instead of seeking her out to give her his regrets for her loss, to ask her if she was scared for her mother's reaction, he hid in the basement of the boarding hostel and carved his name into the wooden floorboards above him. He could hear feet making the wood creak in protest, could almost feel the weight they carried for them. He ignored it, even as he couldn't, wondering which weight, which pair of feet were Cilla's.

Today he has his own match to concentrate on, his own battle. He does not want to be here in particular, he wants to go to the Ocean still, to taste the salt water and to find Cilla to see if she can help him to speak again. Instead he's been placed in a ring with a weapon almost too familiar to him.

The faster this is done with, the faster he can find her.

He dons the emotionless mask that is his helmet and bows softly to his opponent, sword swishing down and up in a lazy arc. His lips, hidden by the mask form the shape needed to say 'good luck' but not words emerge. They cannot without her.

He lunges forward.

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

PCMr9V241-4

He does not know who Zorro is.

This girl has given him a case of mistaken identity, and he glances behind him, wondering who she is speaking to, if she is speaking to him. Carefully he raises the hand that is not holding the sword and presses one finger softly to his chest. He cocks his head to the side in a questioning manner, wondering if she is referring to him, knowing that she can't be, his name is not Zorro, it is Sol. Last time he checked at least.

Then she tells him that she wants to get down to him losing but only gives him two hits to his four which also does not make sense, unless she is holding back. Sol has never really understood the idea of holding back. For him it's always made the most sense to go directly for the throat, he'd rather not play with his victims.

After a moment of thought, he comes to the conclusion that the opponent is strange. Possibly not as odd as he himself is, but strange nonetheless. He's not sure if he likes her. She's too demanding as an opponent, too cocky.

He extends his arm, reaching forwards in an attempt to score another point or two, not needing words to get his point across.

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

YvM4ftu51-4

Pain, he has come to realize, hurts.

It hurts to feel pain, feeling anything hurts. Loving someone, happiness, in the end it turns into pain and it is pointless to feel at all, in the end it will only hurt more. Sol knows this fact as real. He knows that without emotion he can survive but with it, it simply kills. Feeling something like love is dangerous, remembering happy moments hurts. Being anything but numb is terrible. He's lived with pain for so long that it's a constant ache instead of burning now but sometimes it will hit him hard, just there. Below his ribcage it will burn.

For one moment, just a small moment, as the girl leans in to score a point she becomes Luna, silver braid flying behind her as she darts forward. She laughs, reminds him to pay attention but the voice is hollow and far away and he's gone again.

He watches stunned as she disappears, taking hit after hit.

He wants to catch her.

He lunges forward.

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

YBkJOc_y1-4