Running the Gauntlet [Kris]
Oct 7, 2014 18:43:46 GMT -5
Post by Loki on Oct 7, 2014 18:43:46 GMT -5
Kris did not complain, not even by rolling his eyes, about the stack of aptitude and knowledge tests that the Lieutenant had saddled him with. On the contrary, he had just gotten to work, pencil drilling over page after page. He knew what the aptitude tests would show: the same things that the batch he'd been given in the peacekeepers' academy had shown. Waite would score high for engineering and logic, as well as command, and higher for science and the healing arts.
There were more questions in this pile than the previous tests that seemed to be scanning for more particular aptitudes, including ones about working with animals. On paper, at least, the cadet could let his enthusiasm shine through as much as it could in such a format. But, honestly, eventually he wanted command, and he wanted an interesting specialty in the meanwhile. The notion of getting his own permanent friend like Stahl's Kaiser had definite appeal, too. A dog would never betray you, or use you... Really, he did not even look up until the announcement, and his mentor's subsequent standing up and asking if he knew how to get to the galley.
Kris was only about eighty percent on finding the galley without assistance, but he would not have admitted this except under dire torture; he nodded and replied, "Yes, sir." In fact, he did manage to find said galley, and lined up for his lunch; he sat with his fellow cadets. None of them, really, were close friends, despite having gone through the academy together, but they were people he could talk with, compare notes with, and so on. He fell to on the lunch, barely paying attention to what he was eating - he still had that District One tendency to take things like food for granted.
Still, it was with a bit of dismay that Kris heard that the grapevine wisdom was that of all the senior officers, he'd gotten, in Stahl, the toughest. Honestly, it could have been a little discouraging, if Kris' nature was not just to take a few deep breaths and vow to himself to be even better, to work even harder; several of his peers were shaking their heads and commenting about how glad they were not to have gotten the 1st Lieutenant.
Though he was often one for getting second helpings (his metabolism allowed him to eat heavily and not gain unwanted weight,) today Kris did not go back for more: he didn't like to fight when he was full.
Once he'd killed off enough of the hour with lunch and idle gossip, Waite cleared his place, went and changed into his PT uniform, and, headed to the gym, ten minutes in advance of the appointed time - never be late. He walked over to the weapons rack without preamble, smiling when he saw the assortment of swords available, but before reaching out to choose one, the cadet happened to glance over at Stahl, who happened to have with him a plain wooden staff.
Interesting choice, and one he'd be foolish to face with a sword (at least a blunted sword that would not sheer through the wood,) so Kris grabbed instead a dull-headed spear of exactly his own height, and started spinning it, one handed, two handed, accustoming himself to the weapon. He wasn't practically a prodigy with a spear as he was with a sword, but he'd been trained as a youth to handle one respectably well. Just part of being a career kiddie.
After testing the spear and finding it acceptable, Kris went to stand at the sidelines near Stahl, giving him a polite nod. It felt good to have a weapon in hand, and the young cadet reassured himself he could handle this. He had to keep his temper no matter what, but otherwise, he knew the weapon, and he was well-trained and ready. He flexed a bit, wanting to warm up his muscles, rising and falling on the balls of his feet and doing stretches.
Kris felt ready to go: he knew that Stahl was likely a deadly opponent; he would have to be, to have risen to his office without advantages like the influence of coming from the upper districts, but he himself was determined to put in a good showing, and he knew he can: he too had been trained extensively by the best trainers of both the tribute and peacekeeper schools. Waite paid little attention to the audience, hoping his bout would be one of the first so that he would have a focus for the energy now seeming to be overflowing.
Word Count: 771
There were more questions in this pile than the previous tests that seemed to be scanning for more particular aptitudes, including ones about working with animals. On paper, at least, the cadet could let his enthusiasm shine through as much as it could in such a format. But, honestly, eventually he wanted command, and he wanted an interesting specialty in the meanwhile. The notion of getting his own permanent friend like Stahl's Kaiser had definite appeal, too. A dog would never betray you, or use you... Really, he did not even look up until the announcement, and his mentor's subsequent standing up and asking if he knew how to get to the galley.
Kris was only about eighty percent on finding the galley without assistance, but he would not have admitted this except under dire torture; he nodded and replied, "Yes, sir." In fact, he did manage to find said galley, and lined up for his lunch; he sat with his fellow cadets. None of them, really, were close friends, despite having gone through the academy together, but they were people he could talk with, compare notes with, and so on. He fell to on the lunch, barely paying attention to what he was eating - he still had that District One tendency to take things like food for granted.
Still, it was with a bit of dismay that Kris heard that the grapevine wisdom was that of all the senior officers, he'd gotten, in Stahl, the toughest. Honestly, it could have been a little discouraging, if Kris' nature was not just to take a few deep breaths and vow to himself to be even better, to work even harder; several of his peers were shaking their heads and commenting about how glad they were not to have gotten the 1st Lieutenant.
Though he was often one for getting second helpings (his metabolism allowed him to eat heavily and not gain unwanted weight,) today Kris did not go back for more: he didn't like to fight when he was full.
Once he'd killed off enough of the hour with lunch and idle gossip, Waite cleared his place, went and changed into his PT uniform, and, headed to the gym, ten minutes in advance of the appointed time - never be late. He walked over to the weapons rack without preamble, smiling when he saw the assortment of swords available, but before reaching out to choose one, the cadet happened to glance over at Stahl, who happened to have with him a plain wooden staff.
Interesting choice, and one he'd be foolish to face with a sword (at least a blunted sword that would not sheer through the wood,) so Kris grabbed instead a dull-headed spear of exactly his own height, and started spinning it, one handed, two handed, accustoming himself to the weapon. He wasn't practically a prodigy with a spear as he was with a sword, but he'd been trained as a youth to handle one respectably well. Just part of being a career kiddie.
After testing the spear and finding it acceptable, Kris went to stand at the sidelines near Stahl, giving him a polite nod. It felt good to have a weapon in hand, and the young cadet reassured himself he could handle this. He had to keep his temper no matter what, but otherwise, he knew the weapon, and he was well-trained and ready. He flexed a bit, wanting to warm up his muscles, rising and falling on the balls of his feet and doing stretches.
Kris felt ready to go: he knew that Stahl was likely a deadly opponent; he would have to be, to have risen to his office without advantages like the influence of coming from the upper districts, but he himself was determined to put in a good showing, and he knew he can: he too had been trained extensively by the best trainers of both the tribute and peacekeeper schools. Waite paid little attention to the audience, hoping his bout would be one of the first so that he would have a focus for the energy now seeming to be overflowing.
Word Count: 771
