[Day 1] Foil Round 1: Fray vs. Andralian

trylle fray.

One, two, three beats in my wrist, veins veins veins -- I'm READY.

Day one, day two day threedayfourdayfive, I've been ready, since the years before and my first attempt at this -- I didn't do too good, I get it. Even the best of us fuck up on occasion but I smirk, I smile and grin and spit on the side walk; August is my roommate and I punch his shoulder, "you ready fuckboy?" I can't hold it in, all I see is myself adorned in gold and girls and Justice's fresh tears -- victor my ass. We're blood, and if he can victor then fucking hell. 

I can get every gold medal in this bizatch. 

The suit's not tight on me, loose and snug on my muscles, pecs, biceps, all the goodies. The boys, and I hear my name first second third fourthfifth fifth the only Fray in this whole area; guess it's not big enough for two of us anyways. I throw the mask clumsily on, a coach yelling at me to put it on right but I don't have the fucking TIME. If I had time for that bullshit I'd have a crown on my head for fucks sakes--

"Benitone Andralian!"

"Sup fuckboy," I ready my breath -- don't fuck it up, Trylle.

I hear it in my father's voice. 

"You ready for this shit?!"

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trylle fray.

He takes his spot, no response so I'm guessing he's not feeling anything - nothing but this big ole L he's about to collect in foil. And he's big and meaty and whatever I mean, what ever he's got I've gotta have too, right? 

The scoreboard clicks, two pops under Trylle and three under - I squint my eyes - Benzene? That's an element right? No matter, Benny here is a quiet one, no words as he stabs at my body and I stumble on excuses on why I'm already getting my ass kicked. Something along the lines of "I wasn't used to the mask," or something, I'll figure it out later, I have some ass to kick right now.
 

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trylle fray.

I clench, my hands twitching on the handle of my foil, digging nails into my palm on the other side -- don't fuck this up, Trylle. There's a moment I bit my tongue, grating my bottom and top rows of teeth; I can't fuck this up. Look at me! I'm motherfucking Trylle Fray! If Justice can win the goddamn hunger games, then I can do this. I'm better than him, I'm better- I have to be. The point buzzer hitting against my favor, one, two,
three.

(You ready for this shit?!)

I have to be. 

My own mimicking in my head, I've got to be, at least. And I stutter, my window dying and, "shit," I need this. One point. The buzzer clicks, shi-

One, two, three, Benny taps my chest as I slide back to my side of the match, I can't fuck this up, it's only fucking day one? What the fuck kinda career gets out day one of the olympics; think. "So like," I scratch my tongue against the roof of my mouth, "do you have a personality in there somewhere?"
 
He's smirking god- god damnit that's my line; I really must be out of my league. 

Nah who am I kidding, I'm motherfucking Trylle Fray.

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trylle fray.

I can do this, see, my idea here is that if I keep saying it then eventually it'll work. The more and more I repeat the image of myself with that thick ass gold medal around my neck, the more creative I've gotta be in this match - not gonna lie, I think I suck at foil. I'm realizing that, very very quickly, but fuck. Somehow lower district victors happen so there's gotta be a way I can beat this guy. 

He stutters in movement, tripping on remarks - "you'd better pray it doesn't surface." Cutting off my two hits, oh well. Who needs a clean win anyways where's the fun in that? "I'm quivering down stairs alright," I loosen my death grip on the foil.

As long as I don't get my ass kicked then I'll be fine. 

Benny's form is better than mine, I won't lie. Broader shoulders, beefier, probably a hell of a lot smarter than me but who cares about all that, I've got a prettier face and a better neck for medals. The hot shot Fray family, I'm everything here, and I've just gotta remember that. And how to fucking fence, dear lord. One, his sword pegging me but not today asshole, not this Fray boy. 

See, my only strategy is to cut him off and keep the conversation up - I can't win a fair fight with this guy, who the hell do you think I am? Trylle Fray? Awe cute, nah he's way better at foil than me; I block a hit, thank the lord now that is what Trylle would do. No Trylle Fray I know would get eliminated first round, all I've gotta do is beat old Benny here back into next week. 

And dear lord please let me do it.

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trylle fray.

Lord, I'm performing like I've had my weight in jack shots already; this is just embarrassing. 

There's a small window, I break his hits and get one in and there's a second where I think hey, I can actually fucking do this. Benny boy stumbles on my words and I hear my uncle's voice in my head telling me not to fuck it up and damn. Just damn, I'm getting nervous. I'm getting desperate and ugly but like, when haven't I been. Pressure is my middle name I should be good at this shit, I don't understand. 

Shit, one, two, three hits - I'm fucking this up pretty good huh. There's a break and he dodges my first hit but that's fine, and I shoot a look at the scoreboard. 

Well. 

Whatever who cares, I'm just an underdog right? Justice was an underdog and he won I should be fine. The grip on my foil whitening my knuckles, I think I missed what fam said. I don't know, I just- I'm stumbling here. 

I'm gonna lose this shit. 

Oh well. 

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trylle fray.

Block, one, two, block, block again - 

Shit. 

Shit, yup, yeah, alright, totally, cool, whatever, okay, it's not happening. I look over my shoulder -- eight to ten. He has momentum, I see it through my gate and his, my ass is about to get trampled by Benny. What was that shit I was saying, I can do this, damn. I make bullet points of my excuses; "I wasn't used to foil,"
"I meant to sign up for Sabre,"

"I got a blow job beforehand and it threw me off, I swear-"

My uncle's gonna kill me. 

Neither of the twins came, just my fuckboy ass and here I am, getting eliminated day one - "you still quivering down there?" 

I panic, stumble and he hits me once, 
twice.

"Oh yeah, big boy," thanks for the concern Benny. 

My uncle's gonna kill me, fuccccckk. 


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trylle fray.

White knuckles, I'm gripping for dear life -- my entire technic just went out the window, I'm fucking shook. He looks open, relaxed and I'm sitting here praying to whoever'll listen to just not lose terribly but he's just as cocky as I am right now; one.

I strike, two, three - what? 

What the hell is going on on this good day, he hears the buzzers too and blocks once, and I hit again catching him off guard. I am shook. Deep breaths Trylle, you can do this, it's tied, it's a tie game and I don't know if Benny meant to throw points my way but I'm picking them all up. Calm down fuckboy, we make eye contact. 

12 to 12, a tied game. 

"Hey fuckboy, you ready to lose?"

I can't smirk back, come on fuckboy, I'm a matador, red flag and white knuckles biting at him and he's the bull, taking every bait and he hits me once, my shoulder. Calm down fuckboy, get focused-

Nobody roots for the matador.

"Yeah daddy, let's go."

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