[Day 1] Foil Round 1: Ghram vs. Hammerfell-Alezander

He was back here again, back for another chance at a medal. It felt like such a long time since the last time he had stood here, facing an opponent with sword in hand, but really it couldn't have been too long ago.

Things had changed since then. Namely, he had been single without an attempt at a relationship. As well, he had gotten a job as a trainer at the gym where he used to train himself. He was nineteen now, an adult, and while he still lived with his parents he was finally freed from a great number of childish chores and activities - such as school.

"Good luck." The large boy across from him says, giving him a nod. All Rolex knew of him was that he was from District two. Perhaps a career district that was stronger in running and swordsmanship than swimming - as was District one, his own district. District four, on the other hand, was nearly guaranteed to sweep the medals in any event even remotely related to water.

A quick memory of winning bronze at rowing in his first olympics brought a smile to his face. He had once more qualified for the event, even after coming in last in the previous olympics. This time, he was sure he would do better.

Right now, though, he had a match to win.

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Their swords flashed in the overhead lights, their thin-sounding crashes at the metal blades collided rising to greet the spectators. Over a foot shorter than his opponent, Rolex once more felt the tug of envy for another's height. He had always viewed himself as being too short - though at 5'9" he was still taller than a good number of people. Faced with such an obvious difference - his nose would be at the boy's chest and the top of his head wasn't even shoulder height - he couldn't help but have those feeling come back.

Still, there were advantages to being the smaller opponent. Rolex would be lighter on his feet, better able to maneuver under or around the taller boy's heavy strikes. Breathing deeply before launching into his attack, he ducked his head down and tried to drive the tip of his foil into the stomach of his opponent.

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He had been blocked, parried, and struck in a matter of moments. The speed that the tides had turned left his head spinning. Frustration bubbled within him, heating over the old fire of envy. Soon he would boil over, spitting hot water at the younger, taller boy. For now he clamped a lid down on the pot and let it simmer to the side.

Getting upset would only lead to further loss, as he would telegraph his movements and leave himself open to return slashes. Bitterly, he resettled himself and waited for a better moment to make his move.

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This time things went smoother. Nearly every attack he launched ended in success, though a single return strike slipped through his assault. Each time the light glowed and the buzzer sounded he would take a long, deep breath and recenter himself. The change in pace had shaken things up. He had been right to take that brief moment and collect himself. Now, he would have to change things once more. Falling into a pattern was a sure way of trapping himself into a corner. No matter what the pattern was, eventually the opponent would always find a way to counter it.

Standing at the ready, he set himself up for some faster strikes.

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Sure enough, changing the pace once more provided good results. Scoring points in rapid succession, he grew overly comfortable and gave away a few choice strikes as well. They were nearing the end of the match, with both of them within four points of the fifteen point win. If he could dominate once more then perhaps he might win in this next series of blows, but if not he would have to hope he could fend off the larger boy long enough to raise his total to fifteen. This next set of slashes would decide who would be moving on and who would be left behind. At least he could say the match had been close.

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