stay your course — oliver & alec.
Mar 26, 2020 11:58:23 GMT -5
Post by 🌱 kaitlin. on Mar 26, 2020 11:58:23 GMT -5
A L E C.
Making it into the District Four tournament should have been enough to let Alec feel like he was worth something, should have been enough to make his brothers have some kind of respect for him. To stand on that stage, in front of a crowd of what was probably hundreds—to stand on the same stage as the whole fucking gaggle of those damned Krigel's, that should have been enough. The second that he was chosen, his family should have been proud, should have stood in that crowd and cheered for him at the top of their lungs.
Instead, they hadn't even come to check on him in the medic tent after his fight was over. They'd watched India Krigel dig her trident into his stomach and barely batted an eye.
His brother had sent him a note a couple of days later. Pathetic, had been all it said, written in his brother's perfect scrawl.
He refused to be pathetic anymore.
He stands across the mat from Oliver, face drawn closed as thightly as he knows how to get it. He's always been too emotional, fallen prey to his own self-indulgence more times than he can count. In either of his hands he holds a knife, short and sharp, and he knows that most people would be terrified to face off against a trident, but the last time Alec had used one of those damned things it hadn't gone well for him.
Maybe that meant he should use nothing else until he mastered them, but that wasn't his style.
He'd rather use his speed.
He tuck and rolls, spinning over the soft mat until he comes up on his knee and then flicks his knife towards the other boy.
Instead, they hadn't even come to check on him in the medic tent after his fight was over. They'd watched India Krigel dig her trident into his stomach and barely batted an eye.
His brother had sent him a note a couple of days later. Pathetic, had been all it said, written in his brother's perfect scrawl.
He refused to be pathetic anymore.
He stands across the mat from Oliver, face drawn closed as thightly as he knows how to get it. He's always been too emotional, fallen prey to his own self-indulgence more times than he can count. In either of his hands he holds a knife, short and sharp, and he knows that most people would be terrified to face off against a trident, but the last time Alec had used one of those damned things it hadn't gone well for him.
Maybe that meant he should use nothing else until he mastered them, but that wasn't his style.
He'd rather use his speed.
He tuck and rolls, spinning over the soft mat until he comes up on his knee and then flicks his knife towards the other boy.
R O D E R O.