Post by Mael Leblanc on Feb 7, 2010 19:55:06 GMT -5
“Get up, Mael,”
I obeyed, rising to my feet and pointing the stick that I held in the direction of my opponent’s voice. Although, I suppose it was not fair to describe one’s friend as an opponent—even if we were friends who happened to be at each other’s throats at the time. On the streets, no one was your friend, but I think Adrien tolerated my presence because he saw I had potential.
Either that, or he had been moved to pity the poor blind soul who had beaten him by nearly tearing his ear off the first time we fought.
“Do you know how silly you look?” He asked, his voice gentle and teasing. “Don’t spread your legs so far apart, your weight’s all over the place. I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder as he adjusted my position until it was to his liking. “There you are,” I heard his footsteps retreating. “I believe it’s your turn to attack first, petit souris.” I could hear the smile behind his words.
“My being sightless is no reason for you to call me ‘little mouse’, Adrien,” I informed him as I took a few steps to the side, trying to gauge his position. He wasn’t breathing heavily with exhaustion, and was otherwise hale, so it was difficult to find him based on the sound of his breathing.
“I’m older than you, I can call you whatever name I wish,” he said, chuckling softly. “Now are you going to attempt to strike at me or are you just going to stand there and let me beat you within an inch of your life?”
I did not see fit to dignify that with a response. I charged.
I felt it when his stick met mine, both of us bearing down on each other, waiting for one to yield. “Come on, Mael. I could have killed you twice the way you charge around like an angry bull,” he chided, applying enough pressure that I was forced to yield ground to him.
“Adrien, this is hardly fair,” I complained. “You know I’m no good with weapons.”
“Yes, well, everyone else is, so you had better learn to wield something,” he countered, swiftly disarming me. “Do you surrender, Messire?” He asked, and I knew the end of the stick was inches away from my throat.
“No,” I answered simply, right before my boot connected with his testes. The technique was cheap, but effective, and I was rewarded with a groan. One of the advantages to knowing how tall your opponent was how simple it was to aim for the right organs, and Adrien wore no codpiece.
Acting swiftly, I reached out and carefully felt my way up his arm to his shoulder and pulled, his scream of pain as I separated bone from bone made my ears ring.
“My mother was a chiurgeon,” I said softly as I released his arm. “She taught me that it was hard for a man to wield a weapon if his sword arm was dislocated. Do you still think I should learn to become dependent on a weapon when weapons can be so easily removed from play?”
The only sound I heard in response was a whimpered “No.”
I obeyed, rising to my feet and pointing the stick that I held in the direction of my opponent’s voice. Although, I suppose it was not fair to describe one’s friend as an opponent—even if we were friends who happened to be at each other’s throats at the time. On the streets, no one was your friend, but I think Adrien tolerated my presence because he saw I had potential.
Either that, or he had been moved to pity the poor blind soul who had beaten him by nearly tearing his ear off the first time we fought.
“Do you know how silly you look?” He asked, his voice gentle and teasing. “Don’t spread your legs so far apart, your weight’s all over the place. I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder as he adjusted my position until it was to his liking. “There you are,” I heard his footsteps retreating. “I believe it’s your turn to attack first, petit souris.” I could hear the smile behind his words.
“My being sightless is no reason for you to call me ‘little mouse’, Adrien,” I informed him as I took a few steps to the side, trying to gauge his position. He wasn’t breathing heavily with exhaustion, and was otherwise hale, so it was difficult to find him based on the sound of his breathing.
“I’m older than you, I can call you whatever name I wish,” he said, chuckling softly. “Now are you going to attempt to strike at me or are you just going to stand there and let me beat you within an inch of your life?”
I did not see fit to dignify that with a response. I charged.
I felt it when his stick met mine, both of us bearing down on each other, waiting for one to yield. “Come on, Mael. I could have killed you twice the way you charge around like an angry bull,” he chided, applying enough pressure that I was forced to yield ground to him.
“Adrien, this is hardly fair,” I complained. “You know I’m no good with weapons.”
“Yes, well, everyone else is, so you had better learn to wield something,” he countered, swiftly disarming me. “Do you surrender, Messire?” He asked, and I knew the end of the stick was inches away from my throat.
“No,” I answered simply, right before my boot connected with his testes. The technique was cheap, but effective, and I was rewarded with a groan. One of the advantages to knowing how tall your opponent was how simple it was to aim for the right organs, and Adrien wore no codpiece.
Acting swiftly, I reached out and carefully felt my way up his arm to his shoulder and pulled, his scream of pain as I separated bone from bone made my ears ring.
“My mother was a chiurgeon,” I said softly as I released his arm. “She taught me that it was hard for a man to wield a weapon if his sword arm was dislocated. Do you still think I should learn to become dependent on a weapon when weapons can be so easily removed from play?”
The only sound I heard in response was a whimpered “No.”