*****
-- Ten Points For Style--
Two men faced off in the empty arena, the scuffling thuds of boots and steel against sand almost a rhythm between them. No one but the janitors was usually active in the darkened gymnasium in the odd hours before dawn. It was part of the reason why they came. To an outsider, the fight would have been called brutal. Neither man gave the other any quarter, neither out of kindness nor out of respect.
Hair moving like a bleached banner, Sephiroth threw himself backwards to avoid a cut to his head while swinging his own weapon out in an attempt to catch his opponent’s exposed leg. The shorter man proved once again that his lesser reach was no handicap, enhanced muscles tensing in the split second before the potentially bloody interception of blade-and-leg in order to vault forwards.
That was unexpected.
Fighting Zack was rather like fighting a rabid wolverine. Even his defensive moves involved some measure of ‘attack.’ Where the general preferred fights with a more polite difference between give-and-get his friend’s strategies always involved a constant push. He would hammer an opponent with as much as he could throw and watch them crumble under the barrage. For a less talented man, the tactic would have been called amateur. Given the dark soldier’s prowess and creativity, it was simply deadly.
The general felt his second’s elbow catch him in the chest and swore slightly. Every time he was certain his friend couldn’t get inside his defenses, the man proved him wrong. It was too late to dodge, although the desire to see the man miss and hit the sand was strong. He chose instead to go along with the unexpected move. Catching the elbow so it wouldn’t break anything too important on the way down, he fell backwards into the soft surface of the ring. It was easy to flip the shorter man off and over his head as he made contact with the sand. There was a brief moment of satisfaction in hearing the thud several feet away as Zack made his own landing with a groan.
“Take a risk, pay the price.”
“I coulda had you…”
“Perhaps.” Sephiroth stood up and dusted his pants. The glare of the halogen spotlights on their corner of the floor easily caught the motes of dust that their dueling had scattered into the air. Habitually, he glanced up into the rows of empty seats in the darkness beyond.
“No one here.” The grunt was tired
sounding and he turned to watch his friend heave himself off the floor only to
shake himself of dirt like a dog. “Nobody but you is crazy enough to want to
use this place at
“You didn’t have to agree with it.”
“Maybe I got tired of the audience too…” Back on his feet, his humor had returned; his grin brightly contrasting with his dusty face. Hands on his knees, he left his sword where it lay, taking a break. It wasn’t bad idea. Sephiroth tucked his blade under his arm and stooped to collect the second, considerably heavier weapon from the ground.
“I think I’m done.” He wasn’t really tired. If he asked, Zack would happily duel with him until dawn.
They had even done it once or twice, staggering from the field like drunkards only moments before the basic trainees had arrived to start their day. Towards the end the fights had been almost comical as each of them strained to overcome their own exhaustion to gain advantage over the other. Tonight however, he had no real need to push himself, and watching the dark-haired man gingerly touching the back of his head, he decided that the practice was over.
“You don’t have to humor me.”
“I’m not.” Retreating into the dark, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust enough to find the bench. He settled onto it with a sigh. “I could use a break too.”
“Liar.” The complaint was good natured however, and soon the wooden plank flexed again, the soldier a warm presence at his side. “You still can’t decide which direction to dodge I see…”
“Hmm?”
“My tackle, back there… you hesitated. That’s not like you.”
Sephiroth slouched forwards, resting elbows on knees and glaring at his lounging opponent. “Most people, when faced with several feet of steel swinging at their shins, would react by jumping back, Zack… not by trying to jump on top of my head.”
“Heh.” The darker man copied the slouch, looking away briefly to fumble for a towel. “Well you’re not fighting ‘most people’ now are you… you’re fighting me.”
He scrubbed his face vigorously to try and get the dirt off before his sweat started to dry. “Besides. Jumping away would give you time to regain balance, which removes the advantage I gained from making you bend backwards like that in the first place. I knew you were going to low-cut me the minute you started twisting. The question is… why choose to fall instead of just side-stepping the whole thing and letting me get a face full of dirt?”
“… It worked well enough.”
“Yeah, but there are no style points in going down on your ass.”
“‘Ten points for style’? What does it matter so long as I win?”
The soldier grinned and used a corner of the towel to reach over and catch a smear on his friend’s cheek. “Fine, but don’t come crying to me when the men laugh at you…”
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Cleaning me. I am well aware of the fact that I am covered in crap, that’s what showers are for.” Snatching away the offending towel, he took a moment to scrub an itchy spot at the back of his neck. Some sand had gotten down his collar. It reminded him of the fight and closing his eyes he visualized the final moves and counters. Seeing something he hadn’t noticed before, he grinned in the darkness. “Three weeks ago.”
“Excuse me?”
“Three weeks ago, Wednesday. You pulled a variation on that move to win round six.”
“Did I?” The tone was innocent enough, but the glowing eyes betrayed the fact that Zack was aware of exactly what happened.
“You were trying to get me to fall for the same trick twice. First get me off center, then close distance before I can deflect.”
“Except last time you went down like a sack of potatoes, and this time you nearly cracked my skull by bouncing me off the floor.”
“Yes, well last time your elbow was higher… I don’t appreciate having my nose broken.”
“The Cure spell fixed it right up… speaking of which… I have one mother of a headache…”
It was hard to tell in the shadows if the man had a concussion or not, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He could already hear the doctors’ exasperated tones if he walked his friend over to the clinic. ‘Playing too rough again, General? Not everyone is built like a cement mixer you know…’ Sephiroth grimaced. “Sorry. I’ll get that.”
A green Materia attached to his hilt twinkled briefly in the darkness, echoing the momentary haze surrounding his companion. When it faded Zack stretched, joints cracking, and tested his head and neck. “Marvelous.”
“So, tell me. What would have happened if I had stepped right to avoid your tackle?”
His friend flashed a menacingly smile, mostly teeth. “A two-move disarm.”
“… and if I moved left?”
“You’d have left your sword-arm exposed.”
Trying out each scenario in his head, he saw that the fighter was correct. Those weren’t the only possible outcomes however, and now that he saw the attacks, he could see the counters. It wouldn’t be easy, but that was the point. Sparing with Zack was one of the few daily challenges his life afforded him in Midgar. Their battles a least had nothing hanging in the balance should he fall. Maneuvering around Heidigger was far less enjoyable.
“You shouldn’t have told me… you’ve just sacrificed two easy victories…”
His friend simply shrugged the gesture near invisible. “I suppose.”
“Sometimes I think you’re just too kind-hearted, Zack.”
“Only where you are concerned.” The devilish smile returned in force. “Anyone else I’d have let find out the hard way.”
“Watching my back… even against yourself?”
“Always.” The dark haired man chuckled softly in the darkness. “Besides, the trick wasn’t all that. I’ve got this new combo I’m working on… if I can just figure out the end it’ll be awesome. Even you won’t be able think your way out of it. Well not easily, anyway… I just got to work the kinks out…”
“Ten points for style…”
“Definitely.” The man nodded. “It wouldn’t do to cut my own leg off by accident.”
“What do you think you’ll call it?”
“… dunno. Been toying with the name ‘OmniSlash’… has a nice ring, don’t you think?”
“I’ll have the bandages ready for when you want to try it out.”
The soldier snorted in amusement and then frowned. “For you? Or for me?”
“Who do you think?” Sephiroth could feel the friendly glare shot in his direction even as picked up his sword, wiping the blade clean with the abused towel. “I’m off to shower. Don’t take a nap before work. You’ll never wake up in time.”
The balled-up towel would have bounced off the back of his head, but he spoiled it by ducking. Sephiroth didn’t bother to look over his shoulder as he pushed through the doors, knowing his ‘shadow’ was watching him with a smile.
*****