fandomhighdorms | The Salle, Sunday Morning

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The Salle, Sunday Morning

Certainly, picking a two-handed weapon when one of his arms was damaged wasn't the most strategic move he could have made, but Arthur was confident in his chances. He'd foregone the sling so that he could have use of his left arm, painful as it might have been.

Arthur would simply have to keep the strain off. And it wasn't as if he didn't feel he'd be perfectly able to fend off someone like Hannibal with one hand.

He walked into the salle with the staff held casually in one hand. It'd been a long while since he'd last been able to have some proper practice, and his muscles, both the pained and the healthy, were beating all the happier for it.

He was not about to let an insult to his abilities pass this early into his stay. Even if he hoped that 'this early' would become 'late' soon enough.

[[ for the adversary, of course, but it's an open salle for those who'd like to bug them beforehand, watch, or just want to use the salle and the like! ]]

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All right, so he'd found what amounted to a staff but it wasn't like he had any idea how to use it. Still, that wasn't going to stop him from not showing up, backing down from a challenge.

So, he was there, staff slung over his shoulders. "Morning, Arthur!"

"Ah, Hannibal," Arthur replied, taking quick stock of Hannibal's bearing while he stalked towards the center of the room. "So you chose to appear after all."

"You thought I wouldn't?" He'd thought about it. For a split second. "Come on, that'd just make me a damn pansy."

"Now you're getting it." Arthur swung his staff 'round once in a real display of showing off. Then his body shifted its weight, his feet fell into position, and the staff came up. One-handed, for now. "So try to kill me," he said. "You've got first blow, as promised."

"What, you don't need to stretch first?" Stalling? Him? Hell yes.

"Don't worry. I wouldn't fight me either," Arthur said, smirking.

"Don't say that, you might end up with a double," Hannibal said, stepping closer to Arthur and swinging the staff a bit to get a feel for it. "And then we'd have to pick a pretty face to stare at."

"Are you going to stand there gabbing about how much you like me," Arthur asked, "Or are you going to strike?" He hadn't wavered the slightest bit from his position, merely watching.

"Hey, most people like the sound of my voice," he said smugly. "I can't be blamed if you're the unusual one."

And maybe he hoped to catch Arthur off guard.

Hopefully.

But probably not.

Arthur sighed. There may have been an eyeroll. The smirk wasn't going anywhere, and when he'd finished rolling his eyes, his expression became more predatory. A bit like a large cat. "Come on, then."

There might have been a motion of his left hand to further push that point to the forefront.

"I like a man's who's aggressive," Hannibal said, finally picking up the staff and swinging it (a bit clumsily) towards Arthur's knee.

With the staff in one hand, Arthur blocked it as if it was nothing. "What are you trying to do, fan me?"

"Oh, please, don't flatter yourself." Never ever fighting with a freaking stick again. "Just warming up."

And swinging again, harder this time and aimed at Arthur's side.

Arthur could see that. Two blows. He caught it with the same ease, and great speed.

He raised his eyebrows in challenge.

"It's been awhile since I've done some fighting with a staff," he said and just tried to jam the top of the staff down on Arthur's foot.

Third blow. Arthur's left hand grabbed hold of his own staff as well, the torn skin in his shoulder protesting with a spark of pain. Paying it no head, he smashed his own spear up to bat away Hannibal's, then swung it 'round again to strike at his head but fractions later.

Okay, it was about when the staff bounced off his head and the ensuing stars appeared before his eyes that Hannibal realized that this was a Bad Idea.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered, trying to figure out if his jaw had been dislocated or broken or turned to Jello.

He swung the staff wildly, thrusting it towards Arthur's stomach.

Arthur parried it sideways. With the immediate danger of Hannibal's attack now out of the way, he responded by rapidly slamming his shoulder at Hannibal's torso.

He was almost annoyed he'd wasted time on this, but he had to admit it was a spot of fun to be back to proper work. Screaming left shoulder or no.

Unwilling to actually say uncle (throbbing head pain aside), Hannibal tried to slam an elbow down into Arthur's back while he was in the process of getting the wind knocked the hell out of him.

Arthur pulled away, Hannibal's elbow slicing through the air a bare quarter-inch from his body. He'd become slower, then, but he was more than willing to make up for it by slamming his staff down at Hannibal's knees while he was... distracted.

He was still smirking.

The next thing Hannibal knew, he was tasting the ground. Good, maybe he could take a little nap for awhile.

...oh right, no. He was fighting someone who was way better at this than he was. Goddammit.

He tried to push back to his knees but only managed to get halfway up before he toppled back down on his ass, wondering why there were fireworks going off in the salle.

Arthur gave the staff an almost casual twirl with one hand as he paced towards Hannibal's prone form. It felt as if some lightening had torn through his arm, and he wouldn't be surprised if it'd bled again. No matter.

He left the staff to his right hand again, then reached over with it, tapping him teasingly on the chest twice. "A few more years' worth of training, I'd say," he said. "Shame."

"I was going easy on you." Yeah, right. "After I stop...seeing two of you, we can go again."

Again, yeah, RIGHT.

"But I'm man enough to say...you're pretty good."

Trailing behind Arthur and looking like someone had put a rat in his breakfast this morning, Merlin waved at Hannibal. "Hullo, Hannibal."

"Hey, Merlin!" Hannibal said cheerfully. "You're up early."

Arthur hummed something that clearly meant 'I know'.

He tossed his quarterstaff up so that he could grab it by the base, then turned, stalking towards the door. "Merlin?"

"Someone had to dress his highness this morning," Merlin said, rubbing his eyes.

Pushing himself off the wall, Merlin was giving him a truly unhappy look. "Yes, sire?"

"Let's get to my quarters."

Which was clearly Arthur's fashion of telling him that his arm hurt and that might not have been the smartest idea. But without admitting it.

"He can't dress himself?" Hannibal asked, frowning.

Merlin somehow managed to bow his head in a way that said 'I told you so', but was blissfully silent on the matter.

He was a multi-talented servant.

"He can," Merlin replied with a shrug. "He's just a prince."

Because, you know, that explained it.

"So, he's got two arms, let him dress himself," Hannibal said with a shrug.

Oh, if only things worked that way. "He'd most likely make me other people's rooms in revenge," Merlin replied with a small laugh.

"Huh." Hannibal just shook his head. "I wish I had you demeanor after having to dress a prince."

"I dress him every morning," Merlin replied. "If I didn't, I think he'd walk around with sleeve that don't fit properly."

"Well, then I'm glad he has someone competent to look out for him," Hannibal said, grinning over at Merlin. "And I don't have to laugh at his bad clothing."

"He'd be lost without me," Merlin insisted with a chuckle. He glanced over toward Arthur for a moment and lowered his tone. "Could I ask you a favour?"

Dinah came in with her gym bag, ready to practice. And look, there were eskrima sticks! Putting on her iPod earbuds, Dinah warmed up, stretching and twisting, finally putting on her half-gloves and picking up a pair of sticks.

Then proceeded to beat the hell out of the practice bag, kicking, striking, and slamming it to the escalating beat of Citizen of the Planet.

Anyone who wanted to say hi should probably not sneak up on her.

"You can ask," Hannibal said, turning more towards Arthur. "What's up?"

"Arthur is-- try not to hit his shoulder, alright? He won't listen to me, but he's still injured."

"Shoulder, right," Hannibal said, nodding. "I'll go easy on him."

Oh, Hannibal.

Merlin paused, not quite answering that one yet. "Err, perhaps you should watch out for blows to the head?"

Arthur was a fan of those.

"I won't swing at his head either," Hannibal said, misunderstanding what Merlin was telling him.

"No, I mean-- you. Watch out for being hit."

"Oh." Okay, good, then he could swing at Arthur's head. "Not gonna happen, don't worry buddy."

Oh, poor Hannibal.

"Best of luck!"

"Thanks!!" Hannibal saluted and headed out to face Arthur.

Later, he'd wish that Merlin hadn't wished him luck and had, instead, wished him super strength, super speed and invincibility.

Jaina had come in with her lightsaber to get some much-needed practice in, but when she saw the place was in use, she gave a little wave and decided she could stick around to watch till it was her turn.

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The Salle, Sunday Morning

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Way after any fighting or bleeding....

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