fandomhighdorms | The Salle, Wednesday, Mid-Day

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The Salle, Wednesday, Mid-Day

Eric was frustrated.

No, contrary to what one might expect, that frustration didn't have anything to do with any particular flowers or scents around the island. In fact, the frustration had everything to do with his complete and utter inability to use a sword.

He glared at the practice sword in his hand -- one of the lightest ones available, in fact -- and almost began swearing at it before he sighed, collected himself, and began once again his unpracticed swings at the practice dummy.

Goddammit, he was going to learn how to use a sword, if only for his Rangering workshop.

[Expecting one in particular, but open salle is open!]

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Arthur was about to walk in and do some practice and ignore whoever else was there, as per usual, but at the sight of... that.

God, he wanted to wince for that poor sword. Even with the relaxation of the morning, it was just. Bad.

"What," he said, "Do you think you're doing with that? It's not a bloody flail."

"I think that I'm failing miserably," Eric retorted, without looking to Arthur, his swings getting wilder and more forceful as he lost his temper even more. "I want to do something to learn how to use a sword for the Rangering! class," and you could hear the exclamation mark, even as frustrated as Eric was, "but I don't have the first clue where to start. I don't suppose you could teach me?"

One of these days, Arthur was going to stop wandering straight into these situations. Right now, though, it seemed more like a public service than anything else. To the sword.

That poor, poor sword.

With a grunt, he stalked on over. "Just because I can't bear to watch it," he informed the boy. "You're holding it wrong."

At those words, Eric's entire demeanor changed. "Really?" he asked, smiling hopefully. "I mean, not that I'm holding it wrong. That you'll help. Okay, wrong how?"

As long as he wasn't trying to slice the thing into a million cubes, they were doing all right. "Loosen up your wrists," he said, reaching for Eric's in hopes of twisting it roughly in the right direction.

Worse than a page. At least as long as he was behaving as an instructor, he didn't have to be exasperated about it yet.

Eric let Arthur move his wrist however the older boy wished -- and no, that wasn't a slight thrill at being touched by Arthur. Of course not.

"Thank you so much for this," he said, sighing softly with relief. "I feel so out of place in class. I think I'm the only one without any experience, you know?"

"Don't worry," Arthur said, at a dry deadpan, and let go. "You're not. Just try not to look too ridiculous while you're doing that, or give up."

Nodding, Eric gave the practice sword a few light swings. "I'm not likely to give up," he assure Arthur. "This is better, then?" he added. "What should I do next?"

Look! An attentive student who wasn't making any attempt to argue with Arthur's authority! An open slate with no bad habits to unlearn first!

If Arthur was the type, he might almost swoon at that kind of narrative. Since he really, really wasn't, he just took a step back. "Footwork," he said, sounding almost caught by surprise.

Someone had actually housetrained this one. "Steadier. Right now you look like you'll get fly out in a breeze or something." He demonstrated.

"Like this, then?" Eric said, doing his best to mimic the demonstration. It was by no means perfect -- far from, of course, this was his first day really trying a sword -- but it definitely showed that he was paying attention to what Arthur was showing him. "Would I step in when I'm swinging? Or should I be keeping my feet more stable?"

"Let's focus on making sure you can hold your sword before we move on to anything more daunting, shall we?" Arthur asked. "Right your shoulders. Get a feel for where you're gripping the weapon."

The innuendo, as per usual, sailed right past. Not so much because he didn't realise it was there, but because there were more important things to deal with.

"No, I just meant-" But Eric cut himself off, flushing a bit -- partly from mild embarrassment, partly from the innuendo. "I'm sorry. Shoulders, grip." He settled his hand, frowning a bit at the sword. "... Would it be better to try a different sword?" he asked. "It's just -- this one's starting to feel really awkward. Is that normal, for someone starting out? Or should it sit better in my hand?"

There you go, Eric. You may know nothing, but you can at least ask intelligent questions about what you don't know!

"You didn't even take the time to try them out?" Arthur asked him, incredulously. "If it doesn't work, put it away and get one with the right weight for you. It won't do anyone any good if your arms fall off."

It would be nice and refreshing to return to Camelot where he didn't have to bother teaching every member of the populace how to hold a sword. Very nice. Brilliant, even.

He could use some water.

"I grabbed a light one!" Eric insisted. "But that's my point -- I don't know anything about them. It's not like there's much use for them in New York.

"So I've heard." Arthur lifted his chin up at the practice swords up ahead. "Go back, try a few in that stance I just showed you, and don't bother trying until you find something that feels right." Novices.

Eric did as he was told, feeling through the swords. He put back the one he had, trying a few around the same weight, settling into the stance. Each one, he frowned. He went for a couple of swords that were lighter, but they felt even more odd.

Finally, on a whim, Eric grabbed a sword he'd ignored the first time through, thinking it too heavy. This time, though, he took it up again, settle into his stance. He shifted his grip a bit, trying out what Arthur had shown him, and he smiled softly as he felt things fall into place. "This one," he said, getting a little excited. "It feels... right, somehow."

Meanwhile, Arthur was starting to wonder if there weren't some windows that could be opened to air things out; after the morning he'd had, his mind was only just starting to cloud again. He rubbed a hand against the side of his head and cast it aside.

"Let's see if you can actually manage to swing it properly, then," he said, and almost carelessly yanked another training sword out of the set-up.

"So, stance -- shoulders, grip, feet -- and then swing?" Eric brought the sword up in a half-decent approximation of a ready stance, and swung, hesitantly. He made a face. "Okay, I can tell that one sucked." He steadied himself again, and made another swing, more confident. "Better?"

"Keep doing it," Arthur advised, "I'll tell you when to stop."

He leaned back slightly to keep his eyes on what Eric was doing - but that wasn't easy in its own right. "What's your name?"

Oh, right, details.

"Eric," he replied, as he kept going, his confidence growing with every swing. His form got a little better as he did so. He still had a ways to go before he could be considered a swordsman, but the potential was, perhaps, there. "Eric van der Woodsen."

"Eric. All right," Arthur said, in what could almost be termed jovial if there wasn't a firm shot of sarcasm in it, "Now you might actually not take your toes off."

He gave his own practice sword a twirl. "I don't have the time to bother training you properly right now," he said, idly, "But let's see if you can keep a drill."

"Just keep doing this, you mean?" Eric asked. It wasn't like he'd never been exposed to sarcasm before; it would take a lot more than that to get to him. "Or is there something more specific you want me to do?"

"One strike does not make a drill," he said, his listen to me, I know what I'm doing, you maggot voice firmly in place as Arthur took his own position and slowly - slowly - worked his way through the base drill he'd tried to teach Fiona the other day.

Eric immediately started following along, a half-step behind, as he did his best to commit the drill to memory. "Can I see that one more time?" he asked, when they'd finished.

"Just this once," Arthur sighed.

Because it was totally such a hardship to get to show off. He shifted back into the drill with fluid ease, like he'd been born to do it.

Following along again, this time with Arthur rather than the half-step behind, Eric made sure he had the motions down -- and that he wasn't too distracted by Arthur himself. The boy was quite something to watch, after all.

"Thanks," he said, when they'd completed it. "I'll do my best."

"I'm sure you will," Arthur told him. That was encouraging. Really.

Mollified at the fact that his favourite weapon would go undefiled for yet another few minutes, at least, Arthur pulled away from the scene to return to his own drills.

They were far more complex. There were a few more twirls thrown in for good measure. They did not seem thrown in.

Arthur was just a natural showoff.

Eric was focusing on his drill. Really, honestly, he was.

But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't getting distracted by watching Arthur do what he did best.

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The Salle, Wednesday, Mid-Day

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