fandomhighdorms | The Salle, Tuesday Morning

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The Salle, Tuesday Morning

So, a little bit of sleeping had actually happened last night. Real sleep, with the usual dreams about maybe someday becoming a hero. Not... Those ones. From last week. And so Zack was actually slightly rested, or something like it, when he got that text message that made his PHS chirp and woke him up with a start.

You. Me. The salle. Now.

All things considered, that was probably the most awesome wakeup call ever.

Of course Zack was there, sword at his back. And maybe a package of cookies in one hand. So sue him.

"Morning, Arthur."

[For that guy, but the Salle is open for anyone else who needs it, too. Text message provided by

bitch_prince, natch.]

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Arthur had no cookies. Arthur did have a sword, however, with which he was much-pleased this morning. Mainly because it seemed like a day for swordcraft.

Much like yesterday had been a day for bitchcraft.

Not that he would state that anywhere but in the narrative. "So it would be, Zack," he agreed, giving his sword a twirl. "Any other astute observations?" He... really needed this one.

"Mmm. Catch." Arthur was so getting his cookies before he could kick the crap out of Zack. See? Zack totally had sound reasoning this morning! Which was why there was a bag of chocolate chip, incoming.

"How's 'grass is green,' work for you? I'd say the sky is blue, but that's not always the case." He was pulling his sword from his back now, yes.

Arthur had excellent skills in regards to catching, so he did, in fact, catch it, and then pass it on to the side with a neat little throw that left the bag sitting by one of the dummies. "Oh, Zack," he said, slipping into a stance, "You realise there's absolutely no grass in the salle?"

Zack gave Arthur a tired little grin and a shrug of his shoulders before he gave his sword a twirl.

"You know, somehow, I totally didn't notice?"

And then he was running at him with that sword, because wow, did he ever need it. And a spar with Arthur just wouldn't be a spar with Arthur unless Zack made the idiot opening move with the mandatory 'probably a little too strong' swing downward with his sword, after all.

Oh, of course not.

Which was probably why at this point Arthur kind of saw it coming, shifting sideways as he caught the blow and throwing his shoulder straight back and forward into Zack's own body. Fast, and agile, and utterly without mercy?

Why, you could almost say Arthur might have needed a fight as much as Zack did.

Well, Zack certainly felt that, and he tripped along a little from the impact, taking a sharp breath in an attempt to shake it off. He didn't really want mercy, anyhow. If he was in this to win the fight, he might even be frustrated about the ease which Arthur thwacked him aside with.

As it stood, he was mostly just here to get his knuckles scraped up.

And that was why he was twisting around, body, sword, and all, and swinging back today, trying to thrust the pommel of his weapon hard and solid against Arthur's ribs.

Bruise on your ribs says you're alive.

Or something.

Arthur took it with a grunt, his mouth twisting into a dark little smirk as the pain spiralled up into his brain and wiped out some of the past few days' worries for a moment or two, stumbling back and away from Zack's sword, bringing his own up to counter any follow-ups as soon as he could.

Alive was good. Zack was definitely a huge fan of 'alive,' lately.

He didn't care that the sword in the way meant that he wasn't going to hit Arthur. He was just bringing his around again to clash heavily against Arthur's blade. Steel on steel. He loved that sound.

"We should almost be doing this outside," Zack noted, "it's a little cloudy, but there's still sun out there."

"Perhaps after the reserve, if you're still up for it," he gritted out, as the pain receded.

Being a massive pain to all of your friends was one fashion of stress relief, but it didn't quite amount to this - steel on steel. He shoved Zack's sword out of the way, almost playfully, then kicked out for his knee.

Boot to flesh could also be very satisfying.

It was satisfying, even on the receiving end. Zack stepped back only enough to avoid any serious sort of damage, but he still let that kick connect, grinned a little in spite of the ache in his leg.

That would bruise.

That was fine.

"I'm going to collect on that, then," he decided, rearing backward with his sword just to bring it downward again. No, he wasn't exactly making big on stunning strategy, today. Why?

Nothing quite like fighting someone who was as equally into the idea of beating up on and thoroughly being beaten upon by someone else.

Not dirty, narrative. Not dirty.

But worthy of that smirk all the same, as Arthur let Zack's swing catch off his own sword - "With a poor go like this, I wonder if it would even be worth my time," - before shoving his own sword up with a suddenness, had to avoid being predictable, and kneeing up towards his gut.

Oop, knee in the gut. Which, in retrospect, didn't hurt anything like a chunk of wood skewering your heart and making your body sizzle and disintegrate into dust... But it still hurt, pressing armor painfully against those squishy insides of his, and had Zack doubling over at the impact.

He wasn't about to let this fight end so easily, though. This wasn't training, this was therapy, and Zack wasn't going to go down unless he couldn't stand up anymore.

In almost the same motion that saw him bending over, he let go of his sword with one hand, reaching his free arm down in an attempt to hook it around the underside of Arthur's knee. His other elbow, meanwhile, was headed somewhere toward whatever meaty chunk of Arthur Zack could throw it at. He wasn't looking that way, after all.

Yes. Therapy was a good word.

And much like it was a good word, this was a good thing, this wasn't desolation, this wasn't worry, this wasn't long fraught silences with a man who might die the next day or with a boy you had complicated feelings for and it wasn't questions you didn't have answers to and it wasn't a great deal of other things.

It was violence. Arthur was good at violence.

So as Zack caught his knee, and Arthur's side split with the same kind of pain as his ribcage, Arthur's fist was heading for Zack's cheek, punching hard and with absolutely no restraint.

Zack was pretty sure that he wasn't supposed to see sparkles out of one eye like that. He hadn't cast anything. So, that was the impact of Arthur's fist on his face, and ow, it hurt, and that was going to leave a nice, welcome sort of bruise too.

If Zack had been at all tired before, he sure as hell wasn't now. He was wide awake and seeing spots, and holding tightly to the knee he'd grabbed as he jerked upward, standing, trying to get Arthur perhaps even a little off-balance.

It was hard to stay on balance when someone had your knee, but that wasn't going to stop Arthur from planning ahead, shifting as much of his weight onto his other foot so he could catch himself as he fell, one arm planted firmly on the floor.

Arthur was not a breakdancer, mind. His sword hit the floor with a clatter long enough for him to twist and try to grab it again, rolling to get back into position to get onto his feet.

On his feet again, huh?

Well, naturally, that meant that there was a large armored shoulder barrelling toward Arthur and his guts, yes. Zack had the added bonus of being a puppy and a tank, see?

Very useful.

At least Arthur had had a minute to steady himself, to shift, to strategize--

To bring up the edge of what was thankfully a practice sword without a real cutting edge to catch Zack across the stomach as he approached, and hopefully do some damage while Arthur's side caught the brunt of the blow.

One of these days, Zack would actually find a practise sword that was a length that he could work with. In the meantime, he'd make do with trying to smack people around with the flat of his blade, instead.

... A strategy that didn't do him any good at the moment. Alas.

Once again, there was the pain of impact. Which, really, meant mostly that Zack wasn't straightening up right away. Which meant, additionally, that the best Zack had to dish out was a fist headed upward toward Arthur's jaw. After all, he was flexible, but that didn't mean he was quite flexible enough to do anything with his blade from this position.

Well, Arthur was going to have to give him points for effort, there, as the blow struck him right across the jaw, and at that point he just kind of abandoned his sword in order to punch Zack straight back a second time.

In the face, yes. Downwards, and hard. No one marked his face with anything - although it didn't feel like it was going to bruise too much - and got away with it.

Aaaand there went Zack's nose again, with a crunch and a spurt of blood, his blood, which resulted... Mostly in Zack tossing his sword aside and coming at Arthur with another punch for the middle, actually. He'd worry about his bleeding face later.

Once he was done grinning about it. His own blood! Because he could bleed and he was alive and that was awesome.

Yes, yes, blood was a good thing.

As was Arthur's hand shooting forwards for Zack's wrist, looking to snag and twist it before it struck anything.

Oop, twisting hurt.

Zack grit his teeth a little at that, but wasn't about to give up and tap out just yet. He still had another fist, after all, and Arthur could catch it and do the same to it as well, for all Zack cared. He was still going to throw another punch toward those very same guts.

Because he could!

Well, this had been fun so far, but it was about time to put an end to it. As Zack punched, he shoved, bringing his knee up again, catching the fist across an already-bruised rib - ow - but failing to stop.

And another one to the guts. At this rate, Zack was going to have to take a mouthful of potion just to keep from having to worry about internal bleeding, wasn't he?

Zack didn't think he was done just yet. But he was taking a few staggering steps backward, trying to get air into his lungs again.

Arthur wasn't particularly in to rupture any guts, but his own were staring to hurt as it was. He stretched his back straight, and then went for it-- a standing sweep with one leg at Zack's knee, intent to bring him down for the moment.

And, try as he might, Zack really couldn't get out of the way in time to avoid that sweep, and so down he went, toppling to his knees.

Ow, his knees.

... And then there went the rest of his balance and Zack flopped backward, sitting on his behind on the floor with an oof.

A few moments later, Arthur was leaning over him.

"Got you again," he said, conversationally. "I swear, Zack, one day, you'll start trying."

He enjoyed that part way too much.

Zack blinked up at Arthur, reaching up a hand in an effort to get his bleeding nose to let up.

"Yeah, I guess I'll have to try that sometime, huh?"

...

And then he kicked out a foot in a low sweep at Arthur's ankles, grinning.

Which resulted in a truly massive leap backwards that had Arthur going, "Honestly," before he'd even gotten onto his feet.

"Well, it was worth a shot!" Zack frowned at the blood on his fingers for a moment, and then shrugged and put his hand back to his nose. "One of these days, I'm going to remember to bring tissue to these things."

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The Salle, Tuesday Morning

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