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Post by YOSHIRO MIFUNE on Apr 13, 2012 4:27:27 GMT -5
Clack. Clack. Clack. The cane clacked noisily against the wooden floors as the old man wandered down the corridors. He moved slowly, much in line with the way society would view an old man - weak and slow. After today, he was certain the kid would be aware that he was most certainly anything but, but there were advantages to making yourself look weaker and feebler than you actually were. For starters, people were more willing to do your work for you, which made the matter of moving furniture nothing more than pointing to a random stranger and saying "Could you help me?". But he was strong, stronger than people gave him credit for. This kid learned first hand how strong.
Standing by the door to the kid's room, he peered in to see the kid had already woken up. Well, that settled one matter. At the very least, there didn't seem to be permanent damage. But the kid's eyes... They looked far different to how they normally looked. There didn't seem to be any of the stubbornness, any of the wild temper or impatience. No, they seemed to be drowned out by an overwhelming melancholy that seemed to overcome the boy. From behind the door the old man sighed, clamping his index finger and thumb over the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. Of course the kid would react this way - how else would a teenager react? He swore, the minds of the young brats completely escaped him. Shaking his head, he wandered slowly into the room, staring up at the kid. Intentionally he stamped the end of the cane into the floorboards, making a loud clack to get his attention.
"Alright, alright. Up, are we? What's your name? Your age? Your hometown?" he asked the kid questions quickly on the fly to see if he could answer. No reason to put the kid through brain damage anyway. When he was satisfied with whatever response the kid gave him, he would continue, stepping into the room and walking over to the side of the bed, staring down at the kid. "At the very least, you don't seem to have any permanent damage... But looking at you now, you'd think you just lost your legs," Yoshiro remarked, his eyes sharpening on the young boy. Just what was the young boy even thinking? He swore, kids these days. He couldn't understand a single one of 'em.
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Post by THOMAS C. FARRELL on Apr 13, 2012 10:45:31 GMT -5
Broken Wings.Thomas heard the clacking of the cane on the wood of the floor before he actually saw the old man out of the corner of his eye. It seemed he'd been doing other things while he'd been out of it. Though, it wasn't a surprise that Farrell had finally succumbed after three blows to the head. He just couldn't understand it. How was there such a power gap in their fighting styles that he couldn't even scratch his teacher? Even though he'd trained for so long... and so hard... it was true that he didn't have an ounce of talent when it came to swordplay. But was his practice and toil all for nothing?
"Alright, alright. Up, are we? What's your name? Your age? Your hometown?" The old man seemed impatient to be started again. Not even a question as to how he was feeling. At first, Thomas didn't reply, but he mumbled the correct information.
"Thomas Caeden Farrell. Eighteen. Shimikatsu."
Seemingly satisfied by the begrudged answers, the man's deep glottal voice continued. "At the very least, you don't seem to have any permanent damage... But looking at you now, you'd think you just lost your legs."
"You can't lose what you've never had." Thomas retorted, refusing to budged from the ground. "How can there be such a difference between us? It's like no matter how I try, I can't... There's a wall that separates people like you from people like me." A high, intimidating wall that separates the masters from the students. A wall that one may never surpass in one's lifetime. How does one overcome it? How does one make steps upward on a plateau? Should he just give up now? With such a sound defeat, his confidence in himself and what he'd been doing with his life had been shaken to the core. Swordsmanship had been all he'd ever known, and there were people who could still play with him as though he were a child. It was degrading to think that he'd wasted his life on something he wasn't cut out to do and that he was being scorned for it now when it was too late for him to change.
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