Post by Colton Deraine on Jan 13, 2019 22:02:51 GMT -5
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Bravery is believing in yourself, and that's one thing nobody can teach you.
Breathe.
His breath was visible this time of year, especially this far north. It was cold, but Colt needed to take a breather. Tonight was the night before the Fifteenth Mistral Regional Tournament, and the pressure was on. He was the winner of the last tournament, and thus expected to do well. He was expected to make a deep run and contend to be the first ever two-time winner of the event. Stress didn’t normally get to him, but honestly the night before any big event was always the absolute fucking worst.
It was one thing for things to just happen. There was no preparation time, and honestly the Argus native preferred that a hell of a lot more. There was no time to think and run through every scenario, no time to overthink and over plan or to consider every awful thing that could happen. Once he was there, he would loosen up and be in his element… but until he was actually out there on the stage for his first match, he was going to be a raw bundle of nerves.
While his aura was controlled enough to protect him from at least the brunt of the cold, he still preferred to wear jackets and other winter clothing just the same. A brown leather jacket all zipped up covered his torso, and thick blue jeans had his legs covered. Brown leather boots completed the ensemble, and those very same boots crunched the snow underneath him as he meandered around the park. He was a little ways away from the school, and would have to get back before it got too late to ensure that he wasn’t sleep deprived by the time his actual match started.
While he was perfectly willing to go off alone in the middle of the night, Colton also wasn’t an idiot. Regret, his backsword, was sheathed at his left hip and his right arm had Omen, his shield, all curled up and protecting the majority of his left arm like a vambrace. Argus might be a relatively peaceful town, but it was absolutely better to be prepared and able to use his semblance and not need it rather than this of all days being the one where he was attacked by a mugger or something and unable to use his semblance or his weapons at all due to lack of available metals.
Parks in Mistral were places to get closer to nature, yes, but every park had at least one statue or other monument in it as well. It was tradition in Mistral to honor local heroes in the small nature preserves, usually soldiers of the Great War or Huntsman who lost their lives in the line of duty. This park was no different, and there was a statue in the middle of it that showed a pair of empty boots and a bow being stuck in the ground with the standard issue helmet sitting at the top of the bow, with the names of every Argus native who died in the Great War engraved underneath on the marble base.
He stopped moving when he was in front of the monument and just stared up at it silently. Hands moved behind his back as he rocked his weight back and forth, trying to calm himself down. This was just a tournament, and even if he lost in the first round of The Blitz his ticket to Haven Academy was still secured. This wasn’t life or death, and to be frank the only thing injured if he ended up losing would be his pride. The stakes weren’t even that high, though the scenarios of terrible shit that could happen still ran through his head in an endless loop.
What if he matched up a fire semblance? What if he faced a top ranker early on who was better than he was? What if he fucked up and tripped or something? What if those Arcadia Academy kids had studied his tape a little too well from last year and had a master plan to deal with him that they shared around the school? What if he accidentally slept through his match starting? What if he really needed to go to the bathroom when his name was called? What would he even do in a situation like that, ask for an extension or run up and hope for the best? What if his weapon malfunctioned and cost him a match?
Breathe.
Breathe.
Brown eyes forcibly closed and the teenager forced all of these negative and paranoid thoughts from his mind as best he could. He rocked his body weight forward and then back, standing in front of the statue with an outward calmness that was entirely and completely forced. He needed to calm down enough to actually go to sleep, or he really was fucked. He bet that none of the other people competing tomorrow had this issue with fucking nerves.
Damn it, he was doing it again. Despite his best efforts, those doubts just kept gnawing at him and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it sometimes.
His breath was visible this time of year, especially this far north. It was cold, but Colt needed to take a breather. Tonight was the night before the Fifteenth Mistral Regional Tournament, and the pressure was on. He was the winner of the last tournament, and thus expected to do well. He was expected to make a deep run and contend to be the first ever two-time winner of the event. Stress didn’t normally get to him, but honestly the night before any big event was always the absolute fucking worst.
It was one thing for things to just happen. There was no preparation time, and honestly the Argus native preferred that a hell of a lot more. There was no time to think and run through every scenario, no time to overthink and over plan or to consider every awful thing that could happen. Once he was there, he would loosen up and be in his element… but until he was actually out there on the stage for his first match, he was going to be a raw bundle of nerves.
While his aura was controlled enough to protect him from at least the brunt of the cold, he still preferred to wear jackets and other winter clothing just the same. A brown leather jacket all zipped up covered his torso, and thick blue jeans had his legs covered. Brown leather boots completed the ensemble, and those very same boots crunched the snow underneath him as he meandered around the park. He was a little ways away from the school, and would have to get back before it got too late to ensure that he wasn’t sleep deprived by the time his actual match started.
While he was perfectly willing to go off alone in the middle of the night, Colton also wasn’t an idiot. Regret, his backsword, was sheathed at his left hip and his right arm had Omen, his shield, all curled up and protecting the majority of his left arm like a vambrace. Argus might be a relatively peaceful town, but it was absolutely better to be prepared and able to use his semblance and not need it rather than this of all days being the one where he was attacked by a mugger or something and unable to use his semblance or his weapons at all due to lack of available metals.
Parks in Mistral were places to get closer to nature, yes, but every park had at least one statue or other monument in it as well. It was tradition in Mistral to honor local heroes in the small nature preserves, usually soldiers of the Great War or Huntsman who lost their lives in the line of duty. This park was no different, and there was a statue in the middle of it that showed a pair of empty boots and a bow being stuck in the ground with the standard issue helmet sitting at the top of the bow, with the names of every Argus native who died in the Great War engraved underneath on the marble base.
He stopped moving when he was in front of the monument and just stared up at it silently. Hands moved behind his back as he rocked his weight back and forth, trying to calm himself down. This was just a tournament, and even if he lost in the first round of The Blitz his ticket to Haven Academy was still secured. This wasn’t life or death, and to be frank the only thing injured if he ended up losing would be his pride. The stakes weren’t even that high, though the scenarios of terrible shit that could happen still ran through his head in an endless loop.
What if he matched up a fire semblance? What if he faced a top ranker early on who was better than he was? What if he fucked up and tripped or something? What if those Arcadia Academy kids had studied his tape a little too well from last year and had a master plan to deal with him that they shared around the school? What if he accidentally slept through his match starting? What if he really needed to go to the bathroom when his name was called? What would he even do in a situation like that, ask for an extension or run up and hope for the best? What if his weapon malfunctioned and cost him a match?
Breathe.
Breathe.
Brown eyes forcibly closed and the teenager forced all of these negative and paranoid thoughts from his mind as best he could. He rocked his body weight forward and then back, standing in front of the statue with an outward calmness that was entirely and completely forced. He needed to calm down enough to actually go to sleep, or he really was fucked. He bet that none of the other people competing tomorrow had this issue with fucking nerves.
Damn it, he was doing it again. Despite his best efforts, those doubts just kept gnawing at him and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it sometimes.
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MADE BY MIZO