Post by Alexandros Skouriá on Aug 7, 2019 5:06:01 GMT -5
It had been an uneventful day, the sort that was filled with lectures and not much else.
Alex made his way to the accommodation block he would be calling home for the next few years, and with as much tact as a bored, tired teenager could muster opened the door to his room. He needed something to do -- something to wake him up, more than anything -- after such a mindless day of schooling. For a minute or two, the youth stood deep in paralyzing thought over just what to do with the afternoon; the city was always an option of course, but it wasn't one that was kind to his bank account. Ideas came forward and retreated back into his brain with the grace and efficiency of a well-oiled machine, yet none had managed to really capture his imagination. Suppose I'll just train, he decided, better than nothing. In no rush, he had changed from his uniform into something more casual, and stuffed a clean change of clothes into a duffel bag along with a towel and canteen of water. That'll do it, he assured himself.
Haven's indoor facilities were certainly a sight to behold. The larger complex was divided into a number of smaller groups, with some of those groups themselves being divided down again for one reason or another. First on his list would be the aquatic centre; it was a behemoth of a thing, offering far more pools than it needed to, with the star of the show being a huge, heated, multi-lane affair. Alex had never been all that fond of swimming earlier in his life, but took quite a liking to it in the two-or-so years he spent before his acceptance into the academy. Previous distaste aside, the young Skouriá stripped down to no more than swim trunks and dove off into the chlorine-rich blue.
Some thirty minutes passed, all of them spent cutting laps back in forth in different stroke combinations, sometimes aiming for speed in his traversal from one side to the other and sometimes instead for his own mental review of how 'technically' he moved. None of his times were terribly impressive, but he knew they did not need to be; it was more important, Alex decided, to simply get better at what he could already do, and not waste willpower on setting records beyond the occasional personal best. It was an effort, to be sure, but one worth undertaking in the name of his growth as a Huntsman. Satisfied, Alexandros crossed the items off his mental checklist and prepared to move on to the gym. This, as he so acutely understood, was where the fun could truly begin.
Dry? Yeah. Clean? Yeah.
Instinctively slipping on reinforced gloves as he walked, the boy made his way to the gym, then to the sandbags and speedballs where he quickly found that he was not alone. Alexandros paused, and used the moment to fully absorb what he was seeing. Standing there, in proper stance, effortlessly throwing combination blows at the heavy target, was a small young woman. Her movements suggested that -- not unlike Alex himself -- she was another prospective champion who chose to use the body as a weapon, but there was something awkward and uncanny to it. Between the exertions and dull 'thuds' of impact with the sandbag, mechanical sounds faintly clanked and whirred; it was only on a second, closer inspection that he noticed the peculiar brace affixed to her.
Alexandros thought for a moment on whether it'd be right to say anything at all, lest he spoil what was so obviously a keen focus from the tiny boxer. As he umm'd and aah'd in search of words, the veritable assault on the sandbag came to an end in a hard punch driven all the way up through her right arm. It was nothing to sneeze at. Only a scarce few months had been spent during his training over the last few years learning how to box, but it was enough to appreciate the spectacle in front of him. Rigidity and mastery of form and execution was a skill the boy did not possess and instead almost actively avoided, knowing full well that he'd get stuck in his own head whenever the time may come. Were he a professional martial artist -- or, indeed, an amateur -- then things would have been different. The thought was not unfamiliar, and the internal dialogue long-since done to death; in his heart it did not matter, for creativity and adaptability was that which had so firmly impressed upon his soul as a Huntman's greatest asset.
Still, he did wonder: this girl was here. She had obviously proven herself to be capable, no doubt through a demonstration much the same as the one he had just seen. If it was worthy of recognition from those far greater than he, then the least which Alex could offer was his own appraisal.
In the end, he opted for a simple and well-pointed truth.
"Nice form." Alex chimed with a grin, though with enough hush to the two simple words to not catch her off-guard. He himself had been startled by all sorts stupid little things when his mind was deeply focused on a task, and so took some care in the way he made his presence known. "You must have a good coach, huh?" It was a question which he hoped may spark a decent little conversation, though not before addressing something more important.
He slipped off his right glove and offered out a hand to shake, introducing himself with nothing more than his name and a smile. "Alexandros," he said.
--
WC 947/947
Alex made his way to the accommodation block he would be calling home for the next few years, and with as much tact as a bored, tired teenager could muster opened the door to his room. He needed something to do -- something to wake him up, more than anything -- after such a mindless day of schooling. For a minute or two, the youth stood deep in paralyzing thought over just what to do with the afternoon; the city was always an option of course, but it wasn't one that was kind to his bank account. Ideas came forward and retreated back into his brain with the grace and efficiency of a well-oiled machine, yet none had managed to really capture his imagination. Suppose I'll just train, he decided, better than nothing. In no rush, he had changed from his uniform into something more casual, and stuffed a clean change of clothes into a duffel bag along with a towel and canteen of water. That'll do it, he assured himself.
Haven's indoor facilities were certainly a sight to behold. The larger complex was divided into a number of smaller groups, with some of those groups themselves being divided down again for one reason or another. First on his list would be the aquatic centre; it was a behemoth of a thing, offering far more pools than it needed to, with the star of the show being a huge, heated, multi-lane affair. Alex had never been all that fond of swimming earlier in his life, but took quite a liking to it in the two-or-so years he spent before his acceptance into the academy. Previous distaste aside, the young Skouriá stripped down to no more than swim trunks and dove off into the chlorine-rich blue.
Some thirty minutes passed, all of them spent cutting laps back in forth in different stroke combinations, sometimes aiming for speed in his traversal from one side to the other and sometimes instead for his own mental review of how 'technically' he moved. None of his times were terribly impressive, but he knew they did not need to be; it was more important, Alex decided, to simply get better at what he could already do, and not waste willpower on setting records beyond the occasional personal best. It was an effort, to be sure, but one worth undertaking in the name of his growth as a Huntsman. Satisfied, Alexandros crossed the items off his mental checklist and prepared to move on to the gym. This, as he so acutely understood, was where the fun could truly begin.
Dry? Yeah. Clean? Yeah.
Instinctively slipping on reinforced gloves as he walked, the boy made his way to the gym, then to the sandbags and speedballs where he quickly found that he was not alone. Alexandros paused, and used the moment to fully absorb what he was seeing. Standing there, in proper stance, effortlessly throwing combination blows at the heavy target, was a small young woman. Her movements suggested that -- not unlike Alex himself -- she was another prospective champion who chose to use the body as a weapon, but there was something awkward and uncanny to it. Between the exertions and dull 'thuds' of impact with the sandbag, mechanical sounds faintly clanked and whirred; it was only on a second, closer inspection that he noticed the peculiar brace affixed to her.
Alexandros thought for a moment on whether it'd be right to say anything at all, lest he spoil what was so obviously a keen focus from the tiny boxer. As he umm'd and aah'd in search of words, the veritable assault on the sandbag came to an end in a hard punch driven all the way up through her right arm. It was nothing to sneeze at. Only a scarce few months had been spent during his training over the last few years learning how to box, but it was enough to appreciate the spectacle in front of him. Rigidity and mastery of form and execution was a skill the boy did not possess and instead almost actively avoided, knowing full well that he'd get stuck in his own head whenever the time may come. Were he a professional martial artist -- or, indeed, an amateur -- then things would have been different. The thought was not unfamiliar, and the internal dialogue long-since done to death; in his heart it did not matter, for creativity and adaptability was that which had so firmly impressed upon his soul as a Huntman's greatest asset.
Still, he did wonder: this girl was here. She had obviously proven herself to be capable, no doubt through a demonstration much the same as the one he had just seen. If it was worthy of recognition from those far greater than he, then the least which Alex could offer was his own appraisal.
In the end, he opted for a simple and well-pointed truth.
"Nice form." Alex chimed with a grin, though with enough hush to the two simple words to not catch her off-guard. He himself had been startled by all sorts stupid little things when his mind was deeply focused on a task, and so took some care in the way he made his presence known. "You must have a good coach, huh?" It was a question which he hoped may spark a decent little conversation, though not before addressing something more important.
He slipped off his right glove and offered out a hand to shake, introducing himself with nothing more than his name and a smile. "Alexandros," he said.
--
WC 947/947