saturday exercise
Olympiad, RPS
Not Swimming!! :O
PG-13, Yang Wei, Jonathan Horton (artistic gymnastics)
Disclaimer: Not real! Not even pretending to be real!!
8/23/2008 9:06 AM
"Cowboys and Daredevils"
This meeting never took place.
Coming off the platform after his routine in the 2008 Gymnastics Gala, Jonathan Horton of Houston, Texas never bumped into Yang Wei of Wuhan, Hubei. With only an inch difference in height, both men tiny outside the world of gymnastics, there wouldn't have been much to keep them from meeting gazes, eye to eye.
Yang has the extra inch, Horton is stockier. And five years younger.
Yang now finally has permission to marry his sweetheart. Horton is not engaged.
Since it never happened, we know it could not have gone anything like this:
During competition, the entire venue was usually fully illuminated, but for the Gala, a 'show' type lighting was used, leaving the edges of the venue in near darkness. The transition from brightly lit platform to the dimness of 'off stage' left Jonathan blinded, though the residual flashes from cameras in the audience added the impression of stars twinkling.
His impact with another body was a little harder than it might have been because Jonny was still pumped up, tired, yes, exhausted from training and competition and stress, but the flying, and the cheers... there had never been a more exhilarating feeling and he was a little drunk with it. He didn't, however, want to run anybody down!
His hands reached out instinctively to catch the other, and hands reached out to grab him just as automatically. Calluses unmistakable, each recognized the other as a gymnast, but the man he had blundered into had actually seen him coming, and not moved aside purposefully.
"Hey, sorry, man... oh, uh, dow keeyan..." The uniform was unmistakably one of the Chinese gymnastics team and Jonathan stumbled over the words, pretty sure he was murdering them.
Dark eyes met the American's, quite understanding what the younger man was groping for. Yang Wei, however, did not let go.
"Bright lights," he said, his own English passable but better at understanding and reading than speaking.
"Yeah, the lights are real bright," Jonny replied with a little laugh, relieved than he'd been understood. Then his eyes adjusted and he got a better look at the man in front of him, and recognized his features.
Realized he'd just all but bowled over the Chinese Gold Medalist.
Before more apologies could spew from his lips, in Texas-accented English this time, Wei gave him a brief shake. This wouldn't be a long encounter, there were too many demands on the National Champion's time, even now. But he wasn't sorry fate had guided the American in this direction.
The shake got Jonny's attention, had him searching the other man's expression, wondering what was up. Yang Wei. This man was incredible, he'd watched him, knew of him. In these games, he had earned every iota of Jonathan's respect by the grit, determination and the difficulty of his routines. At times he'd seemed cold, to the American, but earlier tonight, in the Gala...
"That was great," he said in a rush, a grin breaking over features apt to the expression. Hoping the other man would understand through the language barrier. "With the pommel horse... that was really cool!"
The 'cold' Gold Medalist had given the most creative performance of any of them, pantomiming an intro to his incredible series of flares, inviting the audience to see the apparatus as a real horse, that could throw a rider, that had to be coaxed, and made friends with. It had stunned Jonny.
Wei's eyes crinkled at the corners, his mouth stretching in a restrained smile. He inclined his head, acknowledging the praise.
He had words of his own for the young American.
"You a cowboy? From Texas?" Wei knew all the names and brief bios of all the American team, and many of the others, Japanese, Belaruse, Romanian..
That caught Jonny off guard and he laughed again, feeling heat in his cheeks.
"I'm from Texas, yes sir," he said, nodding. Then he added, with a hint of a sharper grin, "Not so much a cowboy though. I bet you'd make a better cowboy than I would!"
There was amusement in Wei's look, but something else there too. "Cowboy," he repeated, confirming. What it meant to the Chinese man might be a little different than Jonathan Horton was thinking. That flash of energy the young man projected.
"Paul Hamm..."
Jonathan sobered at the mention of the American champion. He met Wei's gaze, his own straight and clever. "I guess his bad luck was good luck for you, huh?"
It could have been taken as an insult but Wei was pretty clever himself, and his smile was sharp. "Good luck for you too."
"Yes," Jonny said honestly. "Yes it was. But I guess we both had to be ready for it, didn't we?"
"Yes, always be ready for good luck." You could try to be ready for bad luck too, but it rarely made as much of a difference. Wei studied the young man, drawn to the reckless fire in him. There were younger gymnasts on his own team that he would no doubt help train, and groom, to meet the next challenge in four years, in London, but Yang Wei was done with competing.
His hand, still gripping Jonathan Horton lightly, squeezed for a moment. "Cowboy."
Jonny grinned, that fire that drew Wei flaring up a bit. "Nah. I'm not a cowboy."
"Then what are you?"
"Daredevil."
Wei's laugh was low but genuine. In his culture, this one was a young dragon. And sometimes dragons flared brightly and then fell from the sky.
Wei's grip shifted, drew the American closer, breath puffed against Jonny's ear and then lips grazed, sending a thrill like the swift pull of a razor over taught nerves.
"Okay, dare devil. Work hard. Be ready for good luck. And don't crash."
I'll be watching.
Stunned, Jonny stood frozen as Wei moved back, touched his temple it a hint of a salute, and moved around him, walking away.
His blood surged, heart pounded, and something that curled and roared settled in his belly.
He was still standing there when Alexander walked by, gave him a nudge.
"Jonny? Something wrong?"
Shaking himself, Jonathan looked over, found a grin, and shook his head. "Nah, nothing. So how about it? Weren't the girls great?"
"Yeah," Artemev answered, giving a brief, puzzled laugh and letting it go. "Come on, let's go congratulate Shawn."
Never a word was said by Jonny of the brief encounter.
Because of course, it never happened.
8/23/2008 10:23 AM
Not Swimming!! :O
PG-13, Yang Wei, Jonathan Horton (artistic gymnastics)
Disclaimer: Not real! Not even pretending to be real!!
8/23/2008 9:06 AM
"Cowboys and Daredevils"
This meeting never took place.
Coming off the platform after his routine in the 2008 Gymnastics Gala, Jonathan Horton of Houston, Texas never bumped into Yang Wei of Wuhan, Hubei. With only an inch difference in height, both men tiny outside the world of gymnastics, there wouldn't have been much to keep them from meeting gazes, eye to eye.
Yang has the extra inch, Horton is stockier. And five years younger.
Yang now finally has permission to marry his sweetheart. Horton is not engaged.
Since it never happened, we know it could not have gone anything like this:
During competition, the entire venue was usually fully illuminated, but for the Gala, a 'show' type lighting was used, leaving the edges of the venue in near darkness. The transition from brightly lit platform to the dimness of 'off stage' left Jonathan blinded, though the residual flashes from cameras in the audience added the impression of stars twinkling.
His impact with another body was a little harder than it might have been because Jonny was still pumped up, tired, yes, exhausted from training and competition and stress, but the flying, and the cheers... there had never been a more exhilarating feeling and he was a little drunk with it. He didn't, however, want to run anybody down!
His hands reached out instinctively to catch the other, and hands reached out to grab him just as automatically. Calluses unmistakable, each recognized the other as a gymnast, but the man he had blundered into had actually seen him coming, and not moved aside purposefully.
"Hey, sorry, man... oh, uh, dow keeyan..." The uniform was unmistakably one of the Chinese gymnastics team and Jonathan stumbled over the words, pretty sure he was murdering them.
Dark eyes met the American's, quite understanding what the younger man was groping for. Yang Wei, however, did not let go.
"Bright lights," he said, his own English passable but better at understanding and reading than speaking.
"Yeah, the lights are real bright," Jonny replied with a little laugh, relieved than he'd been understood. Then his eyes adjusted and he got a better look at the man in front of him, and recognized his features.
Realized he'd just all but bowled over the Chinese Gold Medalist.
Before more apologies could spew from his lips, in Texas-accented English this time, Wei gave him a brief shake. This wouldn't be a long encounter, there were too many demands on the National Champion's time, even now. But he wasn't sorry fate had guided the American in this direction.
The shake got Jonny's attention, had him searching the other man's expression, wondering what was up. Yang Wei. This man was incredible, he'd watched him, knew of him. In these games, he had earned every iota of Jonathan's respect by the grit, determination and the difficulty of his routines. At times he'd seemed cold, to the American, but earlier tonight, in the Gala...
"That was great," he said in a rush, a grin breaking over features apt to the expression. Hoping the other man would understand through the language barrier. "With the pommel horse... that was really cool!"
The 'cold' Gold Medalist had given the most creative performance of any of them, pantomiming an intro to his incredible series of flares, inviting the audience to see the apparatus as a real horse, that could throw a rider, that had to be coaxed, and made friends with. It had stunned Jonny.
Wei's eyes crinkled at the corners, his mouth stretching in a restrained smile. He inclined his head, acknowledging the praise.
He had words of his own for the young American.
"You a cowboy? From Texas?" Wei knew all the names and brief bios of all the American team, and many of the others, Japanese, Belaruse, Romanian..
That caught Jonny off guard and he laughed again, feeling heat in his cheeks.
"I'm from Texas, yes sir," he said, nodding. Then he added, with a hint of a sharper grin, "Not so much a cowboy though. I bet you'd make a better cowboy than I would!"
There was amusement in Wei's look, but something else there too. "Cowboy," he repeated, confirming. What it meant to the Chinese man might be a little different than Jonathan Horton was thinking. That flash of energy the young man projected.
"Paul Hamm..."
Jonathan sobered at the mention of the American champion. He met Wei's gaze, his own straight and clever. "I guess his bad luck was good luck for you, huh?"
It could have been taken as an insult but Wei was pretty clever himself, and his smile was sharp. "Good luck for you too."
"Yes," Jonny said honestly. "Yes it was. But I guess we both had to be ready for it, didn't we?"
"Yes, always be ready for good luck." You could try to be ready for bad luck too, but it rarely made as much of a difference. Wei studied the young man, drawn to the reckless fire in him. There were younger gymnasts on his own team that he would no doubt help train, and groom, to meet the next challenge in four years, in London, but Yang Wei was done with competing.
His hand, still gripping Jonathan Horton lightly, squeezed for a moment. "Cowboy."
Jonny grinned, that fire that drew Wei flaring up a bit. "Nah. I'm not a cowboy."
"Then what are you?"
"Daredevil."
Wei's laugh was low but genuine. In his culture, this one was a young dragon. And sometimes dragons flared brightly and then fell from the sky.
Wei's grip shifted, drew the American closer, breath puffed against Jonny's ear and then lips grazed, sending a thrill like the swift pull of a razor over taught nerves.
"Okay, dare devil. Work hard. Be ready for good luck. And don't crash."
I'll be watching.
Stunned, Jonny stood frozen as Wei moved back, touched his temple it a hint of a salute, and moved around him, walking away.
His blood surged, heart pounded, and something that curled and roared settled in his belly.
He was still standing there when Alexander walked by, gave him a nudge.
"Jonny? Something wrong?"
Shaking himself, Jonathan looked over, found a grin, and shook his head. "Nah, nothing. So how about it? Weren't the girls great?"
"Yeah," Artemev answered, giving a brief, puzzled laugh and letting it go. "Come on, let's go congratulate Shawn."
Never a word was said by Jonny of the brief encounter.
Because of course, it never happened.
8/23/2008 10:23 AM