Discipline and Skill
Title: Discipline and Skill
Author: Amata le Fay
Story: Force-Benders
Flavor(s): Peach Pie 6 (labor conquers all things), Pomegranate 14 (stakeout/surveillance), Flavor of the Day (tractate: a treatise; essay)
Toppings: Chopped Nuts, Hot Fudge, Whipped Cream
Extras: None
Rating: PG13, for language
Word Count: 430
Notes: Pseudo-medieval AU, same universe as Valor and Arms. This takes place a couple weeks after that. Concrit welcome.
Machiatrellos watched from the shadows as the boy lunged and swung at imaginary foes. Mattaso was actually pretty graceful with a sword, or at least a lot less clumsy than he had been just a few days ago. The difference was startlingly obvious; it was as if he had improved overnight. Seeing as that kind of thing generally didn't happen to people, Machiatrellos had decided to follow his fellow page's nighttime activities in order to get a clue about what he was up against.
After a few more seconds of slashing and stabbing the air, Mattaso drew his sword close to his side and stood still, back turned. “Should have known you'd be trailing me.”
Machiatrellos started a little at the sound of the other boy's voice-how had he known he was even there?-but then regained his composure and coolly replied, “Yes. You should have.” He smirked a little. “And I should have realized earlier that you were up to disreputable activities in the night.”
Mattaso let out a bark of laughter. “And you wished to join me?”
“More like report you, actually.” He stepped forward, making his way around the sword racks and practice dummies of the training room until he was right behind the other boy, who still hadn't turned around.
“And here I thought you were anti-authority.”
“Well, then, you don't know me,” he said, drawing one of the swords from a nearby rack. He fingered the hilt delicately, a grin spreading across his face. He did love a good blade. “With authority, against authority-I don't give a damn about that as long as I am the authority.”
A beat. “Was that supposed to be a threat?” he asked.
“What do you think it was?” Machiatrellos circled around so he could see Mattaso's face, which-much to his confusion-was neither angry nor afraid. “Now, answer me this: what are you doing here and how did you manage to learn the fine points of swordfighting in a manner of days? 'Cause none of this is normal, you understand.”
Rather cavalierly, Mattaso swung his sword upright so that the flat part of the blade was almost touching his nose. “Practice,” he said.
“Bull,” said Machiatrellos.
Mattaso shrugged, putting his sword back on the rack. “Labor conquers all things.”
Machiatrellos snorted. “What the hell is that, the House of Midskell's creed?”
“No. It's from an essay.” Mattaso grabbed a thin booklet with worn pages from a nearby stand and tossed it at the other boy without missing a beat. “You might find it interesting, given that you're so into conquering things.”