Fic: what's in a handshake
Title: What's in a handshake
Characters: Shura, tiny bits of Aiolos
Word count: ~ 1700 (sorry..)
Warnings: not fun, not fluffy...wouldn't call it angsty either.
<< Aiolos feels Shura's hand to be different. Thru Shura's hard training, his hand is like steel. “What... this hand! Can't fathom it would be trained to this level... Outstanding, Shura...”
The new Capricorn Saint smiled as he guessed his friend’s line of thought, a smile bitter with the memories of this steel-like hand’s making >>
The day was coming to an end, but not fast enough for the apprentice who was tiring by the second. His master seemed to think that breaks and water were completely unnecessary, so training usually went on several hours nonstop. Sometimes a full day would go by in complete silence, broken only by the sound of training, for the master of the ground wasn’t fond of words. He was more likely to direct his student by pushing and hitting than by actually talking and so the hours would pass by in silent strive, with hardly any breaks to let him catch his breath.
Today was one of such days and Shura, at the verge of exhaustion, had already lost the offensive and was now finding it increasingly hard to keep avoiding the man’s blows. Finally, one of the vicious sweeps of his master’s right arm connected straight with his face and sent him flying against the rock behind him. The boy flipped in mid-air, trying to get his legs to take most of the impact and propel himself away from the enclosed space, where it’d be harder to move around the older man’s powerful fists. His movement, however, was cut short when he received a blow on the back that made him fall flat onto the gravel ground.
Spitting blood, Shura pushed his body sideways, knowing that a kick was likely to follow. Rolling away from his master, he staggered back to his feet, wiping the blood from his face while looking left and right for the other man -who seemed to have disappeared. And so it was without seeing it coming that he found himself again against the grayish wall of the mountain, his lean body trapped against the rock with increasing pressure. He had been too tired to even feel his master’s cosmos rising behind him and he knew the Capricorn Saint was probably enraged at the evident mistake.
Thinking madly, Shura tried to elevate his own cosmos while he pushed against the invisible force that had him pinned to the rock. To no avail, for the pressure kept increasing and he heard a rib snap. His master’s black eyes met his, and the saint raised an eyebrow before sending another wave of energy his way.
As another rib cracked under his skin, Shura summoned every bit of his strength to try and free his body from the iron grasp of his master’s cosmos, pushing with his legs up to his stomach and into his upper body -as he had been taught in Greece before they dispatched him back to Spain for his Gold Saint training. His whole body was now concentrated on the task of getting some air into his lungs and pulling the mighty force away from his body. Eyes closed, he gave a final push and felt the energy recede, only to fall back on him a split second later. Empty and defeated, fighting back the tears; the child gave up any further resistance. He just didn’t have anything left in him to fight back with.
He had lost again, as he had every single time he had sparred with his master. And this time there was a clear mistake to mark his defeat. Whenever a fight was lost because of such errors, the Capricorn Saint would glare at him with unhidden contempt and then turn his back and walk back to the house -leaving a hurting Shura to face a night in the open, for he would not accept the kid back into the house after such missteps. It usually took the boy days, even weeks, to regain the meager privilege of his ragged blanket by the fireplace. In the face of the upcoming winter, that would be something to worry about. However, the child was too wasted to properly register the thought, his mind clinging to the only relieve he could muster: the fight was over. And it was then that he realized that the vibrating energy around him hadn’t faltered. It was, if anything, growing.
Shura’s disbelief was quickly replaced by piercing pain, and caught in the agony of his master’s attack the child couldn’t avoid a muffled cry.
- Master, please… please, stop it! I can’t take it anymore, please!!
As soon as the words escaped his mouth, Shura knew he had made yet another mistake. The Capricorn saint had made it very clear when he arrived to the Pyrenees that he was not to talk, under any circumstance, unless spoken to. There were other ways to ask, to beg even, that didn’t involve words. But the pain and the fear had been too great and he had allowed the words to come out.
The pressure against his chest disappeared as his master approached and slapped him hard across the face.
- Haven’t I told you once and again to be quiet, child? Speaking, or even listening to what your opponent says during a combat can only bring you trouble!
With a powerful hand, the Capricorn Saint lifted his apprentice by the collar and slapped him again, throwing him a few steps backwards as he shouted:
- Will I have to cut out that tongue of yours so you’ll understand?
Shura crawled towards his master’s feet, head low and eyes shut tight. He knew his master wasn’t kidding. His fellow trainee had lost his tongue before loosing his mind and jumping off the cliff. The man didn’t consider it was necessary for a Saint to be able to speak and, if he thought his apprentice couldn’t learn that one lesson well enough, he would indeed do as he threatened.
Shura rose to his knees trembling, negating vigorously with his head; his whole body screaming that he had learnt, that he knew he wasn’t allowed to speak and wouldn’t do it again…begging without words, shouting mutely that he did not want to have his tongue ripped off. Shaking with fear, the child laid his forehead on the ground, inches away from his master’s towering figure, biting his lips until blood came out, still negating with his head.
- How much would you like to keep your tongue, little one? How much are you willing to give up?
The Capricorn saint’s voice was like metal scratching stones, and it sent a chill down the kid’s spine as he went on:
- Let’s see if you remember your lessons. How many bones do you have in your right hand? Speak now, child! Don’t make me loose my patience!
The answer came between sobs, for tears had finally found their way down the boy’s bloodied cheeks. The sudden shift in conversation was lost in the panic that filled his heart as he muttered: Twenty-seven, master.
- Good, at least you got that part right. Not that repeating stuff you learnt by heart makes you any smart, or any useful. But at least it shows you were paying attention for once.
Back to our business, though: Let’s say I’ve grown soft and I do indeed intend to let you keep that sharp tongue of yours…for a price. Nothing ever comes free, so you might as well learn that sooner rather than later.
Just to give you the chance to prove me you’re really going to shut your trap for the time being, I’ll break all the bones in your right hand. One by one, all twenty-seven of them. I’ll heal them later, of course. We don’t want to interrupt your training for something as insignificant as a few broken bones. The deal is simple: I don’t hear your voice in the process, you keep your tongue.
Shura jerked his face up at those words. He surely wasn’t meaning he would snap all the bones in his right hand broken…or was he?
- So? What’s your choice? I don’t have the whole day, little rat. What is it going to be, your tongue or your hand?
Sickening thoughts sprang in his mind while Shura tilted his head down, considering his options. He couldn’t fight his master, and the Capricorn Saint was stubborn beyond imagination. Once he set his mind in a punishment, Shura knew he wouldn’t just let go -no matter how much fretting or bootlicking he tried. So that only left two choices. He was not thrilled by any of them, but he knew the bones would heal… while his tongue surely wouldn’t grow back.
He slowly took off the archer’s leather bracelet he wore on his right wrist. It had been a present from his friend Aiolos before he left Sanctuary and had proved very valuable during his “advanced” training. Surpassing its defensive purpose, it had been useful in more ways than one. He held it up in his left hand as he looked up to his master, a silent plea asking to be awarded at least this bit of mercy. When the saint nodded, Shura put the bracelet in his mouth and bit hard into it as he extended his right hand towards the waiting man.
<< His master took for that particular form of punishment during the following years, but it was the repeated stress that his right hand underwent that had eventually made it into the weapon it was today. Or maybe it had been the old Capricorn’s cosmos that lent it its strength, as he brought the broken bones back to their place and shape once and again. Whatever it was, Shura would be forever grateful for that bracelet that kept any sound (save the few pained groans that even the old Capricorn Saint allowed) from coming out of his mouth that afternoon.
Shura smiles.
And this time there is no bitterness, only happiness for the reunion. The past is now gone, and Aiolos and him have a future to enjoy together as Saints of Athena… and friends>>
~~~~~~~~~~
Notes: the few words in italics within the << >> quotes at the beginning and end of the fic were taken from Philip Ho's translation of Side Story
I didn't really know how to make it clear that they weren't my own, hope this suffices! Otherwise, if anyybody has any idea on how to make sure I'm not stepping on somebody's toes, please let me know.
No theft was intended.
Thanks a lot to scorpioyue for pointing out some mistakes (edited now.) My English gives up on me more often that I'd like! :$
Characters: Shura, tiny bits of Aiolos
Word count: ~ 1700 (sorry..)
Warnings: not fun, not fluffy...wouldn't call it angsty either.
<< Aiolos feels Shura's hand to be different. Thru Shura's hard training, his hand is like steel. “What... this hand! Can't fathom it would be trained to this level... Outstanding, Shura...”
The new Capricorn Saint smiled as he guessed his friend’s line of thought, a smile bitter with the memories of this steel-like hand’s making >>
The day was coming to an end, but not fast enough for the apprentice who was tiring by the second. His master seemed to think that breaks and water were completely unnecessary, so training usually went on several hours nonstop. Sometimes a full day would go by in complete silence, broken only by the sound of training, for the master of the ground wasn’t fond of words. He was more likely to direct his student by pushing and hitting than by actually talking and so the hours would pass by in silent strive, with hardly any breaks to let him catch his breath.
Today was one of such days and Shura, at the verge of exhaustion, had already lost the offensive and was now finding it increasingly hard to keep avoiding the man’s blows. Finally, one of the vicious sweeps of his master’s right arm connected straight with his face and sent him flying against the rock behind him. The boy flipped in mid-air, trying to get his legs to take most of the impact and propel himself away from the enclosed space, where it’d be harder to move around the older man’s powerful fists. His movement, however, was cut short when he received a blow on the back that made him fall flat onto the gravel ground.
Spitting blood, Shura pushed his body sideways, knowing that a kick was likely to follow. Rolling away from his master, he staggered back to his feet, wiping the blood from his face while looking left and right for the other man -who seemed to have disappeared. And so it was without seeing it coming that he found himself again against the grayish wall of the mountain, his lean body trapped against the rock with increasing pressure. He had been too tired to even feel his master’s cosmos rising behind him and he knew the Capricorn Saint was probably enraged at the evident mistake.
Thinking madly, Shura tried to elevate his own cosmos while he pushed against the invisible force that had him pinned to the rock. To no avail, for the pressure kept increasing and he heard a rib snap. His master’s black eyes met his, and the saint raised an eyebrow before sending another wave of energy his way.
As another rib cracked under his skin, Shura summoned every bit of his strength to try and free his body from the iron grasp of his master’s cosmos, pushing with his legs up to his stomach and into his upper body -as he had been taught in Greece before they dispatched him back to Spain for his Gold Saint training. His whole body was now concentrated on the task of getting some air into his lungs and pulling the mighty force away from his body. Eyes closed, he gave a final push and felt the energy recede, only to fall back on him a split second later. Empty and defeated, fighting back the tears; the child gave up any further resistance. He just didn’t have anything left in him to fight back with.
He had lost again, as he had every single time he had sparred with his master. And this time there was a clear mistake to mark his defeat. Whenever a fight was lost because of such errors, the Capricorn Saint would glare at him with unhidden contempt and then turn his back and walk back to the house -leaving a hurting Shura to face a night in the open, for he would not accept the kid back into the house after such missteps. It usually took the boy days, even weeks, to regain the meager privilege of his ragged blanket by the fireplace. In the face of the upcoming winter, that would be something to worry about. However, the child was too wasted to properly register the thought, his mind clinging to the only relieve he could muster: the fight was over. And it was then that he realized that the vibrating energy around him hadn’t faltered. It was, if anything, growing.
Shura’s disbelief was quickly replaced by piercing pain, and caught in the agony of his master’s attack the child couldn’t avoid a muffled cry.
- Master, please… please, stop it! I can’t take it anymore, please!!
As soon as the words escaped his mouth, Shura knew he had made yet another mistake. The Capricorn saint had made it very clear when he arrived to the Pyrenees that he was not to talk, under any circumstance, unless spoken to. There were other ways to ask, to beg even, that didn’t involve words. But the pain and the fear had been too great and he had allowed the words to come out.
The pressure against his chest disappeared as his master approached and slapped him hard across the face.
- Haven’t I told you once and again to be quiet, child? Speaking, or even listening to what your opponent says during a combat can only bring you trouble!
With a powerful hand, the Capricorn Saint lifted his apprentice by the collar and slapped him again, throwing him a few steps backwards as he shouted:
- Will I have to cut out that tongue of yours so you’ll understand?
Shura crawled towards his master’s feet, head low and eyes shut tight. He knew his master wasn’t kidding. His fellow trainee had lost his tongue before loosing his mind and jumping off the cliff. The man didn’t consider it was necessary for a Saint to be able to speak and, if he thought his apprentice couldn’t learn that one lesson well enough, he would indeed do as he threatened.
Shura rose to his knees trembling, negating vigorously with his head; his whole body screaming that he had learnt, that he knew he wasn’t allowed to speak and wouldn’t do it again…begging without words, shouting mutely that he did not want to have his tongue ripped off. Shaking with fear, the child laid his forehead on the ground, inches away from his master’s towering figure, biting his lips until blood came out, still negating with his head.
- How much would you like to keep your tongue, little one? How much are you willing to give up?
The Capricorn saint’s voice was like metal scratching stones, and it sent a chill down the kid’s spine as he went on:
- Let’s see if you remember your lessons. How many bones do you have in your right hand? Speak now, child! Don’t make me loose my patience!
The answer came between sobs, for tears had finally found their way down the boy’s bloodied cheeks. The sudden shift in conversation was lost in the panic that filled his heart as he muttered: Twenty-seven, master.
- Good, at least you got that part right. Not that repeating stuff you learnt by heart makes you any smart, or any useful. But at least it shows you were paying attention for once.
Back to our business, though: Let’s say I’ve grown soft and I do indeed intend to let you keep that sharp tongue of yours…for a price. Nothing ever comes free, so you might as well learn that sooner rather than later.
Just to give you the chance to prove me you’re really going to shut your trap for the time being, I’ll break all the bones in your right hand. One by one, all twenty-seven of them. I’ll heal them later, of course. We don’t want to interrupt your training for something as insignificant as a few broken bones. The deal is simple: I don’t hear your voice in the process, you keep your tongue.
Shura jerked his face up at those words. He surely wasn’t meaning he would snap all the bones in his right hand broken…or was he?
- So? What’s your choice? I don’t have the whole day, little rat. What is it going to be, your tongue or your hand?
Sickening thoughts sprang in his mind while Shura tilted his head down, considering his options. He couldn’t fight his master, and the Capricorn Saint was stubborn beyond imagination. Once he set his mind in a punishment, Shura knew he wouldn’t just let go -no matter how much fretting or bootlicking he tried. So that only left two choices. He was not thrilled by any of them, but he knew the bones would heal… while his tongue surely wouldn’t grow back.
He slowly took off the archer’s leather bracelet he wore on his right wrist. It had been a present from his friend Aiolos before he left Sanctuary and had proved very valuable during his “advanced” training. Surpassing its defensive purpose, it had been useful in more ways than one. He held it up in his left hand as he looked up to his master, a silent plea asking to be awarded at least this bit of mercy. When the saint nodded, Shura put the bracelet in his mouth and bit hard into it as he extended his right hand towards the waiting man.
<< His master took for that particular form of punishment during the following years, but it was the repeated stress that his right hand underwent that had eventually made it into the weapon it was today. Or maybe it had been the old Capricorn’s cosmos that lent it its strength, as he brought the broken bones back to their place and shape once and again. Whatever it was, Shura would be forever grateful for that bracelet that kept any sound (save the few pained groans that even the old Capricorn Saint allowed) from coming out of his mouth that afternoon.
Shura smiles.
And this time there is no bitterness, only happiness for the reunion. The past is now gone, and Aiolos and him have a future to enjoy together as Saints of Athena… and friends>>
~~~~~~~~~~
Notes: the few words in italics within the << >> quotes at the beginning and end of the fic were taken from Philip Ho's translation of Side Story
I didn't really know how to make it clear that they weren't my own, hope this suffices! Otherwise, if anyybody has any idea on how to make sure I'm not stepping on somebody's toes, please let me know.
No theft was intended.
Thanks a lot to scorpioyue for pointing out some mistakes (edited now.) My English gives up on me more often that I'd like! :$