(no subject)
People called Seifer arrogant but, the truth was, he knew he was better then other people. Knew he was faster and stronger and better with a sword. He'd been trained solely for combat and excelled at it. So maybe those idiots at Garden had never seen that properly, never gave him the respect his abilities demanded but even they couldn't deny how good he was at man to man combat. He had reasons to hold his head high.
Or he did, at least. Back at Garden, Seifer never lost fights, ever. Not even training matches. But here, on this Island, that had all changed. He'd taking losing a fight to Luke quite well, tired from fighting the Presidents guards as he was. In fact, he'd been thrilled at meeting someone he could call an equal. But he'd followed that by being schooled by Cable, swapping losses and victories in his duels with Arya, and being outfought by Zuko and his two swords. And to top things off, that snot nosed kid Percy had managed to pull off a trick that left him stunned and lost him a duel he'd been sure was all but won.
He wondered if this was what had happened to that other Seifer, the one he tried not to think about who'd gambled everything on his combat ability and ended with nothing left but a list of losses as long as his arm. Had he felt as strong as ever only to find everyone else was now that little bit stronger? Like he was suddenly treading water when the people around him had just started swimming? No, he couldn't let that happen to him. Couldn't end up a broken failure without the strength to make a difference in anything.
He'd been for his first training session with James Barnes earlier that day, and he had, much to Arya's amusement he was sure, struggled to cope. Another damned moment to be proud of. He still wanted to rest, even an hour or so later. But he wouldn't let himself, wouldn't let himself be weak, wouldn't let himself fail. He was better than that, better than the weak willed losers that settled for coming second.
He'd gone training instead, trying to make himself stronger, make himself faster, gain back that little half a yard he must have lost. He was there in a clearing for hours, repeating drills and sword movements, with his muscles aching and sweat coming off him in droves, messing up his usually flawlessly neat appearance. Until he could barely lift his gun-blade and barely see straight but he still wouldn't let himself rest.
He was still doing the movements, his form wild and sloppy even though he tried to slow down and find the marks, when he heard footsteps behind him.
"What?" he snapped angrily. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
(OOC: Seifer won't admit it but he's pretty much at the point of collapse here. Which actually probably makes it a better time to meet him than normal as he doesn't have the energy to be truly nasty.)
Or he did, at least. Back at Garden, Seifer never lost fights, ever. Not even training matches. But here, on this Island, that had all changed. He'd taking losing a fight to Luke quite well, tired from fighting the Presidents guards as he was. In fact, he'd been thrilled at meeting someone he could call an equal. But he'd followed that by being schooled by Cable, swapping losses and victories in his duels with Arya, and being outfought by Zuko and his two swords. And to top things off, that snot nosed kid Percy had managed to pull off a trick that left him stunned and lost him a duel he'd been sure was all but won.
He wondered if this was what had happened to that other Seifer, the one he tried not to think about who'd gambled everything on his combat ability and ended with nothing left but a list of losses as long as his arm. Had he felt as strong as ever only to find everyone else was now that little bit stronger? Like he was suddenly treading water when the people around him had just started swimming? No, he couldn't let that happen to him. Couldn't end up a broken failure without the strength to make a difference in anything.
He'd been for his first training session with James Barnes earlier that day, and he had, much to Arya's amusement he was sure, struggled to cope. Another damned moment to be proud of. He still wanted to rest, even an hour or so later. But he wouldn't let himself, wouldn't let himself be weak, wouldn't let himself fail. He was better than that, better than the weak willed losers that settled for coming second.
He'd gone training instead, trying to make himself stronger, make himself faster, gain back that little half a yard he must have lost. He was there in a clearing for hours, repeating drills and sword movements, with his muscles aching and sweat coming off him in droves, messing up his usually flawlessly neat appearance. Until he could barely lift his gun-blade and barely see straight but he still wouldn't let himself rest.
He was still doing the movements, his form wild and sloppy even though he tried to slow down and find the marks, when he heard footsteps behind him.
"What?" he snapped angrily. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
(OOC: Seifer won't admit it but he's pretty much at the point of collapse here. Which actually probably makes it a better time to meet him than normal as he doesn't have the energy to be truly nasty.)