(no subject)
Seifer had never been allowed to become an actual mercenary. His performances in battle had insured it. He'd been unable to follow orders, had shown no interest in working with or leading his fellow soldiers, had shown a complete lack of restraint and had endangered his mission by charging blindly into fights looking for his own personal glory, in short: he lacked discipline.
And that was as true outside of pitched combat as it was in it. He'd proved that a hundred times over, in his failed attempt to join the island police, in the training spars that had left his partners scarred, in the constant bullying of those he thought of as weak, he just couldn't control himself. But, if there was one area were no-one could argue that he had discipline, it was in his training.
When Seifer had been failing his exams, he'd also been establishing himself as the best fighter still at Balamb Garden and while he might not be the best fighter on the island, as difficult as that was to admit, he probably was the one who worked hardest to become better. He trained every day without fail, doing the same repetitive exercises that he'd been doing since he first learned to talk, again and again. He worked on his speed, his strength, his endurance, his posture. He ran through standard drills, so he got used to moving his gunblade in familiar patterns, faster and faster. It was his life, something that took over most of the time that he wasn't either asleep or eating and in doing it, he showed the discipline he was so notably lacking the rest of the time.
He didn't joke around or play or try tricks, he just worked at it, over and over, until fighting was something that came as naturally to him as breathing. Well, he didn't joke around normally, anyway.
Today, something was different. Today, Seifer was feeling damned optimistic. The ITF had discovered a city full of hostiles and while he'd been on his best behavior when ever he'd been down there and so avoided any combat himself, he could feel the tension around the place. How long until that tension blew up to become full out war? How long until he got a chance for the glory and heroic acts he'd thought denied him? Not long at all, as far as Seifer was concerned, who was already saving the Island from a massed splicer attack in his mind's eye.
So, instead of just doing the same sword drills he always did, he picked up a mango instead, for the sheer joy of it, and threw it in the air, cutting it in half as it fell and then catching one of the halves with the point of his blade. It was at that moment, he realized he wasn't alone.
And he pulled back his gunblade, grabbed the fruit from it's point and threw it at the newcomer in a slow lazy lob, with a smile and without even bothering to check who it was.
"Have some free fruit."
And that was as true outside of pitched combat as it was in it. He'd proved that a hundred times over, in his failed attempt to join the island police, in the training spars that had left his partners scarred, in the constant bullying of those he thought of as weak, he just couldn't control himself. But, if there was one area were no-one could argue that he had discipline, it was in his training.
When Seifer had been failing his exams, he'd also been establishing himself as the best fighter still at Balamb Garden and while he might not be the best fighter on the island, as difficult as that was to admit, he probably was the one who worked hardest to become better. He trained every day without fail, doing the same repetitive exercises that he'd been doing since he first learned to talk, again and again. He worked on his speed, his strength, his endurance, his posture. He ran through standard drills, so he got used to moving his gunblade in familiar patterns, faster and faster. It was his life, something that took over most of the time that he wasn't either asleep or eating and in doing it, he showed the discipline he was so notably lacking the rest of the time.
He didn't joke around or play or try tricks, he just worked at it, over and over, until fighting was something that came as naturally to him as breathing. Well, he didn't joke around normally, anyway.
Today, something was different. Today, Seifer was feeling damned optimistic. The ITF had discovered a city full of hostiles and while he'd been on his best behavior when ever he'd been down there and so avoided any combat himself, he could feel the tension around the place. How long until that tension blew up to become full out war? How long until he got a chance for the glory and heroic acts he'd thought denied him? Not long at all, as far as Seifer was concerned, who was already saving the Island from a massed splicer attack in his mind's eye.
So, instead of just doing the same sword drills he always did, he picked up a mango instead, for the sheer joy of it, and threw it in the air, cutting it in half as it fell and then catching one of the halves with the point of his blade. It was at that moment, he realized he wasn't alone.
And he pulled back his gunblade, grabbed the fruit from it's point and threw it at the newcomer in a slow lazy lob, with a smile and without even bothering to check who it was.
"Have some free fruit."