60th Zi'da, 723
.
Kotton had meant Stanz only a few days ago, but was already on the edge of his seat wanting more. The man outside the Decked Halls had offered his services on teaching Kotton how to fight only if he received some form of compensation in return. The young man, having been unable to defend himself properly during a scuffle- no, a robbing- on one of the empty streets of Almund, craved the ability to learn defensive techniques in the way of unarmed combat. He had already spent time the previous season teaching himself basic techniques, but after a twisted ankle, and the feeling of dissatisfaction, understood that he required external help if he was going to get any better.
Stanz had seemed like a shady fellow. He was middle aged, with salt and pepper hair. His cheeks were a trifle bit gaunt, creases digging deeper trenches around dark eyes that had seen far too much trauma. And whilst first impressions struck him to be a rude soul, and a tad greedy, he seemed to genuinely want to share his skirmish tactics with another.
As if Stanz had been waiting for Kotton’s arrival, he was leant impatiently against the alleyway leading up to the stairs into the Decked Halls.
“‘Bout time,” he called to Kotton as the young man ambled into view. “Come, best not dither incase we look conspiratorial.”
That was a lot coming from someone who openly chose to teach a newcomer how to fight, but what was Kotton to refuse? He maintained pace behind his instructor until they were a few blocks away from the Decked Halls. Maybe it was considered loitering or solicitation if they stood too close to a legitimate business.
It became known to him that one of the techniques Stanz was planning on teaching was what was considered a horse stance and a side-kick.
Those terms weren’t corroborating in his mind at the time, but as he observed Stanz’s movements and watched his lips spew instructions as to what he was describing, things started to click together. Like a puzzle, the pieces connected and he was finally able to see the whole picture.
He mimicked Stanz’s stance, spreading his legs out so that they were farther than shoulder width apart. He straightened his feet so they were pointing forward as best he could.
“Good for balance,” Stanz said, but Kotton wasn’t looking in order to read his commentary. Fortunately, he was able to pick up on the last syllable that lingered from his tongue, giving him the evidence that words had been spoken to him.
“What?” he asked, feigning that he had been too caught up in trying to reflect his instructor’s movements to listen properly.
“I said, this horse stance is very good for balance.”
Kotton nodded and opened his mouth into an ovular shape. Oh.
Kotton continued to perfect his stance. He breathed in deeply. He was getting what he paid for and that was all that mattered to him.
“That looks good,” Stanz mused, more to himself for having taught well than in terms of praising his pupil for decent work. “Now I want you to kick.”
So Kotton kicked. He brought up his left leg and kicked into the open air, losing his balance almost immediately and thereby toppling over. Although, instead of resorting to a heap on the ground, he was able to catch himself in the nick of time.
“What was that?” Stanz’s voice blurted.
“I-I thought you told me to kick,” Kotton stuttered, front teeth instinctively biting into his bottom lip.
“I did, but not like that,” he retorted.
“You didn’t specify how I was supposed to kick,” he countered, eyeing him with skepticism.
The man muttered some words, but they weren’t enunciated well enough for Kotton to pick up on them. Paranoia soon settled into his heart. Was he insulting him? Was he dissing how he performed without regards to his status as a novice?
“Try again,” Stanz demanded.
Kotton hesitated. He had been given no tips or tricks on how to improve his form. What was he to do?
“Try it again,” he repeated, watching closely as though inspecting Kotton for any particle of dust or debris. The young man felt a little violated, but did as he was instructed.
He hunkered down into the stance, his knees bent to roughly ninety degrees, feet facing forward so they were parallel to his legs. He held up his hands this time, figuring that keeping his midsection shielded was important in one-on-one battle. Then he leant on his back leg before driving his foot through the air. His balance was lost once again.
But before his teacher could speak, he took his stance again and tried a different tactic. He pivoted on his front foot this time, so that his back foot could swing around and strike the air instead.
There was a shout from his right- it was loud enough for Kotton to register it. He turned to find its source when he was met with aspirated eyes; they twinkled in the bloodied sunlight of the dissipating evening.
“That’s the way,” Stanz praised, smiling a little bit to reveal yellowed teeth.
“But it isn’t the right way, is it?” Kotton countered.
“Right.”
“Which way is the right way?” the young man asked, brushing his damp hair behind his ears. Still a stray lock of almond hair blocked his view.
“I want you to find that out by yourself.”
“You’we making this difficult when it doesn’t need to be. I paid you to teach me, not let me guess your widdles,” he dared, glaring at him with hardened eyes. They faltered when his own dark orbs glared back.
“Life is difficult, and from those healing bruises on your face I’d say you know that. Now, I want you to figure this out by yourself. There will be no one to teach you these things in the future unless you befriend someone with experience.”
He had a point even if it seemed childish the way he put it. Still, there was hesitation on Kotton’s side as he wracked his brain for a decent retort.
“Okay,” he said, shamefully settling with no rebuttal.
Kotton nearly swooned at the large gulp of warm air he inhaled, chilled air flowing through her veins. He started again, eyes smouldering with concentration, his eyelids heating from the flames of passion that flared inside him. His cheeks flushed a ripe red as he repositioned himself.
“Good,” her instructor said, talking to himself about proper form.
Kotton huffed and dwelled on how he could be smarter about his approach to this technique. He pushed the unimportant thoughts to the back of his mind, stuffing them inside a cabinet for later. He scoured the mental grounds of common sense, trying to find something useful. But once he had finally found something and had closed his eyes for a moment to take it in, he was thrown off balance. A foot had connected with his back, driving him forward into the ground. He received a mouthful of mud, surprise congesting her lungs as he fought for air.
Kotton thrashed around until he sedated himself in a seated posture. He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, dirt staining the cotton. He finally managed to collect his breath before rattling off some complaints and shouts of disapproval.
“What was that for?” he cried.
Stanz shrugged, letting the silence dawdle before explaining. Kotton was in no hurry, avidly anticipating his reasoning behind pushing him to the ground.
“You won’t have time to think like you just did,” he stated without emotion.
“But this is just pwactice,” Kotton retorted, angrily, still removing dirt from between his lips.
“It may be practice for you, but for me it is something entirely different,” he declared.
“And what is this fow you exactly,” Kotton asked, trying to control himself from seething through his teeth. He still felt a bit of gravel lodged between his front incisors, along with a bit of grass.
“This training is based on my experiences and it is being passed on to you. This is my time being given to someone else. This is my knowledge being handed down to an individual whom I do not know. I am trying to give you a sense of reality before you have to face something so different from the fundamentals. Life isn’t a rudimentary task. Life is hard and won’t wait for you to act.”
The half-blood dwelled over his instructor’s carefully constructed words. He fed off of the meaning of each letter that escaped his mouth and as they traipsed through his teeth and dripped from his lips, he ate them up as though he had been famished for ages.
“This seems a little too impowtant to you,” Kotton said, reading between the lines. “Why? You don’t know me, just as you’ve said. Apawt from money, why do you cawe so much?”
Stanz sighed and looked away. Several moments passed before he returned his gaze to meet the marbles of hazel again. The young man held his stare with intent. Kotton was desperate to know why Stanz was doing what he was doing.
Anyone else would have simply shown him how to do something and send him on his merry way, but this guy was different. This man wanted to demonstrate the concept, the history, the ins and out and implicit reason behind each and every move made.
Kotton felt that Stanz saw him as someone special. He couldn’t shake this strange feeling that his instructor viewed him with unmirrored potential. His mind was on fire, trying to understand the philosophy behind Stanz’s words.
His instructor sighed again and leant back on the heels of his feet.
“There are some people in life that need to be protected,” he finally murmured.
Kotton was confused. “Pwotected from what?”
“The corrupt minds of individuals like the people that hurt you,” he said bluntly.
Kotton inwardly gasped, not quite sure what he had read was entirely true. Did this man hold similar feelings toward justice and virtue as he did? This time, Kotton would not hazard a pause. He would instantly respond with emotion.
“I undewstand.” And he stood up, brushed the detritus off that littered his pants and shirt and stared his teacher dead in the eyes.
“Do you?”
“I do.” Kotton’srgaze never wavered from Stanz’s face as he attempted to search for some hidden secrets kept safe inside his pupils. Defeat swarmed around him, for he found nothing that revealed what he truly thought.
“I understand,” he said again, putting more force into his words.
“Well then,” Stanz said, crossing his arms. “Try again.”
“I will.”
To be continued here.
Stanz had seemed like a shady fellow. He was middle aged, with salt and pepper hair. His cheeks were a trifle bit gaunt, creases digging deeper trenches around dark eyes that had seen far too much trauma. And whilst first impressions struck him to be a rude soul, and a tad greedy, he seemed to genuinely want to share his skirmish tactics with another.
As if Stanz had been waiting for Kotton’s arrival, he was leant impatiently against the alleyway leading up to the stairs into the Decked Halls.
“‘Bout time,” he called to Kotton as the young man ambled into view. “Come, best not dither incase we look conspiratorial.”
That was a lot coming from someone who openly chose to teach a newcomer how to fight, but what was Kotton to refuse? He maintained pace behind his instructor until they were a few blocks away from the Decked Halls. Maybe it was considered loitering or solicitation if they stood too close to a legitimate business.
It became known to him that one of the techniques Stanz was planning on teaching was what was considered a horse stance and a side-kick.
Those terms weren’t corroborating in his mind at the time, but as he observed Stanz’s movements and watched his lips spew instructions as to what he was describing, things started to click together. Like a puzzle, the pieces connected and he was finally able to see the whole picture.
He mimicked Stanz’s stance, spreading his legs out so that they were farther than shoulder width apart. He straightened his feet so they were pointing forward as best he could.
“Good for balance,” Stanz said, but Kotton wasn’t looking in order to read his commentary. Fortunately, he was able to pick up on the last syllable that lingered from his tongue, giving him the evidence that words had been spoken to him.
“What?” he asked, feigning that he had been too caught up in trying to reflect his instructor’s movements to listen properly.
“I said, this horse stance is very good for balance.”
Kotton nodded and opened his mouth into an ovular shape. Oh.
Kotton continued to perfect his stance. He breathed in deeply. He was getting what he paid for and that was all that mattered to him.
“That looks good,” Stanz mused, more to himself for having taught well than in terms of praising his pupil for decent work. “Now I want you to kick.”
So Kotton kicked. He brought up his left leg and kicked into the open air, losing his balance almost immediately and thereby toppling over. Although, instead of resorting to a heap on the ground, he was able to catch himself in the nick of time.
“What was that?” Stanz’s voice blurted.
“I-I thought you told me to kick,” Kotton stuttered, front teeth instinctively biting into his bottom lip.
“I did, but not like that,” he retorted.
“You didn’t specify how I was supposed to kick,” he countered, eyeing him with skepticism.
The man muttered some words, but they weren’t enunciated well enough for Kotton to pick up on them. Paranoia soon settled into his heart. Was he insulting him? Was he dissing how he performed without regards to his status as a novice?
“Try again,” Stanz demanded.
Kotton hesitated. He had been given no tips or tricks on how to improve his form. What was he to do?
“Try it again,” he repeated, watching closely as though inspecting Kotton for any particle of dust or debris. The young man felt a little violated, but did as he was instructed.
He hunkered down into the stance, his knees bent to roughly ninety degrees, feet facing forward so they were parallel to his legs. He held up his hands this time, figuring that keeping his midsection shielded was important in one-on-one battle. Then he leant on his back leg before driving his foot through the air. His balance was lost once again.
But before his teacher could speak, he took his stance again and tried a different tactic. He pivoted on his front foot this time, so that his back foot could swing around and strike the air instead.
There was a shout from his right- it was loud enough for Kotton to register it. He turned to find its source when he was met with aspirated eyes; they twinkled in the bloodied sunlight of the dissipating evening.
“That’s the way,” Stanz praised, smiling a little bit to reveal yellowed teeth.
“But it isn’t the right way, is it?” Kotton countered.
“Right.”
“Which way is the right way?” the young man asked, brushing his damp hair behind his ears. Still a stray lock of almond hair blocked his view.
“I want you to find that out by yourself.”
“You’we making this difficult when it doesn’t need to be. I paid you to teach me, not let me guess your widdles,” he dared, glaring at him with hardened eyes. They faltered when his own dark orbs glared back.
“Life is difficult, and from those healing bruises on your face I’d say you know that. Now, I want you to figure this out by yourself. There will be no one to teach you these things in the future unless you befriend someone with experience.”
He had a point even if it seemed childish the way he put it. Still, there was hesitation on Kotton’s side as he wracked his brain for a decent retort.
“Okay,” he said, shamefully settling with no rebuttal.
Kotton nearly swooned at the large gulp of warm air he inhaled, chilled air flowing through her veins. He started again, eyes smouldering with concentration, his eyelids heating from the flames of passion that flared inside him. His cheeks flushed a ripe red as he repositioned himself.
“Good,” her instructor said, talking to himself about proper form.
Kotton huffed and dwelled on how he could be smarter about his approach to this technique. He pushed the unimportant thoughts to the back of his mind, stuffing them inside a cabinet for later. He scoured the mental grounds of common sense, trying to find something useful. But once he had finally found something and had closed his eyes for a moment to take it in, he was thrown off balance. A foot had connected with his back, driving him forward into the ground. He received a mouthful of mud, surprise congesting her lungs as he fought for air.
Kotton thrashed around until he sedated himself in a seated posture. He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, dirt staining the cotton. He finally managed to collect his breath before rattling off some complaints and shouts of disapproval.
“What was that for?” he cried.
Stanz shrugged, letting the silence dawdle before explaining. Kotton was in no hurry, avidly anticipating his reasoning behind pushing him to the ground.
“You won’t have time to think like you just did,” he stated without emotion.
“But this is just pwactice,” Kotton retorted, angrily, still removing dirt from between his lips.
“It may be practice for you, but for me it is something entirely different,” he declared.
“And what is this fow you exactly,” Kotton asked, trying to control himself from seething through his teeth. He still felt a bit of gravel lodged between his front incisors, along with a bit of grass.
“This training is based on my experiences and it is being passed on to you. This is my time being given to someone else. This is my knowledge being handed down to an individual whom I do not know. I am trying to give you a sense of reality before you have to face something so different from the fundamentals. Life isn’t a rudimentary task. Life is hard and won’t wait for you to act.”
The half-blood dwelled over his instructor’s carefully constructed words. He fed off of the meaning of each letter that escaped his mouth and as they traipsed through his teeth and dripped from his lips, he ate them up as though he had been famished for ages.
“This seems a little too impowtant to you,” Kotton said, reading between the lines. “Why? You don’t know me, just as you’ve said. Apawt from money, why do you cawe so much?”
Stanz sighed and looked away. Several moments passed before he returned his gaze to meet the marbles of hazel again. The young man held his stare with intent. Kotton was desperate to know why Stanz was doing what he was doing.
Anyone else would have simply shown him how to do something and send him on his merry way, but this guy was different. This man wanted to demonstrate the concept, the history, the ins and out and implicit reason behind each and every move made.
Kotton felt that Stanz saw him as someone special. He couldn’t shake this strange feeling that his instructor viewed him with unmirrored potential. His mind was on fire, trying to understand the philosophy behind Stanz’s words.
His instructor sighed again and leant back on the heels of his feet.
“There are some people in life that need to be protected,” he finally murmured.
Kotton was confused. “Pwotected from what?”
“The corrupt minds of individuals like the people that hurt you,” he said bluntly.
Kotton inwardly gasped, not quite sure what he had read was entirely true. Did this man hold similar feelings toward justice and virtue as he did? This time, Kotton would not hazard a pause. He would instantly respond with emotion.
“I undewstand.” And he stood up, brushed the detritus off that littered his pants and shirt and stared his teacher dead in the eyes.
“Do you?”
“I do.” Kotton’srgaze never wavered from Stanz’s face as he attempted to search for some hidden secrets kept safe inside his pupils. Defeat swarmed around him, for he found nothing that revealed what he truly thought.
“I understand,” he said again, putting more force into his words.
“Well then,” Stanz said, crossing his arms. “Try again.”
“I will.”
To be continued here.
