(2016-11-13) Swords Are Lame
Swords Are Lame
Summary: Ares don't play nice.
Date: 2016-11-13
Related: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank. You have to use full URLs, like http://coralsprings.wikidot.com/logtitle)
NPCs: Players go below, other chars that deserve mention can be listed here
Scene Runner: Who ran this scene, NA if no-one or mutual

Gym Coral Springs
Sun Nov 13, 2016 — Sun Nov 13 16:54:26 2016

A massive dome overhead is completely revealing of the ocean above it. This is a full size gym, with basketball hoops along the walls ready for play. Ropes hanging from a secion of that dome ceiling ready to be climbed are tied off to not impede on gym floor activity. Excersize equipment and weights are off to the far end. At anytime the floor can be sectioned off for multiple team games to be played if needed. There are locker rooms for girls and boys to one side and opposite this are wooden bleachers that can be pulled out if needed for spectators. Opposite the bleachers there is a rock climbing wall, that goes right up to the dome itself overhead.

The gym of Coral Springs is truly a beautiful sight. However, the massive transparent dome revealing the deep ocean above the students and faculty doesn't fail to overwhelm Whitley King, a new transfer. This gym looks nothing like the one back in his home manor. Where are the military grade weapons?? Past the basketball courts and the Arena, the white haired teen's over at the sparring mats. His ring is completely empty, probably due to the deadly katana he's griping tightly in his hands. It's been a while, but by how he moves with the weapon, it's clear that he's no amateur. He's going through a series of jabs, swings, and cuts.

Besa is definitely an amateur. The tiny teen doesn't look like he belongs in here at all. But here he is, stepping in dressed in sweat pants and a long sleeved t-shirt. The pretty locks that have caused him so much drama are pulled back into a pony tail. A quick glance around , the relieved Guardian heads towards the mats to do sen stretching.

Whitley is focused, aware of his direct surroundings, but nothing else. He is dressed plainly in sweatpants and a tee. The former assassin curses at every misstep, recalling memories of his father's abuse. The display was apparently enough to make sure no students practiced next to him, and he certainly doesn't look like the easygoing teen some of his new friends are used to.

Besa sits down on a mat to stretch, eyes widening at the curses. He watches his new friend, unsure if he needs help or not. Instead of calling out, Whit does have swords, he leans forward and touches his toes. He's little, but flexible.

Grayson marches into the gym like he owns the place. He's here enough, anyway. He's wearing khaki cargo pants and a wife beater, and he's carrying a small duffel bag. He glances around when he enters, and then heads straight to the climbing wall, where he tosses his bag onto the ground. He picks up the harness from the ground near the wall and begins undoing all the buckles. As he does so, he watches Whitley with the sword.

The familiarity of Besa's arrival might've been enough to prod into Whitley's psychic radar if he wasn't so absorbed. His grip on the black katana hilt loosens, and he practices the same moves he has been for hours. The blade flashes in the lighting, and Grayson and Besa remain ignored.

Besa's slightly worried expression increases when he sees Grayson step inside. But since the older teen doesn't look over he sighs softly to himself and goes back to stretching. The plan he had been working out has basically been thrown out the window by Whit's reaction yesterday, so he's back to square one. Do nothing. he reaches his toes, right hand now strangely free of the burn, only a faint outline of the scar can be seen. That is not how it was yesterday.

Grayson finishes readying the harness, and then tosses it back to the floor. He walks over to Besa, looming over him, and speaking as he keeps watching Whitley. "Who fights with a sword?" he asks, with a condescending chuckle.

Try as Whitley might, he can't seem to mimic the hard disciple of his former training. Instead of letting his frustrations grow, however, he pauses to take a breath, his slim body coated with sweat. His grey eyes glow an arctic blue as a lone water bottle at the edge of the ring floats into his hands. Sighing, he takes a long swig from the thing.

Grayson's shadow falls over Besa and he looks up, blinking surprised. "Whitley does, apparently. Very well." Or at least does katas well. "I have before, although I never fought with them, just practiced." He glances over when the sounds of the kata stop and watches as the water bottle floats to the Ares.

Grayson rolls his eyes, "Swords are lame." He sighs, and folds his large arms over his chest, still staring at Whitley. He lingers there, awkwardly in silence.

Without the sound of live steel cutting air in his ears, Whitley does notice the new presences. He winces a bit without turning to look at them just yet. He then sighs and hides behind a casual grin, spinning around to look at the boys. "And climbing rocks is so much cooler. Swords are awesome…" He lets that statement hang before adding for good measure, "I could kick your ass without one, though." He offers Besa a wave.

Besa offers, "I am surprised you have not made a water blade." Is that even possible? Feeling a little bit loomed over, Besa straightens, pulling a knee up. Whitley gets a hesitant smile and wave back. That's a good sign though, he waved at Besa. "I think both are fine activities." He frowns, unsure if they are just boasting or if there's going to be a problem.

Grayson furrows his brow a little at Whitley, and as he starts to answer, he stops, slowly turning to look at Besa. "A… water… blade…" His mouth purses in thought as he looks off, wondering if it's possible. "Hrm…." After a moment, he smiles, and looks at Besa. "Nice, Egypt." He turns back to Whitley then, cracking his knuckles. "So… that a challenge then?"

Grey eyes linger on Besa for a bit longer than necessary. Hesitant, huh. Whitley decides not to comment on it and instead says, "Water blade?" How useful could a sword made of liquid really be?! "I prefer my swords a little sharper," Taken aback by the challenge, the sophomore blinks at Grayson. He can't back down now though! He shakes off the shock and throws his katana to the side. "You're on, big guy."

Wait! that's not what Besa meant. Confused he scrambles to his feet, "What are you doing?" Thats' directed at both boys. "I do not know if this is the best idea…"

Grayson pushes past Besa and walks toward Whitley. He smiles, a little deviously, "No swords," he says, flatly. He cracks his knuckles, and he pulls his shirt off, revealing his muscular, hairy upper torso. He tosses the shirt off, and sniffs, looking at Whitley, waiting.

Whitley waves off Besa. "Don't worry. I got this," Then Grayson's taking off his shirt, and the teen's ogling. "Probably." He quickly shuffles to take off his shoes and moves to stand at ready. This time, there's no wild jabs or determined strikes. He's not alone and can't let any pent up anger foil his chances in this fight. Instead, his moves are patient and watchful. He's trained in using his opponent's strength against them…Grayson isn't that much bigger than him though, so that may not apply. His entre body is a weapon. Fists, feet, knees, elbows…no heads though since this is a friendly spar.

Besa inhales, face unsure about what is happening. A lock of hair escapes his pony tail as he shakes his head. "This seems unnessicary!" He takes a small step backwards though to give them room, although he's close enough to jump in if it gets out of hand. Soemthing is pulled from his pocket, just in case.

Grayson doesn't fight like he's trained to do so, but rather, he fights like someone who's spent time scrapping in fights around the schoolyard. He and Whitley swing at each other a few times, both striking one another, but staying evenly matched at first. After a few hits, however, Whitley barely gets the upper hand, dodging a few swings from Grayson before getting a couple of solid hits in. Grayson staggers back, brow furrowing as blood flows from his nose. He taps his finger at it, looks at it, and then looks back at Whitley. "Huh," he offers, a little surprised, but he smiles, before rushing back at Whitley for another round.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Whitley=physical Vs Grayson=physical
< Whitley: Success Grayson: Great Success
< Net Result: Grayson wins - Solid Victory

"Nonsense. This is very necessary." They're just some hot-blooded teenage boys settling differences, right? At first, the blows aimed at Whitley are just parried, but the barbaric way of Grayson's style takes him off guard. Whatever upper hand Whitley's expertise in martial arts has given him is quickly lost. A few well-placed blows later, Whitley's bruised up and frowning, reminding himself that he doesn't need to win with flourish and style. He just needs to win. He twists his body, uncoiling around with a shockingly fast backfist aimed at the side of Grayson's jaw.

What differences?!?! Besa frowns, clearly annoyed by this whole thing. His fist tightens around whatever it is in his hand, but his eyes are darting back and forth, following each blow. Sympathetic winces for the blood and bruising, he does not like this at all.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Grayson=physical Vs Whitley=physical
< Grayson: Great Success Whitley: Good Success
< Net Result: Grayson wins - Solid Victory

Grayson snarls as the quick strike wizzes past his jaw, spinning to avoid it and then lurching forward at Whitley. He tackles the other boy by the waist and a moment later they both slam onto the ground, Grayson atop Whitley. There's a fire in Grayson's eyes, something enjoying this perhaps a bit too much. He gives the boy a good punch to the face, a hard one, not holding back, and seems as if he's not done.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Whitley=phasing Vs Grayson=physical
< Whitley: Success Grayson: Good Success
< Net Result: Grayson wins - Solid Victory

Again his agile movements are far too slow. Grayson's strength easily overpowers Whitley's speedy reactions and the boy slams against the ground, head banging onto the mat on the way down. Grayson would feel parts of Whitley's body, like his legs and torso, glitch out underneath him as the younger kid tries to activate his phasing powers, but his futile attempts to escape this assault only makes Grayson's weight more crushing. Blood's freely flowing from his nose and mouth at this point, and Grayson's fire is met with icy hatred.

Whit's arm is pressed against the mat, fingers twitching. The discarded katana twitches too. Can't be a good sign.

<FS3> Besa rolls Rune Magic: Great Success.

Besa's eyes widen, oh no no no. The teen springs into action, hand crushing whatever was in his fist. "That is enough!" Bits of clay dust fall from his hand as he grabs Grayson by the shoulders and strangely, with almost no effort, yanks him from off of Whitley. "Stop it! Both of you!" A sharp look is thrown at Whit, while his hands stay firmly on Grayson.

Grayson is yanked off Whitley and it's completely unexpected. As he stumbles backward, he flails his arm. The air in the gym instantly smells like freshly fallen rain as a blast of water just appears from midair and slams into Besa like a missile. Grayson falls back onto the mat, breathing heavily.

Whitley heaves himself into sitting position and spits some blood on the mat. He doesn't look at Grayson or Besa, just the blade. The katana moves in place a bit before settling down. Grayson's off of him, so there's no need, right?

Wrong. As Besa feels the brunt of Grayson's aggression in the form of weird water magic, the blade soars into Whitley's hands and suddenly he's up again, his katana situated offensively between his hands. The older boy gets a cold glare. But behind that menacing look, wheels are turning. He's trying to decide whether or not he needs to use the weapon.

Besa's eyes are on Whitley, so he doesn't expect the water attack from Grayson at all. If he didn't have the rune activated, he'd have broken bones, certainly. Instead the Egyptian teen is thrown backwards from the blast, landing on his side with a grunt. That's going to leave a mark. He managed a "Stop…Gray…"

Grayson hops to his feet, a rage in his eyes, as he slings his arms to his side. As he does so, the air around his fists explodes into balls of water, undulating aggressively as the spheres move around his fists. He takes a few steps toward Besa, as if going to attack, and then he stops. He tilts his head a little, blinks, and he looks away. The balls of water around his fists dissipate and the smell of rain immediately leaves the air. His brow furrows a little, and he huffs, before turning and walking toward his duffel bag by the climbing wall.

What is all that racket? That's just what Alexander means to find out. The sound of running feet might be a dead giveaway that someone's coming in. Not to worry though, it's not a teacher. Yet. With all this racket it's only a matter of time before a teacher does come in. But for the time being it's Alexander. He doesn't say anything at first as he skids to a stop far enough from the group not to actually be in the path of anything that's flying. No, he's not going to just run in and tackle somebody, or start yelling at people. For the time being he watches, trying to figure out what's going on.

Whitley moves when Grayson does, katana shifting with his body as if about to strike. But then Grayson pauses, and so does Whitley, midswing. He lowers the blade and watches Grayson leave, a scowl twisting his youthful expression. "Are you alright?" Is all that's offered to Besa.

Besa stays on the ground, not doing anything else to defend himself besides looking up at Grayson. He grimaces, finally shifting and raising a hand to rub his chest. His voice is soft, "I will be, Whitley, thank you."

Grayson reaches the climbing wall and he snatches up his wifebeater and he aggressively yanks it over his head. He then bends over and grabs his duffel bag and heads toward the exit, where Alexander is. He sniffs, wiping the blood from his nose, and just moves to pass Alexander and head out.

Alexander doesn't move to stop Grayson. Even if he wanted to know what happened, now is not a good time. He doesn't want to risk getting Grayson angry again, not after the situation is smoothed out. Or, well. Reasonably so. He sidesteps to allow Grayson to pass, though he does turn to look in Grayson's direction for a moment or two. And then he walks over to where Besa is. Whitley's alreay asked if he's all right, so Alexander just offers Besa a hand up. He turns another look in the direction Grayson left in, this one quizzical.

Whitley proceeds to collect his katana sheath and puts the weapon away. He wipes more blood from his face and even flicks some of it away telekinetically. His expression softens, and he looks over at Besa. "You shouldn't have interfered. I…had it handled."
GAME: Save complete.

Besa watches Grayson as well, his face smoothing out on purpose to not show any emotions. Instead he nods, his hand going from his chest to Alex's outstretched one, "Thank you." he does wince as he's pulled up though. A frown starts to form and he gives a small glare to Whitley, "Neither one of you had it handled." To make a point he eyes the katana while rubbing his chest again.

Grayson marches out the door, and from the hallway, there's a slam sound as he punches a wall. And he's gone.

Alexander stays quiet, until Besa stands up. He's about to speak, but then there's the sound of Grayson's fist hitting the wall. He jumps at the sudden sound, and looks back in that direction, wide-eyed. The acoustics in a gym are pretty good, after all. Once he's sure the roof's not going to come down on his head, he looks back to Whitley and Besa. Looking between them he asks quietly, "What happened?" His voice isn't angry or judgmental. He's curious. And worried.

Whitley looks down at the sheathed weapon and says, "I wasn't actually going to use it!" But he doesn't sound too sure of that himself. He jumps at the sudden slam, his grey eyes darting back to the direction of the exit. "Damnit." He frowns, tongue running across his bloody lip. He lets Besa answer Alexander just because he isn't sure what actually happened and figures Besa has more experience with Grayson.

Besa's jaw tightens, but he doesn't correct Whitley, he knows what he saw. His right hand stays on his chest, his heart throbs from the hit. His left rises to try to move that one lock of hair out from his eyes, "They sparred, it became apparent it was not just sparring. So I stepped in." It stopped them from fighting, at least.

Alexander looks up at Whitley at the shout. He winces a bit at the sight of the bloody lip. Besa's explanation gets a knowing look. "Ah." Simple answer to a simple explanation. Though Alexander figures there's more to it than that. Maybe one of them hit the other too hard and the other took offense, yeah. But even teenagers don't just randomly start trying to actually hurt each other, even during a spar. But he's not going to ask any more about it now. If there was more to it than that, he has zero chance of anybody telling him here and now. He looks up to Whitley again. "Are you okay?" he asks. He's bleeding, after all.

The white haired boy just stands there while Besa gives an explanation. There's no protest from him, and after a few more seconds than usual, he looks to Alexander, "Not really," His bloody nose doesn't look broken, but his lip's busted and his eye's swollen. "I'll be fine." Is said before Whitley heads out of the gym. Using a different exit, of course.

Besa inhales, taking a small step towards Whit, "Whitley, I can-" But the teen is already pushing the door open. The Egyptian deflates slightly, feeling rather depressed. This has been a rough week. After a moment he looks over at Alex and gives a soft smile that doesn't reach his eyes, "I am sorry you had to see that."

Alexander's smile remains. "That's okay. I can understand. I'll play something for you if you want," he offers. Because he's a musician, so he's got reason to be in the Arts Room, too. There's a guitar in there, after all.

Besa takes a deep breath before nodding, his hand still rubbing his chest. Why is it always his chest?!?! "That would be nice, thank you." With out waiting he starts making his way arosss the gym and out. He didn't do anything to need a shower so he heads towards the arts room immediately.

Alexander just follows Besa out of the gym, looking around to see if Whitley or Grayson are still nearby. Or if there are faculty members coming to investigate. He hopes not; that's sort of why he came in when he did, hoping to find out what was going on before the teachers caught wind of it. Anyway, not seeing either of them, he follows Besa to the Arts Room.

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