Chapter 23- Weapons & Self Control
November, 1984
The red target, Sephiroth reminds himself, is what matters.
Dinand holds a whistle between his teeth. It wobbles as he moves the punching paddles. Sephiroth focuses on the red dots in the centers. That is where his gloves need to hit. He tenses as the whistle chirps again. The combination is easy enough. The movements drum out of his arms. The impacts zip up his arms before dissipating into his shoulders. Sephiroth swallows down air as he eases his weight back.
"You figured it out?" Dinand asks, teeth flashing between the whistle. "Has the brilliant bullied boy figured out how to think straight?"
Sephiroth focuses on breathing light and easy o in his chest. This has been going on for weeks. Dinand is after this illusionary solution. This one fix that will remedy all his failures. Sephiroth hasn't made it to that standard or any standard. He's useless still.
Dinand circles and Sephiroth follows him. His feet stick to the mat.
"What do they tease you about? The easiest thing? Your hair? You're an old man?"
He's trying to make him angry. It works. Those words are slung at him like rocks. The laughter hits harder than the insults. Sephiroth cools the waiver in him. The trill goes out again and Sephiroth bangs out the combination. He hits harder than before and that makes him twitch. Dinand's lips fidget. One point for Dinand.
This is about control. He has to learn to control and shut down his emotions. Orlin has told him that. SOLDIERs can't have normal emotions.
Sephiroth has to learn to not be human.
The whistle goes again and this time he hits the paddles lightly. The paddles drop mid-sequence and Sephiroth withdraws. The anger is still there but it simmers. It is like a snake sliding in him, guided only by his hands. A smile comes onto his face as he lowers his gloves. One point for Sephiroth.
Dinand scowls. "Someone has been listening or cheating."
"Not cheating." Sephiroth says.
Dinand chews on the whistle and then paddles come up. "Of course not. It's not like you've got the friends to help you."
The whistle goes off again.
"Not true." He shuffles and beats the rhythm against the foam. The pattern is nice, almost musical. One of the paddles idly swings for his head and he ducks under it.
"Orlin is paid to look after you. He doesn't count. Mariella is a stuck up hen. Jab, cross, left hook, cross." The whistle gives him one second to hear the new combination and process it. Sephiroth retreats into himself. He won't give in. He starts and halfway through Dinand steps back, shaking his head with a laugh.
"No. Right hook and then cross. You're proving everyone right. Good. Keep at it." He raises the paddles. Sephiroth frowns.
The whistle goes. He follows the new pattern and again Dinand drops the targets. This time he's grinning.
"Come on."
Sephiroth can't feel the evenness of his breath anymore. "Jab, cross, right hook, cross?"
"No. Jab, cross, left hook, cross."
"No you said-"
"And you still don't argue with your superiors. Gloves up. Chin down." The snap is harsh and fear ripples in the back of his mind. The whistle sounds before he is ready. He is calm, he tells himself, he will be a SOLDIER. He barely throws the first jab when Dinand is halting them again.
"What did I do this time?" Sephiroth voice rises.
Dinand shrugs which feels as natural as a pig flying. "I wanted you to start over. Again."
Sephiroth won't play this game.
The red dots come up. The whistle goes off. This time, he hits lightly and taps the paddles exactly in the center. It's perfect. Sephiroth knows a relieved smile finds itself on his face.
Dinand takes a step back.
He laughs long and hard at him.
"Are you even trying?"
Sephiroth hit them in the wrong order. He's so focused on doing everything right that he reverted to the old combination. He's falling for the trap. The patience in him slips and falls out of place. He's wrong. He's done everything wrong again.
Sephiroth knows he is spiraling into a dark pit of anger. He rolls his weight to his toes. Be present. He needs to stay present. The eyes behind the paddles work over his face. He isn't hiding the knots that are forming in him. Dinand whistles. The first two punches hit light and easy but then the hook hits hard and the cross goes completely wrong.
Something hot and angry flashes in him.
And the cross hits Dinand directly across the cheek.
It's an accident.
It's a pure accident.
The trainer's breath puffs across Sephiroth's face in shock. The whistle falls out of his mouth. Satisfaction rolls through Sephiroth at Dinand's surprise. The feeling disappears and is replaced with a cold sickness. What has he done? He's hit Dinand. Sephiroth stumbles back. His words choke in his throat.
Blood oozes from Dinand's nose. It runs in a straight line down his face. It hangs on the bottom lip, wobbles and drops onto the whiteness of his shirt. It spreads there, pink and fresh. Dinand snuffs as he straightens. He doesn't bother to look at it. He wipes at the blood, coloring his own face. Instead, he focuses on the backpedaling Sephiroth. It isn't anger in his face. It isn't frustration. It's steel.
"You think you're too good for this? Are you wasting my time?" He drawls and the paddles drop to the ground.
"No-It was an accid-" He can't get his words out. He's backing up across the floor.
"I'm so tired of your bullshit, your excuses, your everything. You don't get to hit anybody unless someone tells you to." His voice is stuffed up. Dinand's strides increase. Sephiroth brings his gloved hands up as he stumbles across the mat, trying to keep the front of his body facing him. His heels catch the plastic. Drops of blood spatter his mentor's shirt. Sephiroth put those there.
"You need to start taking this seriously. I am the SOLDIER here. Do you think you are too good for this already?" Cords are rising in his neck. Sephiroth's fear is so strong that his mouth is full of acid.
"N-"
"Oh, I think so. You were happy to hit me."
"I didn't-"
"Clever boy. Try to be this clever."
Dinand is on him in a blink. Sephiroth manages to dodge the grab for his arm. Every part of him swings wild and fast. He's too big. He's too awkward. The fist meant for his stomach swings in empty air. His right foot moves without his permission. It jerks out. Dinand hooked it with his own. Sephiroth hits the mat. His neck bounces hard. Things go blank and then he's rolling away, trying to push up his hands.
"No way, kid."
Sephiroth smacks into Dinand's leg. His mentor drops down onto him. Sephiroth reaches forward to pull himself out but the weight pins him hard on his stomach.
"No-"
A hand grabs his right wrist. The surprise keeps the muscles loose until it is too late. His right arm bends back until it is pinned in the small of his back. The weight above him crushes into his lungs. Sephiroth is sputtering apologies. He means them.
He squirms. His left hand pushes against the ground and he manages to shakily lift both of their weights off the ground. The effort pops every muscle in his chest but he does it anyway. He doesn't want to hurt his trainer but he can hardly breathe. Dinand's free hand clamps over this last chance and rips it away. Sephiroth jolts back towards the ground. His left hand joins his right. His boxing gloves feel foreign the way they touch each other.
"My job is to mold you into the perfect SOLDIER." Dinand doesn't even sound out of breath. "You have to behave and certainly you don't get to bite back."
Sephiroth struggles to breathe under the weight. Strange squealing noises come from his feet as he uselessly tries to get traction. Part of his mind goes numb. He simply doesn't know what to do. Dinand's grip is iron on his wrists. His weight pushes down into his stomach. He closes his eyes and tries to focus.
Sephiroth won't scream. Hair is plastered across his face and his lungs burn. His arms hurt with the strain as they are shifted further up. Instead, he tries not to gasp too loudly.
His head falls forward. The fight is over. He can't get the leverage. The energy in him dissipates in defeat. A grunt comes from above him after a moment of stillness and the hold loosens. His arms slip away and down to his side. Dinand himself doesn't move. It's enough that he can relax on the mat. That's all that matters. He coughs under the weight and the cool plastic comes up to meet his face. He calms his spinning head.
"You know how I was able to do this? You lost control of yourself and I didn't. That's your first step. That is what I am trying to teach you."
Sephiroth closes his eyes. He isn't being condescending. It is a fact. He panicked.
"We'll try again tomorrow."
Only then does Dinand get up.
This chapter I kindly described as "ominous noises" to A and they promptly screamed at me. Your thoughts?
Thank you so much for reading. -Quin
Thanks to A for betaing this chapter. They are amazing. You can find their FFVII work on Twitter (AngealLovesYou).