Disclaimer: Hey, you know what? Squaresoft still owns these characters! Which means they haven't sold 'em to me yet…*sob*
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"All right, today we start sword training."
It had been a week since Sephiroth had joined SOLDIER. Seven days, and numerous opportunities to prove Sergeant Bailey's assumption grossly incorrect. Maybe it was his Mako-drenched blood, maybe his firm resolve, or perhaps simply his defiance toward all the people that displayed little more than indifference toward him, but he had outdone the other recruits at everything. Nothing formal yet--just basic exercises such as distance running and push-ups, standard military fare--but no matter what it was, he had lasted longer and just plain performed better than the others.
And of course, that was pissing Sergeant Bailey off.
(He'll just have to continue being upset at me, then. I'm not going to lessen my efforts because of him, or anyone else who doubts me. I know what I'm here for.)
The sergeant led the recruits, who were unable to repress excited grins at the idea that they got to handle weapons now, into the armory.
The armory's austere steel walls were lined from the floor to the low ceiling with heavy iron gun racks, all of them bearing a myriad of stout machine guns and wicked jet-black rifles just waiting to be held by eager young hands.
Their focus today, though, was on the sturdy short swords that were propped against the back wall like a low, glinting curtain, enticing youthful eyes with the future promise of hand-to-hand combat.
Sergeant Bailey stopped the recruits well away from the weapons they were to wield, barking at them to wait at full attention. When they had done that, and after having berated one of them for having a boot lace tied incorrectly, he explained to the inwardly fidgety young men what they would be doing.
"These are the swords you louts will be using," he said, waving a lean hand at the weapons. "They are standard-issue short swords, built well and made to withstand your initial clumsiness. They will last you forever and a day, through hell and back…if you live long enough to get that far." He retrieved one of them and gave it a quick toss in the air. "There are twenty-five kata," he added, "and all of you spineless pond scum will know them inside and out. You will do them when you are awake, you will do them in your sleep, and they will be perfect no matter when you do them."
Flipping the blade over, Sergeant Bailey handed it hilt-first to the first recruit. "Swing it."
Obviously startled by the feel of the weapon, the young man took the proffered sword and, after the sergeant had stepped back, whipped it in a short, lopsided arc.
"Awful. Horrible. Such ineptness makes me want to vomit." The officer picked up another sword. His eyes slipped to shards of flint as he made a point of approaching Sephiroth and offering him the weapon. "Okay, you freaky thing," he sneered. "You've squeaked through everything else, so let's see how you handle this."
"Yes, Sir," the teenager replied, his tapered fingers clasping the leather-bound grip. Scarcely waiting for the sergeant to move away, he brought the steel in a graceful upward swipe, curved it across in a whir of silver, then slid it level with his brilliant eyes. Above the blade, he saw his commanding officer glaring evilly at him, the man's thin lips invisible in his intense scowl.
Sephiroth lowered the sword and stiffened to attention. "Sir," he said, "I hope that was satisfactory, Sir." (How did I know how to wield that? Those other physical exercises…they don't require skill. But swordsmanship does, and I've never even touched one of these before. Yet…somehow…that wasn't even difficult. I…knew how to use it.)
Sergeant Bailey stomped up to him, his face paling with rage. "Bastard kid…you disgust me!" he growled. "I don't know how you can be so feeble and effeminate-looking and still best everyone here, but don't think that'll last. Believe you me, boy, it won't. It damn sure won't. I will see to it that you're crushed!"
(No you won't.) "Sir!" he responded, wisely concealing his true reply. Disrespecting his commanding officer, no matter how inane and hateful he was, was no way to gain positive repute. For now, he would have to tolerate his malice…but only until he
outranked him. And that, he had already decided, was a certainty.
Hissing a profanity at Sephiroth under his breath, Sergeant Bailey took his position again. "All of you, get a blade and spread out! We're going through the first four kata. Move it!"
The first kata was a standing, two-handed, overhead slash. The second, the same, but lunging. The third was a single-handed diagonally upward slash, and the fourth brought the blade back down and across. The most novice, basic moves, yet a handful of the recruits managed to mess them up, causing the sergeant to explode in a hail of violent expletives that Sephiroth had never even heard. And considering that Hojo had an ample vocabulary of those words, it came as quite a shock to him that there were some the short-tempered scientist had never used.
He even received some of the foul language himself, though it wasn't for messing anything up. He moved through all four kata flawlessly, maintaining perfect form and handling the short sword as if he'd been born with it in his hand. Sergeant Bailey noticed this just as quickly as the failures, and, leaving the screw-ups to stand stupidly with their swords in hand, trying to comprehend what they had all been called, halted Sephiroth in the middle of the third slash.
"Are you trying to show off, you girly, white-haired bastard?!" He yanked the sword out of his hand and flung it to the floor with a resounding clang that stopped the other young men in their tracks, and when they sensed the possibility that one of their own was going to get a verbal thrashing even worse than any of them had, they ceased whatever kata they were in the process of performing, lowering their blades to watch the spectacle.
"No, Sir!" Sephiroth replied, averting his eyes, as was proper. "I am only doing what you told us to, Sir!"
"The bloody damn hell you were! Have you used a sword before?"
"No, Sir, never."
"That's a load of shit, too. Don't take me for a fool, boy!" Sergeant Bailey squinted deep into Sephiroth's verdant orbs, rage and insult hardening his gray eyes into slits of iron as death-cold as the swords. "It's all that Mako in you, ain't it? You're still so hopped up on it that you think you can just prance in here like some sort of prodigy, piss me off, and then get away with it! You think you're better than the rest of these puerile rodents, don't you? You think you're better than me, don't you?! Don't just stand there…what was it…Sephiroth! Answer me!! You're so pissing full of Mako you think you're God!!"
Despite his determination, Sephiroth couldn't suppress the tears that pricked the corners of his eyes. (I don't even know how I'm doing this myself.) he thought. (I've never wielded a sword before…maybe it is the Mako…?)
"No, Sir," he replied, his voice low. "I don't think I'm God, Sir. I know I'm not." (All this because I demonstrate skill? Because of what little bit I've proven so far?)
"Then stop acting like you are!"
"You want me to be a failure, Sir?" Sephiroth knew good and well it was dangerously beyond proper means to talk back to a superior officer and question his words, but he couldn't…wouldn't…let it go that easily. "Because if that's what you want, Sir, than you are going to be very disappointed."
A soft murmur rippled through the onlookers. His temper having gotten the best of him, Sergeant Bailey didn't even know what to say as that pair of neon green eyes met his livid, ashen face. Finally, after a long, stifling moment, his lips curled back in a canine snarl. "I could kill you, you smart-mouthed little asshole. SOLDIER protocol won't let me, but if you ever think you're going to defy me again, I will make sure you get sent to the front lines on the bloodiest battlefield…and that someone does me the favor of putting you through a slow, gruesome death. Understood?"
(You sound…just like my father. And I hate my father. I hate you, too.) "Yes, Sir!" (I'm not God, and I never will be…but I will be better than you. Then I'd like to see you act so important. You just can't stand it right now that you know I have the potential to best you, but you refuse to acknowledge that on account of my appearance and your jealousy.)
(I don't know how I'm able to use that sword so well. All that's important is that I can.)
(This man…and Hojo…and whoever else tries to break me…be damned.)
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A/N: Yay! I got this one posted quicker than I thought! WHOO-HOO!!
…erm…
Right. Well, anyway, glad you're enjoying the story! Many thanks for the reviews, too!^^
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"All right, today we start sword training."
It had been a week since Sephiroth had joined SOLDIER. Seven days, and numerous opportunities to prove Sergeant Bailey's assumption grossly incorrect. Maybe it was his Mako-drenched blood, maybe his firm resolve, or perhaps simply his defiance toward all the people that displayed little more than indifference toward him, but he had outdone the other recruits at everything. Nothing formal yet--just basic exercises such as distance running and push-ups, standard military fare--but no matter what it was, he had lasted longer and just plain performed better than the others.
And of course, that was pissing Sergeant Bailey off.
(He'll just have to continue being upset at me, then. I'm not going to lessen my efforts because of him, or anyone else who doubts me. I know what I'm here for.)
The sergeant led the recruits, who were unable to repress excited grins at the idea that they got to handle weapons now, into the armory.
The armory's austere steel walls were lined from the floor to the low ceiling with heavy iron gun racks, all of them bearing a myriad of stout machine guns and wicked jet-black rifles just waiting to be held by eager young hands.
Their focus today, though, was on the sturdy short swords that were propped against the back wall like a low, glinting curtain, enticing youthful eyes with the future promise of hand-to-hand combat.
Sergeant Bailey stopped the recruits well away from the weapons they were to wield, barking at them to wait at full attention. When they had done that, and after having berated one of them for having a boot lace tied incorrectly, he explained to the inwardly fidgety young men what they would be doing.
"These are the swords you louts will be using," he said, waving a lean hand at the weapons. "They are standard-issue short swords, built well and made to withstand your initial clumsiness. They will last you forever and a day, through hell and back…if you live long enough to get that far." He retrieved one of them and gave it a quick toss in the air. "There are twenty-five kata," he added, "and all of you spineless pond scum will know them inside and out. You will do them when you are awake, you will do them in your sleep, and they will be perfect no matter when you do them."
Flipping the blade over, Sergeant Bailey handed it hilt-first to the first recruit. "Swing it."
Obviously startled by the feel of the weapon, the young man took the proffered sword and, after the sergeant had stepped back, whipped it in a short, lopsided arc.
"Awful. Horrible. Such ineptness makes me want to vomit." The officer picked up another sword. His eyes slipped to shards of flint as he made a point of approaching Sephiroth and offering him the weapon. "Okay, you freaky thing," he sneered. "You've squeaked through everything else, so let's see how you handle this."
"Yes, Sir," the teenager replied, his tapered fingers clasping the leather-bound grip. Scarcely waiting for the sergeant to move away, he brought the steel in a graceful upward swipe, curved it across in a whir of silver, then slid it level with his brilliant eyes. Above the blade, he saw his commanding officer glaring evilly at him, the man's thin lips invisible in his intense scowl.
Sephiroth lowered the sword and stiffened to attention. "Sir," he said, "I hope that was satisfactory, Sir." (How did I know how to wield that? Those other physical exercises…they don't require skill. But swordsmanship does, and I've never even touched one of these before. Yet…somehow…that wasn't even difficult. I…knew how to use it.)
Sergeant Bailey stomped up to him, his face paling with rage. "Bastard kid…you disgust me!" he growled. "I don't know how you can be so feeble and effeminate-looking and still best everyone here, but don't think that'll last. Believe you me, boy, it won't. It damn sure won't. I will see to it that you're crushed!"
(No you won't.) "Sir!" he responded, wisely concealing his true reply. Disrespecting his commanding officer, no matter how inane and hateful he was, was no way to gain positive repute. For now, he would have to tolerate his malice…but only until he
outranked him. And that, he had already decided, was a certainty.
Hissing a profanity at Sephiroth under his breath, Sergeant Bailey took his position again. "All of you, get a blade and spread out! We're going through the first four kata. Move it!"
The first kata was a standing, two-handed, overhead slash. The second, the same, but lunging. The third was a single-handed diagonally upward slash, and the fourth brought the blade back down and across. The most novice, basic moves, yet a handful of the recruits managed to mess them up, causing the sergeant to explode in a hail of violent expletives that Sephiroth had never even heard. And considering that Hojo had an ample vocabulary of those words, it came as quite a shock to him that there were some the short-tempered scientist had never used.
He even received some of the foul language himself, though it wasn't for messing anything up. He moved through all four kata flawlessly, maintaining perfect form and handling the short sword as if he'd been born with it in his hand. Sergeant Bailey noticed this just as quickly as the failures, and, leaving the screw-ups to stand stupidly with their swords in hand, trying to comprehend what they had all been called, halted Sephiroth in the middle of the third slash.
"Are you trying to show off, you girly, white-haired bastard?!" He yanked the sword out of his hand and flung it to the floor with a resounding clang that stopped the other young men in their tracks, and when they sensed the possibility that one of their own was going to get a verbal thrashing even worse than any of them had, they ceased whatever kata they were in the process of performing, lowering their blades to watch the spectacle.
"No, Sir!" Sephiroth replied, averting his eyes, as was proper. "I am only doing what you told us to, Sir!"
"The bloody damn hell you were! Have you used a sword before?"
"No, Sir, never."
"That's a load of shit, too. Don't take me for a fool, boy!" Sergeant Bailey squinted deep into Sephiroth's verdant orbs, rage and insult hardening his gray eyes into slits of iron as death-cold as the swords. "It's all that Mako in you, ain't it? You're still so hopped up on it that you think you can just prance in here like some sort of prodigy, piss me off, and then get away with it! You think you're better than the rest of these puerile rodents, don't you? You think you're better than me, don't you?! Don't just stand there…what was it…Sephiroth! Answer me!! You're so pissing full of Mako you think you're God!!"
Despite his determination, Sephiroth couldn't suppress the tears that pricked the corners of his eyes. (I don't even know how I'm doing this myself.) he thought. (I've never wielded a sword before…maybe it is the Mako…?)
"No, Sir," he replied, his voice low. "I don't think I'm God, Sir. I know I'm not." (All this because I demonstrate skill? Because of what little bit I've proven so far?)
"Then stop acting like you are!"
"You want me to be a failure, Sir?" Sephiroth knew good and well it was dangerously beyond proper means to talk back to a superior officer and question his words, but he couldn't…wouldn't…let it go that easily. "Because if that's what you want, Sir, than you are going to be very disappointed."
A soft murmur rippled through the onlookers. His temper having gotten the best of him, Sergeant Bailey didn't even know what to say as that pair of neon green eyes met his livid, ashen face. Finally, after a long, stifling moment, his lips curled back in a canine snarl. "I could kill you, you smart-mouthed little asshole. SOLDIER protocol won't let me, but if you ever think you're going to defy me again, I will make sure you get sent to the front lines on the bloodiest battlefield…and that someone does me the favor of putting you through a slow, gruesome death. Understood?"
(You sound…just like my father. And I hate my father. I hate you, too.) "Yes, Sir!" (I'm not God, and I never will be…but I will be better than you. Then I'd like to see you act so important. You just can't stand it right now that you know I have the potential to best you, but you refuse to acknowledge that on account of my appearance and your jealousy.)
(I don't know how I'm able to use that sword so well. All that's important is that I can.)
(This man…and Hojo…and whoever else tries to break me…be damned.)
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A/N: Yay! I got this one posted quicker than I thought! WHOO-HOO!!
…erm…
Right. Well, anyway, glad you're enjoying the story! Many thanks for the reviews, too!^^