Richelle Mead's world and characters - I'm just playing in her sandbox!
His body stiff and tight, Dimitri handed the wooden practice stake to Viktor and barely waited for him to take a defensive guardian stance before launching his Strigoi attack. He channeled as much of his envy and frustration and anger as he dared, not concerned for his novice partner, but concerned if he let go of his control too completely he wouldn't get it back.
He hit hard and he hit often, not caring if he left himself briefly vulnerable. In this exercise, his goal was not the death of his 'guardian' partner, it was to kill the 'Moroi' his partner was defending. He needed only to incapacitate the guardian, which took less effort than killing him. Killing him was acceptable, just not required, and that small difference allowed him to attack in a way that was less calculated, less careful, a little sloppy, and dangerously free. Dimitri usually disliked the Strigoi role for exactly that reason – that in his mind, to effectively play Striogi meant loosening the control he was always striving for – but at that moment letting go just a fraction of his inner turmoil was just barely enough.
Viktor, his "guardian" opponent, stood a respectable six feet tall, not a huge disadvantage against Dimitri's six foot six, and had twice the muscle Dimitri carried on his own lean frame. He wasn't at the top of the novice class like Dimitri, but he had good technique and the strength to back it up. He was no match for Dimitri's Strigoi. In an all-too-short amount of time, Dimitri tossed him aside "unconscious" and trapped Sasha-as-Moroi. He exposed Sasha's neck and completed the kill.
Breathing hard, not because of the physical effort involved but from the emotional effort of containing a lifetime of frustrations, Dimitri paused a moment longer than necessary while bending over Sasha's neck. He wished he'd been able to fight longer. He kept his eyes focused downward, staring at the worn blue practice mat, intentionally not looking at the actual Moroi watching from the bleachers, but caught just a glimpse of Malina and Zeklos out of the corner of his eye. They were still deep in conversation, and Malina was smiling.
Nikitin's large hand rested briefly on Dimitri's shoulder, and Dimitri released Sasha. He and the other triad members bowed briefly to one another, a courtesy gesture trained into them since their earliest martial arts instruction. "Nice 'Strigoi'," Nikitin said. "Remember that, we'll be discussing Strigoi psychology in class on Monday. Switch."
Sasha traded to play guardian and Viktor took the Strigoi role; Dimitri stood back as Moroi and Nikitin stayed at his shoulder. Nikitin had skipped over the Moroi observer component of the triad but none of the three commented or complained. "Begin," he said.
Sasha attacked and Viktor feinted and nearly got around him. Dimitri noted the weakness in Sasha's technique. The Moroi observer in the triad – Dimitri's role for this round - served a dual purpose: a tangible stand-in for a real, defensible Moroi, and an expert observer, offering feedback and critique at the end of each round. Dimitri had never quite learned how to give feedback – his weakness in the verbal arena crippled him here - but he had learned to recognize weaknesses and to physically demonstrate and teach alternate techniques. He'd earned his reputation among the novices for being the best because of his physical skills, but also because he was the best peer instructor and brought out the best in his partners. Every novice, Dimitri included, craved mastering every basic skill, learning every new technique, discovering any new twist or innovation. Anything and everything they learned now could someday keep their Moroi – and themselves – alive.
Dimitri understood the value of the Moroi position – he often learned as much from his partners' successes and mistakes as from his own battles – but he still disliked the passive role. Tonight he actively hated it. He wanted – needed – to be fighting, not restricted to observing and taking up space until he was successfully defended or "killed".
Sasha and Viktor's battle ended mercifully quickly – Sasha applied the wooden practice stake with textbook technique – and Dimitri mentally catalogued the alternate attacks and defenses he'd considered during their match. A glint of silver from his discarded jacket derailed his attention. He hadn't been asked to return the real stake after the ward exercise. He'd felt wrong leaving it in his room but couldn't bring himself to voluntarily surrender it. He'd compromised, carrying it with him, rationalizing that he could return it more easily if asked. He also – if he was being truly honest with himself – felt better carrying the weapon.
Nikitin's voice pulled him back to the scene in front of him. "Switch," he said again. Nikitin should have asked Dimitri to give feedback on the match. He could have made his own suggestions, corrections, or even given praise. He should have given Dimitri more – likely futile - instruction in providing verbal feedback. He could have left their triad and moved on to another group. Instead he stayed silent but showed every sign of staying with their group to the exclusion of the other triads around them.
Neither Dimitri nor his partners commented on Nikitin's continued breech in match etiquette and Dimitri took the guardian role, relieved to stretch his painfully constricted muscles. Viktor kept the Strigoi role and attacked, using the same gradeschool feint to get through Dimitri's defenses. Malina's quiet laughter reached them and Dimitri stumbled. He'd almost completely succeeded in blocking her out. Viktor carried through, pulling Dimitri down and away and almost captured Sasha, playing Moroi. Viktor missed only because Dimitri caught him in a lucky clip on the shoulder as he regained his balance.
The near castastrophe snapped Dimitri's attention back to sharp focus. Losing a sparring match was unusual for him, but failing to defend his Moroi was unacceptable. He couldn't let himself be distracted, not even by Malina - not even by Zeklos. He renewed his defense, calculating every hit, determining every block with awareness of his Moroi's safety. He used every trick he knew to pull the Strigoi's attention from the Moroi to himself. He focused on the kill, on staking the Strigoi, on keeping his Moroi safe.
Nikitin stepped beside him, jarring his focus once again. He kept fighting – he hadn't been told to stop – and Nikitin spoke so low that he had to strain to hear. Nikitin's voice held a mixture of indeterminate warning, mild curiosity, and carefully placed indifference – all completely out of place.
"Would you fight differently if the Strigoi was attacking you?"