Vignette 1: Telegraph Me
telegraph:
"to divulge or indicate unwittingly
(one's intention, next offensive move, etc.),
as to an opponent or to an audience; broadcast"
Quistis and Seifer trek down a hill that slopes into a magnificent stretch of treeless land.
Sunflowers and asters are shining in the morning rays and swaying in the wind like a charming illustration out of a children's storybook.
Their favored training spot is dead center in the meadow where the flowers peter out until there is nothing but a circle of moss that is soft as velvet.
She kneels into the plush carpet of verdure and spreads out a blanket. "I have a favor to ask."
"What is it?" he says, removing his boots.
Quistis slips off her shoes alongside him. "Don't go easy on me," she tells him with a fierce glint in her eyes. "I'm feeling better than ever today. I want to know how far I've come."
"I wasn't planning on holding back." Seifer gives her a fiendish little grin, but she knows that he will make it a fair fight. He always does.
"Glad we're on the same page." She returns his grin before tying back her hair and inserting her mouthguard.
Quistis used to think that anything less than winning a duel was proof that she was slipping in her craft and somehow becoming defunct. This is the first misconception that Seifer has challenged. He has shown her that there is a double purpose in fighting. The first is to destroy her opponent in the name of justice. The second is to destroy that which disturbs her internally, be it anger or greed or shame.
A breathless thrill invigorates her as she faces him, stance at the ready. There is an indescribable sense of freedom in being stripped of all weapons, GFs, magic, items, and Limit Breaks. They have absolutely nothing to rely on but their minds and their bodies.
Seifer commences their training session with a leading finger jab. Quistis parries him before he can reach her unprotected eyes.
The sweet ground of earth sings through her bare feet to give her the tactile feedback she needs. She has learned that everything is dependent on footwork because there is no chance of making contact with him until her feet have first placed her in the desired position.
She rolls her body with each blow, moving in the same direction as him to reduce impact. She guards the final blow and redirects his energy to twist him into a troublesome posture. He springs up in recovery and she snaps back, lengthening the distance between them.
She moves continuously. Her motions are curved, for they require less effort than straight lines. She strives to keep each movement economical and graceful. They are dancing together just as much as they are fighting together in their warlike pas de deux.
Seifer unravels his scarf and tosses it off to the side. He is luxuriating in the rush of endorphins. He is smirking openly at her. She would never admit it out loud, but there is something provocative about his facial expression in battle. It draws her in and makes her want to touch him, if only to graze his skin or sense his heartbeat for a millisecond.
A clever feint from him causes her to miscalculate. He finds an opening and latches onto her arms in a joint lock. She is immobilized for several painful seconds before she aims a powerful kick at his ankle and breaks free from his grasp, delivering him a corkscrew hook before sliding out of range again.
He remains loose yet compact like a coiled spring. He bobs and weaves for a bit before unleashing a flurry of uppercuts. She deflects his attacks in a seamless legato of arms and elbows.
Despite what others think, Seifer is not all about bursts of aggression. When she observes him, truly observes him, she sees an astounding level of kinesthetic control in his style of combat. He knows how to dial down the heat to his advantage. He takes his time coaxing her into his orbit. She secretly wants to be like him in all of his ruthless efficiency.
She peels off her jacket. Sweat is beading on her neck and hairline. She is just getting started. She holds back a smile. She must be bold and decisive and threatening, but a smile would certainly diminish the impact.
In the past she believed that her advantage was speed and Seifer's was strength. This is another misconception he has crushed to pieces. She cannot discount the importance of balance, endurance, precision, and timing among other factors. Brute force alone, evasiveness on its own, does not always lead to victory if the other elements are neglected.
It is Quistis' turn to feint. She needs to get close to him and stay there. It is hard to get a reaction out of him. She knows that a feint is not effective unless it forces him to move.
His eyes trail her; she is his quarry. Telegraphing has been one of her weaknesses, and he knows her physical cues well enough by now to be able to predict some of her combos.
Sunlight settles on their skin. The crisp air gives way to healing warmth. More layers of clothing are discarded, dotting the landscape in a humorous patchwork of colors.
She wants to jam him, disturb his rhythm. If she is successful then she will be able to score an attack—perhaps even a counterattack—as his muscles involuntarily continue the previous rhythm. She will be able to hit him before he can adjust himself to the change.
Quistis surprises him with a sequence that ends in a wicked knee thrust. Even if he thinks he knows her, the truth is that her physical and mental condition varies from day to day. She likes mixing up her repertoire in this way and seeing how her choices are received. Can she keep him on his toes in the same way that he does to her?
She finally cuts into Seifer's movements. His agility is abruptly taken away from him. She head-butts him into the grass. On a philosophical level she is striking him with her whole body—her arms and legs are simply the means to transmit her force.
They are wrestling now, skin on skin in a visceral reminder of her existence. She feels the shifting contraction and relaxation of his muscles as he attempts to gain the upper hand. She may have a debilitating illness. She may not be as hardy as she once was. But she is alive in this rough-and-tumble life. She is alive and able to believe again in these moments.
Quistis once viewed training as a linear journey. On good days she would progress and on bad days she would retreat a step or two. This, too, has turned out to be a misconception. Seifer has taught her that training is not just about building up her body. It is also about knowing what can harm her body and tear it down. They are two sides of the same coin.
Some time later their grappling fades into a tired tangle of limbs, signaling the end of the fight. She rolls onto her stomach, thoroughly out of breath. With a lazy flourish he stretches her into a gentle leg lock with a toe hold, causing her shirt to ride up slightly. He does this just because he can—and possibly for a reason that is not so innocent.
"Was that really necessary?" she asks with a hint of annoyance.
His answering laugh is sharp and joyful. It is music to her ears.
She escapes from his hold with barely any effort. Then, she sits upright and straightens out her shirt with a huff.
He is sporting grass stains and is covered in a thin film of dirt. She must look just as tousled as him, but there is something oddly comforting about the messiness of it all. They need no adornments in this personal paradise of theirs. No dignified priorities, no well-dressed achievements. In this place and at this time, they are simply a boy and a girl who are content to play with each other.
"You've surpassed my expectations, young Padawan." He flicks her ponytail.
She glows at his praise, bowing her head in respect. "I'm indebted to you, Master Almasy."
They hoist themselves onto their feet and collect their strewn items of clothing.
They recline on the blanket for a welcome sunbath. Maybe they will even get a bit of shuteye.
Yesterday may have been tough but today is a new beginning. Today, she feels strong and wise and confident. Today, every color is more vibrant and every emotion is more purposeful.
Quistis steals a shy glance at Seifer.
How wonderful it is to know that he believes in her!
Author's Notes: This piece was inspired by the aesthetic and philosophy found in the martial arts movie The Grandmaster (2013) and the book The Tao of Jeet Kune Do by Bruce Lee.