I'm Not Scared [Open]

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Henry was out on the field practicing fencing in his free time. He forced himself to hold each position until his muscles shook with exhaustion, then held it for an extra count of thirty. A slow count. He wasn't able to do anything fancy yet, just the basics, but he was determined to know those really well.

He never wanted to be caught off-guard again.

As he let go of one position and reached down with a shaking hand to grab the water bottle next to him and splash it over his head, he saw an onlooker. "Well?" he shouted. "What do you want?"

He tried to blame his new anger toward others on his association with Astrid, but that couldn't account for everything. He was just so...angry. Angry at the army that was coming up and threatening to destroy them all, angry at Arthur for not giving him a job to do, angry at himself for not stepping up.

"Go away, I don't want to talk to anyone right now," he shouted at whoever was over there. "If you're here to ask about the army, I definitely don't want to talk to you."

He didn't want to tell people what he saw, what he knew...he didn't even want to think about it. He just wanted to get ready.

[indigoeyes]

Peter loved swordcraft, but he was hardly interested in spending his free time working on it. He had defeated Captain Hook countless times, why should he spend all of his spare time trying to master a skill he already knew? Granted, he didn't know any of the fancy terms for all the slashing and ducking, but if you could do it, why did it matter if you knew the words? That was the kind of thing you learned in school. Peter hated school.

That's why he couldn't possibly understand why this Charming fellow was so keen to fence in his free moments. Especially because he wasn't even really fencing, he was taking poses and holding them. Some kind of exercise. It seemed awfully strange to Peter, who was leaning against the fence with his arms crossed over his chest, his usual smirk resting easily on his lips.

"Well? What do you want?"

Peter's eye flicked back to the fencer. He was one of the Charming boys, though Peter never remembered which was which. "I want to be able to fly," he answered simply, "but we can't all have what we want." Ever the smart-aleck.

"Go away, I don't want to talk to anyone right now. If you're here to ask about the army, I definitely don't want to talk to you."

"It's a fine thing I don't need to talk," Peter answered with a grin. "I'm fine just watching."

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Why would anyone want to fly? Henry had to wonder. It sounded like an incredibly terrifying and not very rewarding experience. Based on his time flying out of the saddle, it certainly wasn't something he was eager to try to do on his own. He tried to ignore the fellow.

But he wouldn't leave, he was just standing there, watching. Henry set his sword in the dirt and finished off his drink, then glared at the boy standing by the fence. It was Peter, or Pan, as he liked to be called. Henry had seen him around but not spoken to him much. He wasn't really sure he wanted to know the guy any better, and the current experience wasn't helping his impression.

"Well you're distracting me," he shouted at Pan. "Either leave or grab a sword for sparring lessons." He could use the chance to work against an opponent. It might get rid of some of his pent-up energy. "You should be practicing anyway, with the army at our gate."

Without waiting to see what the other boy would do, Henry assumed the basic position and tried a few basic lunges. It still felt a little odd, but he was glad to see that he still remembered most of what he'd learned as a kid. And while he'd never been able to best his older brother, well, he'd learned some new tricks that might put him ahead in a fight today.

"And now for the left hand," he said, switching the sword over. It felt uncomfortable, but he wanted to try. Just in case something happened to his right arm. He lunged forward from the new position and almost fell, embarrassing himself in front of everyone around.

[indigoeyes]

He wanted to spar, did he? Peter rolled his eyes, wondering why it was so difficult for him to not be distracted. Peter never had a problem with it, Neverland was full of distractions. His attention span he couldn't speak for, but if he had something he wanted to do, distractions weren't usually a problem.

Someone in their infinite wisdom had left a second practice sword lying by the fence. It didn't look damaged, so the Charming boy must have brought it with him in hopes of a partner. Or some such nonsense. Peter picked it up and tested the heft of it. It wasn't bad, a little longer and heavier than he was used to, but that was normal. Peter's own sword was much shorter, and lighter as well. His time in Trenale had taught him how to use a regular sword, though.

As Henry went through the motions, Peter sized him up. He'd have to be more careful fighting on the ground, now that he couldn't use his flight as a backup. He studied the guy's motions. He wasn't the best out there, but neither was he terrible. His style reminded Peter of one of Hook's pirate band, Stuckey. He was almost always Slightly's opponent, and they made an interesting pair. Good thing Slightly fought the same way Peter did.

Peter stepped forward to join Henry just as he nearly went sprawling. Why was he fighting with his left hand? Clearly he was right-handed....Peter had never tried fighting left-handed. At least not the way he did with his right. He couldn't understand why anyone would need to use both. So he propped the practice sword in the dirt, chuckling to himself.

"Any particular reason you're trying to fall over?" he asked curiously.

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Henry turned and glared at Pan, who was standing there with a cocky grin. "Not trying to fall over," he said. "I just need to practice everything. What if I...you...lost one of your hands in the middle of a fight? Would you be able to just switch hands and keep going?"

With that, he stepped back into basic position, sword now held in his right hand. "En garde," he said, holding the tip of his sword in the air. Then he immediately stepped forward into a middle slice designed to cut the belly of someone who wasn't ready.

"You're light on your feet, Pan," he said after a few bouts. "Are you sure you have the energy to keep up that sort of fighting style?" As for himself, Henry tried to stay in one spot as much as he could, keeping all of his movements as economical as possible. He knew he didn't have enough stamina for a long and fancy fight. It was something he needed to work on.

All it would take, he knew, was one decent mistake on either side, and Henry could already feel himself starting to get tired. It wouldn't be long before he slipped and let the other boy through his guard.

[indigoeyes]

Peter's eyes lightened and his brow furrowed as he swung his blade up to meet Henry's. He was already balanced more or less on the balls of his feet, knees slightly bent. A flexible position, from here he could move anywhere.

He skipped backward to avoid Henry's first center cut, using the momentum from his return to toss out a jab of his own, aimed at his opponent's shoulder. "I am light on my feet," he agreed, dancing about the way fairies do. "Which is why I wouldn't lose my hand." He laughed, though inwardly he realized that Henry had a point. Flying took almost no effort at all, it was an exercise of the mind. However, being solidly stuck on the ground, Peter's energy was waning more quickly than usual.

Almost as if fate wanted to prove its point, Peter's hind foot faltered, sending him slightly off-balance. Without thinking, he let go of the ground and called up his happiest memory, counting on the air to catch him. A fool's mistake. His backside hit the ground with an audible thump. At least he managed to keep his sword arm up, though his position was now much, much worse.

But he didn't have much time to find a way to get back up before Henry would have won. Peter's eyes darted back and forth, looking for a way up.
Come on, come on....

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Henry rolled his eyes, losing a moment of visibility in the middle of the fight. How much could this guy know about fighting if he didn't realize that anything could happen at any time. He shouldn't be so cocky about never losing or getting hurt or anything.

He spun in place, always keeping his opponent in sight and waiting for his chance. Then when the other boy fell, the prince swooped in. Instead of finishing off the fight with his sword, though, and just holding it up to Pan's chest, he decided to prove a point.

Henry reached into his back pocket and pulled out one of the knives he kept at all times. Flipping it expertly in his palm, he stepped forward and grabbed Pan's hand, then held his knife against it. This weapon was actually sharpened, so he held the back edge of the blade in order to prevent injuries.

"When you are tired," he said, breathing hard, "you make mistakes. And that's when anything could go wrong." He flipped the knife again and stuck it into its sheath at the small of his back, then reached to give Pan a hand up.

"Ready for another round?" he asked, expecting this fight to be over and another one to begin. At least, that was how it always worked in the regular fencing matches. He'd have time to pick up his sword from where he'd dropped it on the ground before they started again, at least assuming they started a new round.

[indigoeyes]

Peter's eyes darkened at his own defeat. He had lost fights before, of course, but never with such an opponent as this. Why even now he chose to gloat over his victory rather than get on with it. In the end, Peter felt like there wasn't much point to the 'whys' of things. What mattered was actions, right? If you won or lost a fight, what did it matter why you did it? The presence of skill and good reasoning behind it were mutually exclusive concepts.

As the cold steel of Henry's knife touched his wrist, Peter focused very, very hard on not flinching. He was angry though. Angry at himself for losing, and angry at Henry for being a normal training opponent and proving his point (No one ever said Peter had the best mindset for battle).

Ignoring the prince's proffered hand, Peter flipped himself to his feet. He wasn't as tired as the prince clearly thought, his mistakes were based on confusion of physics. He picked up his sword and tossed it from hand to hand once before taking his stance.

"Guard," he whispered, ready for whatever his opponent could throw at him. This time he had no intention of failing. He was Pan the Avenger for a reason, after all.

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Henry grabbed his sword and went into the guard position. He waited for Pan to make the first move.

So yes, he was cocky about his first win. And yes, he was already growing tired. And no, he didn't know all the little tricks about swordplay that there were, and he wasn't really keen to experiment.

Still, though, Henry hadn't expected the ferocity of the attack, nor had he expected to be driven back so quickly from his position. He tried to regain his footing, but it was hard to do against Pan's onslaught, especially for someone who wasn't very good at maintaining his basics in the first place.

He still was managing to block fairly well, and he even got in a few thrusts of his own, but it wasn't long before Henry sensed his feet falling out from underneath him. He panicked as he felt himself began to fall and spun around to try to stumble forward, exposing his back toward his opponent.

He was gasping heavily, no time to talk or say anything, which was good because otherwise he might have tried to ask for a break, which was completely unmanly. Instead he just stumbled forward a bit, almost completely hunched over, as he tried to find firm footing again.

He tried to spin to defend himself again but was slow on the reversal. He could sense his defeat before anything even happened.