1x1 -- Sarish and Stormy

[stormy tom]

James took a step back before Sarish could retaliate -- but the man was praising him. The explanation continued, and he tried to absorb as much as he could. All of those are me, he thought. I've got a lot to work on.
Perhaps admitting that was step one.
Though the fight was humbling, he felt pride swell in his chest, mixing with the adrenaline and giving him some sort of rush. He sucked in blissful gusts of air, swelling his chest in and out. He practically radiated with pride. James rarely felt any emotion lightly, and anything he did feel he practically shouted it to the world in one way or another. He'd never been good at subtlety...
Right now his pride was glowing in his eyes, burning through that humility and absorbing him. He might think of what he'd learned later, but for now he would take the time to bask in his small victory. He returned his attention to Sarish. His back definitely seemed to be bothering him. James did understand subtlety a little: he understood how a slight change in weight could make it easier to stand. He'd gotten very good at shifting his weight, and good enough to notice when someone else was doing it. And what Sarish was doing wasn't to illustrate a lesson. No, the movement was too small for that. James had actually struck a chord. Or a muscle, in fact.
But if Sarish wasn't ending the session, neither was James. No way would he be the first to go down. He'd already displayed more weakness that he would ever have wanted to this man. He'd fallen down an steep embankment, passed out, and shouted at the monk's leader. All in the space of less than two days.
"You wanna keep going Bruce Willis?" James wondered then if that made him Alan Rickman...

[Sarish]

Sarish chuckled a bit at the pride in James' eyes, pleasantly surprised at how little it took to make the man happy with himself. He'll learn quickly, and he'll learn well. He should be proud, though. Not everyone can find a weakness as quickly as he did. It probably took me a month before I even listened to a word my master said, and then a month after that to be able to spot subtle weaknesses. he mused. I was such a stubborn kid.

He turned his attention back to James, noticing immediately that the look on his face had turned knowing, like he knew exactly what Sarish's stance was signifying. Drawing himself up, he shifted his weight back to normal, ignoring the protest his back gave. He felt uncharacteristically defensive, the expression striking a chord. I'm not weak, the monk thought bitterly. A bit shocked at his reaction, he took a moment to relax himself again. He doesn't know. It's not even a big deal if he did know... Why am I acting like such an idiot? Sarish growled at himself inwardly. There's nothing to be defensive about. Relax. Snapping back to reality, he listened to James' question, a bit on edge. The casual inquiry felt like a challenge. He wasn't too far gone to know that he probably shouldn't strain himself too much more or else he ran the risk of having an episode and being bed-bound for a while. That didn't mean he wouldn't test his limits a little.

"One more lesson," he started, keeping his tone even. "Make sure to keep your expression neutral in a fight. I easily predicted when you threw your first punch because you had gritted your teeth and your eyes gave you away. It's not an easy practice to master, but it will be one of your greatest abilities when you do. Try attacking me again, and try to keep your body language relaxed until you do."

[stormy tom]

It was one of James' few good qualities: he was honest. He couldn't help it. He just couldn't lie. And hiding that he was going to attack was basically lying.
As he watched Sarish shift his weight yet again he thought on the instruction. He gave himself a moment to relax his muscles entirely. Amazingly, James discovered muscles he hadn't even realised were tense. The man seemed heavier relaxed, and far less aggressive. The light of battle was flickering in his eyes. It would be difficult for James to separate his emotions from his physical state. Right now, the flame in his eyes, his adrenaline, and the aggression to win were all tightly knotted together.
Think, think Hunter! instantly, his face started to solidify and twist again. No no, relax. Relax, dammit. He can read you like an open book. He tried to remember how he'd managed to be so unpredictable on the ice rink, how the opposing team hadn't been able to block his shots.
I was thinking, I was just acting. It was all happening, and I just... moved. There was no time for preparation. This wasn't hockey, this was a battle field. More specifically, the beginning of a battle. Starting was hardest. How to begin? And begin unpredictably? His eyes flicked around Sarish's body, analysing. Shoulder? Stomach? Head? Legs? No no, he can see your eyes... so he kept flicking, trying to mask the fact that he'd chosen his point of attack. James kept himself from lingering too long on any one spot.
The former hockey player tensed his body all at once and jumped into action, aiming a jab at the monk's upper ribs. In all his focus, he'd forgotten to manage his stance too, and his forward momentum all fell on his bad leg. James felt the sharp familiar pain and instantly reacted. He let his leg fold under him and turned onto his back, falling on his shoulders instead of his knees. He'd learned quickly how to fall to avoid hurting his leg further.
James flushed pink with embarrassment. One simple fight... baby steps, Hunter, baby steps. One thing at a time. the coach had told him the same thing. Luckily, James' technique of trying to learn everything at once had paid off since hockey had come so naturally to him. But this was different. He was learning to actually fight properly, with grace and skill. Not just wildly swinging fists like every fight had ever gone down. And he'd never needed to respond differently, since he'd always been bigger and stronger than anyone going up against him. He's always won.
He must think I look like an idiot, James thought, but instantly doubted the idea. Sarish isn't like that... somehow I know that. Maybe it's because he's so different from everyone else that it would be impossible not to notice. At least the man was taking the time to teach James. After everything that had happened in such a short space of time it was almost a miracle.

[Sarish]

It was clear that James was struggling with keeping himself as neutral as possible, the indecision and the war to keep himself relaxed displayed plainly on his face. Sarish watched warily as the man's gaze flicked over him before going still, like he had just remembered that that was exactly what he wasn't supposed to do. Come on, then. The monk thought, observing his opponent attempt to be unreadable. He was still on edge, though it helped to know that James would actually be attacking and he had to pay attention or things could go very badly.

Sarish noticed the sudden tension in James' body, immediately responding with leaning his weight back in the event he had to block or dodge. He noticed how one of the Canadian's hands was flat. A jab, then. However, the one thing he couldn't predict was where the jab would be aimed. It appeared that he would probably never know as James winced when he took a step forward, his bad leg folding under him as he twisted so that he landed on his back. The monk relaxed with a sigh, the defensiveness that had clung to him like a burr disappearing at once. Honestly, Sarish, you should be better than this. You are a master for a reason, regardless of what half of the monastery believes.

"Good, James, that was better. I could still tell when and how you would attack, but not when. That's a step in the right direction. Believe me, it's a hard technique to learn," he admitted as he moved to the Canadian's side. This man is nothing short of amazing.
Even if he has fought before, it can be very difficult to learn subtlety. He's still got a ways to go before he will be able to completely mask his intentions, but we can work on that as we go. It will help him if he observes me and someone else spar, he realized. Hmm. I'll have to try and get someone to help me with that on a later date. The monk held out a hand to James to help pull him up, momentarily forgetting about his weakness. "Are you alright?"

[stormy tom]

James caught his breath as he listened, allowing himself to slip back into his natural state of facial honesty. It was going to take a lot of work to stop doing that. In battle, anyway.
He accepted Sarish's hand and stood up. "Thanks, I'm okay." It came very naturally to protect his leg. Some kind of self-preservation mechanism perhaps. Letting it collapse had protected it from absorbing full impact. James had learned to fall for hockey, and dirt was a far better surface than ice. Dirt had some give, whereas ice was unforgiving.
"Thank you," he said quietly, dusting himself off. It was still hard to offer gratitude, despite how strongly his heart was urging him to give it to Sarish almost all the time. I owe him a lot. "I need a break, Sarish. And a shower."

James found his maps still stuffed away in his bag. He consulted it. There was a river not too far from here. According to the map, there was some sort of back-eddie that would be safe to take a dip in. The Canadian took the map with him, stuffing it and his switch blade in his jeans pocket and pulling on his sweater. He left the monastery by the lower path and headed off, not up not down, but sideways. Sure enough he found the river, and the back eddie.
The cold was natural to him. James slid into the frigid water, sitting cross-legged on the pebbles as the current buffeted his pale body. He had a drink and got clean, then reached to the bank for his switch blade. Very carefully, he shaved off his dark bristle. James had always had steady hands. He gave himself an impressively close shave.
All clean, James got out of the water and dried himself before heading back for supper.

James had always been a restless sleeper, even more so after the accident. It was like he was always in turmoil, his brain always trying to work out internal conflict through dreams and memories.
Tonight was no different, as he might have hoped. Last night had been amazing, but then again, he'd worked himself to the point of collapse. Today he was tired, yes, but not nearly as much.
A few tosses and turns later, James found himself getting up, wearing a pair of loose trousers. He wandered with bare feet to the entrance of the monastery and lay down at the top of the stairs, back to the cool stone. He rested his feet on the first step and stared up at the sky. A few trees gently swayed in his peripheral and clouds drifted past the moon and stars. It was very peaceful. No cars, no people, no neon lights.
James fell asleep in the early hours of morning at last, his face finally relaxing entirely. Deep, restful sleep was one of the few times he looked truly relaxed. All of the muscles in his face smoothed and he looked younger, softer in the moonlight.

Morning found him dreaming, legs and arms twitching like a dog when it dreams of running. He was muttering to himself, the same name over and over again, rolling onto one side. Whatever he was fighting in the dream, James seemed to be winning.
But not for long. As sunlight began to creep across his body the dream turned sour and his face began to crease again.

[Sarish]

Sarish hoisted James up, very pointedly ignoring every muscle that was screaming out for him to drop the man and maybe fall on his side and join him on the ground instead. He shifted his hips slightly as he straightened, breathing slowly as the pain pulsed through him. I really need to be more careful. I can't just stay in my room all day on my futon anymore; I've got to be a responsible adult now. The monk grinned, easily passing it off as simply responding to James' thank you. "No problem. It's getting late anyway, and it's been a long day, so I think that will do it for today. Have a good night," he departed with a wave, walking stiffly back into the monastery. The monk definitely needed a bath as well, though he could wait until dinner time when there was very little chance that anyone else would be at the river that the members of the monastery used to clean themselves off. As soon as he entered the monastery's doors, his gait immediately transformed into a limping shuffle in order to lessen the insistent, deep-seated ache in his bones.

The master visited the dining hall first to grab two pears, eating both quickly before throwing the stems and leftovers in the compost basket before striding back to one of the storage rooms. He slipped inside, grabbing a clean blue robe before stepping back out, carrying the garment over one arm as he slid the door closed and gimped back through the hallways and out of the main doors once more, this time putting sandals on before descending the stairs slowly, carefully. He got to the base of the staircase and set out for the river at a leisurely pace, glad to see that there was no one there when he arrived. Sarish slipped his sandals off easily, then untied the sash at his waist, letting the robes slide off his shoulder and stepping out of them when they puddled around his feet. He reached back to touch the varied, pale scars on his back gingerly before stepping into the water, the freezing temperatures hardly effecting him apart from an ache in his bones in the lower half of his spine. He's lived his whole life in the mountains, after all. This was nothing compared to winter.

After washing himself clean Sarish secured the new robes around himself, his soreness and tiredness catching up to him. Alright. I've put it off for long enough. The monk made his way back to the steps, climbed them, and shuffled wearily to his room, relieved when he closed the door behind him. He stumbled over to his bedroll, awkwardly lowering himself until he was curled on his side, the position being the most comfortable for him when he had had a painful day. Ok. Ok. he told himself, closing his eyes as those horrible memories of days long past came flooding back to him, playing out on the backs of his eyelids like he was watching a film instead of remembering events. The longer he lay there, thinking, the more sorrowful he became, tears leaking out from the corners of his eyes. Goodness. Goodness. How could they suppress this? I wouldn't have thought something this impactful could have been tamped out. Goodness, Sarish cried silently for a long time, finding that once the tears had started they were hard to stop. How long has it been since I cried? It must have been at least a year. The monk felt a deep stirring in his soul, and found that even his Alter was weeping; Even his soul was shaken by these memories. It makes sense now... Why I never summon it anymore. Why it fills me with sadness and dread. I might not have formed it until the day I died if I had never regained this.

When the stream of tears finally slowed to a stop, Sarish found himself feeling empty and tired beyond belief. And yet he lay there for hours more, mind roiling restlessly as he nearly dozed off a few times. In the early hours of the morning he finally fell asleep, blessedly dreamless for a change.

A few hours later ...much to early..., Sarish found himself awake and staring at the wall of his room, unaware that he was not sleeping for a few minutes until the dim light from his window flickered across the floor in front of him, making him snap awake. Yawning, still much too tired, he shifted his legs, testing his back. It twinged in response, though it wasn't much worse that yesterday. A small miracle, the monk thought deliriously. He dozed for a while, his mind deeming it too early for any rational thought.

Finally, the master awoke fully, rubbing a hand over the dry tear tracks his face to remove them. He rose from his futon gingerly, foregoing his usual morning meditation to see if James was awake yet.

[stormy tom]

"Pass it, Hunter!"
But James just gritted his teeth and sidestepped another determined member of the opposition, gracefully manoeuvring his body on the ice. A team mate was yelling at him, but he ignored it. When the Harbinger of Death James Hunter got the puck, he barrelled for the net and made his usual speed-of-light shot, swinging his stick like the Grim Reaper's scythe. And he never missed.
Here he was again, facing down the net, coming at it diagonally, weaving in and out of the players who dared try to stop him.
And there came Alexander Striker, the biggest player on the rink. He stormed into view and crashed toward James, mere feet from the net, mere seconds from the end of the game. James didn't dare back down. He set his stare and took the shot. The puck sailed into the net with all the force of a torpedo, and Striker sailed into him with equal destructive power. He'd bent down, pushing his whole body under James then throwing him up and over with a shoulder to the hip. James went up, turned, and came crashing down.

And crashing awake.
Why am I on the stairs, he sat up, nearly standing right away. He was glad he didn't. That whole stairs case loomed before him. Quickly, the Canadian pushed back, forgetting his dream seconds after waking up. He'd had the same one many times before. It used to plague him, but now it was more of an irritating itch. There were far worse dreams to have, from experience, ones that twisted reality.

So James got up and threw his blanket back in his room, as well rested as he usually was. He shook out his resilient body, wiped dew from his chest, and tugged on his sweater and shirt, as well as his socks and shoes.
Maybe I should get me one of those robes, he thought, looking around at the other apprentices who looked at home and very comfortable. I just hope brown is my colour.
He sat down for breakfast, early to rise as usual. Lots of apprentices were still wandering in. James spent the few minutes of breakfast lost in his own thoughts. The other apprentices left him alone and gave him a wide berth. Some of them even watched him as he got up and left, then returned to their meals with some regained enthusiasm and security. The newcomer made them nervous.
James went to find Sarish. He ran into the monk in the hallways. His friend looked... weary. Not just sleepless, but emotionally drained. James had stared at a face like that every morning for months. Him and that face were good friends. He knew the story of those eyes. Those were weepin' eyes alright. The taller, thicker-built Canadian intercepted the monk, assertiveness in his eyes. He wasn't about to take any protesting or crap. But since he'd never had anybody to talk to himself, his actions might have seemed aggressive... as usual. Unfamiliar emotions often manifested themselves as aggression.
He took a handful of robe and tugged Sarish after him, almost roughly, and didn't say anything until they were outside and alone. James easily dropped to a sitting position at the edge of the training grounds, back to a tree, arms folded over his chest. He pointed demandingly at the spot in front of him.
"Sit." he ordered. Then a couple seconds of silence. "Okay little man, 'fess up. I didn't screw you up that badly, and no sleep'll do that to you. You've got red tracks on your face, and I'm pretty sure I ain't haunting your dreams. You're walkin' all weird, and I know weird when I see it."
Okay, maybe not that weird, but James had become acutely aware of how people walked after the accident and getting back on his own feet. He knew when someone was tipped off their centre to cushion whatever part of their body wasn't enjoying the impact.

[Sarish]

Sarish glanced up as footsteps approached, glad to see that James was awake. He must be an early riser. That's good; most visitors have to be dragged out of bed at an "ungodly hour!" every morning for a month, he thought amusedly. He gave the Canadian a warm smile, knowing that the expression probably wouldn't reach his eyes. He could easily play that off as tiredness, however.

As James got closer, though, Sarish noticed how his expression changed. He was inspecting him, examining him closely. Confused, the monk watched his friend carefully, watched as James continued his observation, watched as his eyes became hard, as the man stepped forward and grabbed Sarish's robes and tugged him along. The monk was stunned. I just let him... I could have easily avoided that. If this was a fight, he could have easily used my hesitation to his advantage. He bit his lip as he was dragged through the halls, still not protesting. This is James, he reminded himself. I can't live in perpetual caution, I can't let one terrible situation dictate my life. Relax. It's just James.

An apprentice sneered at them as they passed, his gaze sliding over James to where the taller man's hand was buried in Sarish's robes, a mocking grin on his face as he met the master's eyes. No doubt he was getting a kick out of seeing the so-called-master being dragged around like a toy. Sarish gave the apprentice a respectful nod of his head as they passed, before turning his head away. He had bigger fish to fry than a disrespectful peer.

The monk followed James silently as they stepped outside, striding to the edge of the training grounds before the Canadian let go. Sarish felt like he could breathe again, sighing quietly as James sat with his back against a tree. He felt like he was suddenly six years old again, being scolded for getting into trouble yet again. He lowered himself down into a loose lotus position, his right leg not as well folded as his left to rest his muscles. Sarish's eyes widened in surprise as James demanded that he "fess up". How did...? The monk raised a hand to his face, realizing that dried tears were still crusted at the corners of his eyes. What was worse, though, was that James could tell something was wrong. And when people had a suspicion it could be very difficult to divert their attention. Especially with someone as stubborn as James.

"Ah, I didn't realize. I must have been crying in my sleep," he said half-truthfully. Sarish decided, with no hesitation, that James did not need to know why he had been crying. That's a story for another time... Another lifetime, if I'm being honest. It wasn't something that would affect him for a while, if at all, so Canadian didn't have to know. In a small place in the very back of his mind, he knew that one of the reasons was because he still felt horribly guilty about everything that had happened, and it wouldn't be an easy story to tell. Sarish focused back on the issue at hand, though, meeting James' unwavering gaze.

"And yes, my back is still bothering me. It's important to learn to spar under all circumstances, though, and it's only fair that I not hold back in my training just because I have a few aches from sleeping against a tree all night. It was very impressive the way you picked that weakness out yesterday, and how you pressed the attack in a way that would force me to misstep. Speaking of, how does your leg feel today?" Sarish deflected as easily as knocking away a clumsily aimed bo staff. Many years of avoiding questions had made him quite good at pretending that nothing was wrong. He'll find out eventually. I don't know why I'm still hiding this... And it's not a big deal. I know that. And yet... Here we are. Besides, he might have even heard some of the apprentices gossipping about it. They do like to tease me.

[stormy tom]

James snorted and slowly shook his head, what might have been a gentle smile had he been someone else crawling onto his face. He lay down non-chalantly on his side, head resting on one fist, the other hand doodling in the dirt as he kept his eyes fixed on the monk. Those eyes were reading him like a chip card.
"Still screwed up," James answered about his leg with a playful yet deeply menacing grin, as if suggesting that was the answer he knew Sarish should be replying with about his own issue. "You don't wanna tell me about it that's fine but I know a dodger when I hear one. I'll find out one way or another. You're talking to a former professional athlete here. Just because I can't skate anymore doesn't meet I've forgotten all the fitness training that got me there. That ain't no achy muscle my friend."
James neatly sidestepped the conversation change, stubbornly ploughing on. "You think I'm stupid? You don't beat the devil by out-sinning him." James looked down at his drawing. It was a little man with a hockey stick in the air gliding away from a victorious goal. He looked back up at the monk, unaware of how strange and disturbing his odd choice of metaphor had been. "You don't gotta tell me now, but I'll find out eventually. "
And that definitely sounded threatening coming from James, but James didn't know how to be comforting and understanding. He didn't know how to be a friend. All he knew how to do was read the signs he recognized from himself. It was strange... trying to understand someone else for once. Everything about the experience felt new, yet very right, even if he wasn't so good at the whole 'I'll be there for you and listen' thing.
James stood up and brushed out his drawing with his shoe, eyes still fixed on Sarish. "Something happened a long time ago that you wish you could go back and fix. Maybe you dream about it and twist up funny in your sleep, and it screws up your back. Or maybe it is your back. Maybe the memory is disturbing enough to make you break the dam every now and then. I don't know the details, but I do know that whatever happened, it definetely wasn't your fault."
Those final words hung crisply in the air like the freshness of summer rain. They were clean and clear and truthful. James was always sincere but those final words seemed to punch with a little extra truth.
"Don't tell me if you don't want to," James started to lope past Sarish with long strides. "I wouldn't trust me with an unsharpened pencil."
He wasn't offended. Not at all. In fact he was teasing. James knew how hard it was to open up. He'd never told his own story to anyone. So perhaps his effort was hypocritical... but James had never had a friend, so maybe it was just a good decision that could have been better executed had James known more about friendship. And gentleness. There was another gesture he'd yet to learn.
"I'm ready to pick up when you are," James made a very loose salute to Sarish, referring both to their conversation and to his training. "I'll go easy on you."
It would be hard to subdue his curiosity. James would continue looking for clues to the story, even if he tried not to. He wanted to let Sarish tell him when he was ready. But he also wanted to know who on earth had hurt this sweet, sweet man.

[Sarish]

The gaze that was studying him was sharp, unwavering, knowing. It put Sarish on edge, though at this point he was too weary to be defensive. Instead, he watched and listened to James carefully, determined to keep his expression neutral as the man picked him apart with surprising accuracy. He didn't flinch when the Canadian promised he's find out-everyone in the monastery knows already,
of course-though his mind quickly latched onto the words "former professional athlete." Did he then come here because modern medicine wasn't helping him? That would make sense... Maybe he was desperate enough to try anything. Then another thought latched onto him with surprising force. Does he think that we might be able to heal his leg so that he can get back into his sport? I can certainly work on ways to strengthen his leg, and of course the monastery itself helps... But I'm not sure if will heal completely.
I don't know if it's possible to get his leg as healthy as it once was... It obviously didn't work for me, but my injury is so old that it might not have the potential to be healed, he ponded distractedly. I'll certainly try my best, though.

Sarish tuned back into the conversation at the strange analogy that James had offered, heart doing a little flip-flop in his chest. Maybe not. But I bet the devil would grin at someone like me, attempting to be a well-learned "master". I make mistakes just like everyone else. Though I suppose most people make mistakes that can be so... Deadly. he winced. I really need to come to terms with this soon. I can't be that far gone as the Master told me I was. What kind of master am I if I let this rule over me? I'd be a walking-talking example of hypocrisy. The monk didn't even react to the challenge thrown his way, long past caring whether or not James found out. Just ask anyone, they'd be happy to tell you.

It was difficult, this new situation of actually having to tell someone that he wasn't as strong or capable as the rest of the monks. Usually new apprentices found out or guessed at soon as they came to the monastery; it wasn't some well-kept secret. But admitting it himself? This was different, so different. Most of those assumptions are so accurate, and he doesn't even know it. Just tell him. At least about your accident. It's not that hard. Just tell him. He won't think any less of you. You know that. What's wrong with you, hiding like a scared puppy? Tell him.

"You're half right," is what came out of his mouth instead, some unidentified block between his brain and his mouth swiftly killing any other words that tried to escape his lips. Sarish's shoulders fell. He hadn't even specified which "half" James had been right about, but the little admission made him feel a tiny bit better. But then came the kicker. Then came the "it wasn't your fault." And his heart hurt. Because it was his fault, without a doubt. So many of his brothers would comment on how perceptive he was, and yet he did not notice the evil that was literally staring him in the face. Oh, it was his fault, definitely.

He let out a bitter chuckle, rising to his own feet unsteadily. What kind of master was he, letting his problems show so easily? What kind of "trained monk" was he, letting his own issues distract him from the the man he was supposed to be training? His problems were his own, and he would deal with them on his own. That's how it had always been. He was the listener, not the talker. The master, not the apprentice. So he said the first thing that came to his mind: "You're a professional athlete?"