Ocean Eyes, Storm Cloud Minds

Chapter Sixteen

'Is Lancelot trying to take as long as he possibly can to pick out a sword?' Elric thought to himself, his eyes following the brunet as he checked every aspect of every sword he felt. He watched him admire it, his eyes running along the blade, checking the strength and the cleanliness and such. Elric watched as the Cuban male plucked a new, clean sword from the shelf and tested the balance in one hand, then checking the other hand and starting to swing the knife slightly, testing the balance during movement before throwing it from one hand to another, then frowning and putting it back. f*****g hell.

Fifteen minutes. It took Lancelot fifteen minutes before he seemed satisfied that the longsword he found wasn't too unbalanced or awkward to hold or whatever other minimal detail he decided he disliked this time. The captain had been tapping his foot impatiently against the floor since the third sword had been put back, standing by the door- somewhat to guard it so Lancelot wouldn't leave. He sighed out of relief and mild irritation when the brunet nodded, seeming satisfied with the sword but not seeming to have the faintest idea on not only how to carry it, but how to hold it in general. He kept moving his grip so the blade stuck out at a different, just-as-awkward angle, before trying to carry it over his shoulder for a moment when he thought of how easy it'd be for him to die doing that, and so much more before eventually, he settled on dragging it along the ground lightly and trying not to make a mark on the hardwood.

The Cuban held a longsword, the build just as girthy as Elric's but a few inches shorter, as it fit better into Lancelot's hand and was easier to manoeuvre with. Of course, Elric had made some comment about how the few inches difference was fitting for Lancelot, speaking in such a manner that Lancelot's face lit up red and for once in his life, he couldn't think of a flirty and fitting comment to shook back as retaliation. He huffed as he passed Elric, leaving the room without another word and leaving the captain to lock up, as Elric had a key of his own and Lancelot didn't want Dandé to get in trouble for giving him the key.

He was anxious. He couldn't deny it. Elric was impossibly more talented than him and he knew that before he'd even witnessed it, a small whimper of paranoia and the lack of will to get badly hurt escaping his lips as he was pushed forward by the captain, who'd clearly gotten sick of how slow Lancelot was walking. Those familiar footsteps behind him stopped when they reached the stairs, the Cuban male on the upper deck first, standing by the captain's cabin and watching as he handsome man came up the stairs behind him. They stood around a metre away from the door to the cabin and everyone who'd gathered to watch (due to a lack of imperative duty to attend to) was stood safe, two-three metres back.

Lancelot sighed and watched as Elric raised his sword, slowly and hesitantly trying to mirror his stance, gripping onto the hilt of the sword so tightly his knuckles turned white- but as long as that covered up how much he was shaking, he didn't mind. Elric took a step forward and Lancelot had to force himself not to take a step back, having remembered only small pieces of advice from his very few lessons. 'Don't lose ground' Was one of Papa McClain's tips when he and his siblings had been fighting with the biggest and most sword-looking sticks they could have found. Real lessons had been a very rare luxury and they'd only done them thrice, but the instructor never let anything sink into Lancelot's mind, being too boring. Oh, how he wished he'd listened better.

He took a half step forward with his forwardmost foot, gripping harder onto the hilt of the sword, were that even possible. The next moment was near a blur- one moment Elric was nearly two metres away from him, but all in one second, the captain had lunged forward and feinted right, Lancelot being sloppy to attempt to block the false move before Elric's blade lunged left, instead, making the cabin boy cry out in surprise and clumsily move out of the way, almost tripping over his own feet in the process before regaining his footing and swinging his sword in the general direction of Elric.

He watched it catch on the other's longsword for a few moments and needed a second to process that the captain had tried to attack him again, and so that was why their blades had clashed rather than Lancelot's sword just slicing through thin air. He tried to prevent Elric from pushing his blade away with as much ease as he did, but to no avail, and it was only a moment before Lancelot tried to pull his blade away and lunge toward Elric, who did nothing but move out of the way and try to trip the brunet up, but he only stumbled before regaining his footing and raising the blade to cut Elric, trying to at least catch something on the blade so he didn't look as disappointing, but he failed once more when the captain turned to look at him- unharmed, and unimpressed.

A few cheers- mostly encouragements for the captain to kill him or jeers made at Lancelot for being so s**t at this- were louder than the clashes of metal on metal as Elric lunged forward and the brunet sloppily blocked. Their blades caught as Elric began putting pressure on his angled blade, and so Lancelot took a half step toward Elric to add more force to his own blade, trying to push the captain's sword away from his own as he had a much weaker grip. He put his other hand on the blade of the sword and took another, half a step, toward the captain, leaving himself entirely defenceless from physical attack and now within range.

The punch that struck him was harsh and swift, unexpected yet an obvious move to make. Pain stung and adrenaline rushed through his system as the brunet stumbled backwards, spots of white light bursting across his sight at the surprise of the sudden, incredibly harsh impact. He swung blindly and cut through thin air while his vision returned to him- as if he were only doing it to keep Elric at bay, while there was no real tactic behind his frantic and scared movements. He regained his footing and relaxed after a few moments, his breaths uneven and pain still trying to steal his attention away from the matter at hand. He forced himself to stay focused, only narrowly managing to swing the well-balanced sword into Elric's soon enough and with enough force to keep it away from his stomach.

Breath catching in his throat, the brunet cried out in shock as the captain lunged towards him, his sword held firmly in a bandaged wrapped hand- done to prevent the captain's sweaty palms from making the sword slip from his grip or for it to loosen for any reason. By the time Lancelot had realised that his move was a feint, though, his sword was already out of range for it to block the blow that'd make contact within a few seconds. On impulse, he hit the blade down and away from his stomach, causing it to stab him deeper than it would have on his flat stomach.

Finally, the pain landed as the blade of a longsword buried itself in the cabin boy's upper shin. He cried out in pain, hot tears filling his eyes and clouding his vision but he forced them back, not wanting to cry over a wound that wasn't even that serious. His leg- the unwounded one- gave out under his weight and he collapsed onto the floor, landing on his ass, the blade that had been buried somewhere between one and two inches into his tan skin removing itself as he moved away a little. All in a second, Lancelot's ears were assaulted by a cacophony of cheers for the captain and belittling jeers made at the injured brunet- not hearing a single person show even the slightest bit of concern for him.

It was a mutual, silent agreement that Lancelot had forfeited from any further fighting- yes, despite people jokingly telling Elric to 'finish him off'- and the captain carelessly ordered someone to give Dandé the sword to put back in the armoury, the brunet's focus being more on the wound that he was desperately trying to cut off the flow of blood to, rather than the fact that he had Dandé's armoury key around his neck. Hell, it wasn't until Elric tugged it from his neck and walked off that he even remembered that it had been there. He grabbed the torn fabric of his pants and ripped off some of the torn fabric, exposing the painful wound to the sharp, salty ocean air. Hell, his pants were already soaked with globs of crimson blood, large amounts still oozing, beyond his control at this point.