Chapter Text
"All you do is sit around the house," your parents say. "Do something for a change!" They had told you that an after-school activity would be a "fun opportunity." An opportunity for what? More stress? You already had enough homework that you don't have time for—which is probably your fault, as you waste all your time and efforts on video games, but—that's not the point.
Your point is that you are now trapped in a room with a strange man wearing hiked up, yellow basketball shorts, and you both have on bright white, onsie-looking things. And swords. Two elongated swords that looked like they could easily be snapped in half—as they were about as thick as a toothpick—were held in yours and the strange man's hands. How did you get here again? Oh, that's right.
Since your parents know absolutely nothing about you, except for the fact that you play violent video games, they signed you up for some class that seemed to involve weapons. Obviously, they hadn't, since when they mentioned a "use of weaponry" in this mysterious class that you were told nothing about, you expected to show up at a shooting range with real men, not this weirdo standing before you. But, you had to admit, the guy did seem to be pretty strong. From what you could see, his neck muscles weren't hideously bulging, but it was clear there was some present. The same applied to what wasn't hidden in his large basketball shorts. Why are they even called basketball shorts, anyway? If anything, they should be called basketball capris.
It was awkwardly silent, since you didn't use proper manners and shake his hand like you were supposed to when you first walked in here. "So, your name's Dave, right?" he asks. You hum pathetically, and internally groan at your mom's voice who seems to be yelling, "You are being so rude right now! No Xbox for a week!" Get out of there, Mom! You're so annoying!
You're pounding your hand on your head like you're trying to get water out of your ear. Once your mom is gone, you look up to see the man staring at you, concerned about what had just happened. You both strain to laugh it off, but you choke on the thick, awkward atmosphere. "Well, my name is Dirk. Think of me as....a brother! Yeah!"
"How old are you?" you ask, determined to call him an old man.
"38," he replies.
"Old man." you scoff. How incredibly rude of you.
He was trying his best to keep his cool and not call you a brat; you could tell, as he was making the same face your teachers did before kicking you out of the room because you were "disruptive." But, were you really? I mean, everybody was laughing and basically cheering for you as you made fun of the teacher, or did something stupid, like the average teenage boy. Adults just didn't understand how to have a good time. That's why, at the age of sixteen, you deemed yourself immortal—someone who would never grow old, and stay immature for all eternity. You thought highly of yourself, and wanted to keep it that way.
"Let's get started, alright, kiddo?"
Laughing at the nickname, you nod and hold out your pointy twig of a weapon with both hands and bend your knees. You totally know how to do this already; you've seen enough Pirates of the Caribbean. The old man isn't getting in a battle stance, though. Instead, he breaks out in laughter. Now you're the one looking at him with a concerned face.
"You're stance is all wrong, rookie. You didn't even put your mask on!"
Looking to the dirtied white tile floor, you see your mask close behind you in a dusty corner; you were wondering what that was for. You turn around and bend over to grab your mask and give yourself an atomic wedgie. This onsie thing was like a giant thong, so it was pretty uncomfortable. Quickly, you put the mask on to hide your now red face from embarrassment. He walks to you after setting his rapier aside.
"Dominant hand?"
"Right," you mumble.
Grabbing your right arm, he stands behind you and adjusts your limb so that your rapier is pointing to the northeast as your arm is sticking straight out. You can hear his steady breathing by your left ear, and it's making you feel a little uncomfortable. It's also getting really hot in your mask. In attempt to cool down, you take deeper breaths, and really hope your instructor can't hear you. He kicks your left leg lightly.
"Separate your legs a little wider."
You'd gulp if it weren't so cliche, and you put a bit more distance between your left and right leg. "Good, good." he tells you. "Now, to do a lunge," and oh thank God he's walking away from you. He gets in his own proper stance. "You simply step forward with your dominant leg, which is on the same side as your dominant hand, and jut your rapier out." He does exactly what he described to you with the left side of his body. So he's a lefty? Cool.
Trying to copy him, you have to repeat what he did a few times in order to do it properly. You forget to step forward with your right foot the first time, and you take two steps forward the second. By the third try you successfully lunged at the air, and Dirk claps his gloved hands. "Nice! I have a feeling you're going to be an easy student!" And with that, your self-esteem gained +15 experience points.
As you're in the passenger's seat next to your mom, she asks you how your lesson was, and you say that it was simply, "Alright." Thinking back to your lesson, you remember what a good time you had, and how chill your instructor turned out to be. What was his name again? You're pretty sure it was Dirk, but you can always ask him again later. Oh man, you can't wait to come back again next week.