Wednesday, Jean-Paul and Shiro

[x-sanfuaiyaa.livejournal.com]

Wednesday morning, Jean-Paul spots Shiro doing the sword thing, and stops to watch. They talk, Shiro challenges Paul to a fight, they argue. Shiro is his usual dickish self, but reluctantly gives in to Paul's orders.



Paul finished in the Danger Room and hit the showers, satisfyingly sore. He took his now habitual route back toward the main house - past the gymnasiums where he could look in on the students training. Shiro was in the gym with what Paul's memory suggested was a katana, practicing forms. The boy had excellent focus. Paul slipped in the door to watch.

With only another couple of days before he and Alex were to take their vacation to Japan, Shiro knew he had to practice his swordplay as much as he could afford to. Keniuchio would undoubtedly want to see how much he's learned, and Shiro would not disappoint. But as focused as he was, he still noticed when the door opened and someone entered. He didn't stop for Paul, but instead went into one of the more complex maneuvers. Not that he had any desire to impress Paul, oh no.

Paul settled down to watch Shiro work. He didn't know much at all about the art but he knew crisp footwork when he saw it. Shiro and Paige might do well against one another in the Danger Room, when the time came. All this talent, all this passion, it couldn't just go to waste. He hadn't yet seen the spark to be an X-Man in Shiro, or any drive in that direction at all, but maybe it would come. It was odd, that Clarice had said they got little information on the teams. He would have thought it would have been quite different. But, he mused, Xavier knew best.

Each move flowed into the next one perfectly. No one in the mansion could compare to Shiro, with the possible exception of Ms. Braddock, now that Logan was gone. And Shiro was intent on proving himself a master despite his age. Which is why he liked to have any audience he could get, even if they were uncultured gai-jin. "Hello, Mr. Beaubier," he said, completing the stance and sheathing his sword.

Beautiful. From both combat and aesthetic perspectives, watching Shiro was engaging. "'Afternoon, Shiro. For what it's worth, I'm impressed. I remember hearing that you were training with the sword. I remember that you weren't going to discuss it with me either." Paul's grin softened any criticism that might be implied in his words, he was merely amused at the memory of the younger Shiro's attitude.

Shiro laughed (a rare genuine one at that), before pulling off his t-shirt to use it to wipe the sweat from his brow. "Thank you. If you have any questions, I would be happy to answer them now. I am not longer a bratty 13 year old. No matter what the others may say."

Paul shook his head. "Not at the moment, no. Clarice has made some attempt to teach me to fence so far. I'm a hazard to myself with anyone larger than a kitchen knife. I tried to tell her." He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. "How often do you practice?"

"No sharp pointy objects for you, check." Shiro grinned and grabbed his bottle of water from where it was lying against the wall. After taking a long drink from it, he turned back to Paul. His smile had disappeared, replaced by the look of pride and focus he normally wore. "Everyday. One cannot expect to better at anything without pushing one's limits. Unfortunately, without an adequate instructor around, I have to resort to my own devices here."

"I'm afraid flight's all I can help you with, but perhaps there might be someone outside the school?" Paul asked. "New York's a diverse city."

"My family has a distinct style, and I would only want to learn from someone trained in that. Mr. Logan, before he left, was a master, and for the short time he was here, he taught me a lot. Unfortunately, real samurai are hard to come by these days." Snobby much?

"So I hear." Paul didn't bother to hide his smile. "Logan's a character, that's for certain. The only swords I saw him use much were the ones he carries around under his skin. Still, he's one of the finest fighters I've ever worked with."

"And in such good shape for being so old," Shiro added wryly, taking another swig from his bottle and leaning back against the wall next to Paul. "You were in that Canadian group, right? Something Flight? So you must have been taught how to fight properly in melee."

"Alphaflight?" Paul nodded. "Of course. In teams and singly. But working as a team is very often... well, there's that saying about the whole being more than the sum of its parts. That's very true, with a good leader and a common focus."

Shiro nodded and put down his water bottle, shirt, and sword. Kicking off his sneakers, he walked to the center of the room where a few blue mats lay out. "Let me see, then. I have not had a decent fight in too long. Come."

Paul decided to play along and pulled his shirt off over his head, then kicked off his sandals. He stepped onto the mats and stopped just short of center. "Feet on the floor?" He looked up and eyed the ceiling. Not a lot of room.

"As fun as using our powers would admittedly be, we do not have the room here, and I think that Professor Xavier would be vexed with us if we ended up blowing up something." Shiro got into his kata, a neutral one that suggested neither offense nor defense. "Maybe some other time. Outside."

"No maybe. The flyer's mind works differently the more they fly. You need to practice both." Paul noted Shiro's stance and moved toward him without warning, far faster than his relaxed posture suggested he was moving. He swept a foot casually toward Shiro's ankles, one hand going for Shiro's shoulder, not following any one style, simply moving naturally to bring the other down.

Shiro was almost taken by surprise, but years of practice had him ready just as Paul got close. He let himself fall back, but grabbed Paul's wrist, pulling him down too. Grinning, Shiro raised his right knee to Paul's stomach, aiming to either hit him or, more preferably, throw him as he landed on his back.

Paul fell forward willingly and let Shiro's knee take him in the stomach, using that momentum and the throw that came after to bring him to where he could twist away like a cat and land on his feet as Shiro released him. The impact was minimal, his breathing barely shifted with the hit. He closed again as Shiro was rolling to his feet, motions still as easy as though he were walking. One hand slid between Shiro's arm and body and up, spinning him a little and threatening to pull him into a hold with his back to Paul's chest.

Shiro elbowed Paul in the gut with his free arm. Hard. In normal situations, Shiro would have released a plasma burst from his captive hand to blow his assailant away. But he didn't need to resort to powers yet. He twisted around, trying to loosen Paul's grip on his arm. He aimed a punch for Paul's face, readying himself in the event that he missed.

Paul took the elbow to the stomach without flinching, with a slight exhalation at the impact. When Shiro twisted around to hit him, Paul let his back leg give a little, yielding and pulling Shiro off balance and then he caught Shiro in the backs of the knees with his other leg, hard.

Instinctively, Shiro tapped into a fraction of his powers to lighten the impact of his fall, but only a bit. Silently berating himself, he jumped back to his feet and aimed a roundhouse kick at Paul. Not surprised that it didn't connect, the moment his foot touched the ground, and raised his other leg for another roundhouse.

Paul kept out of Shiro's range, hampered by the desire not to cause any injury. When Shiro shifted for the next kick, he dropped easily as though the mat had been pulled out from under him. Weight on right hand and foot, body just inches off the mat, he caught Shiro's supporting leg with his left foot and pulled it right out from under him in mid-kick. He had the advantage in so many ways, not least because when he shifted into combat, the world around him slowed to half-speed.

Shiro was getting sore from all this falling, but he wasn't through yet. No way he would let anyone beat him, despite their level of training. He was back on his feet in a matter of seconds, but instead of trying to punch or kick Paul, he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Paul's waist and tackling him to the ground.

Paul laughed and let Shiro bear him to the ground instead of stepping aside and letting the boy fall on his face. He hit the mats with a satisfying smack, body loose.

Shiro frowned, but didn't get off of the man beneath him. Kneeling on Paul's thighs and gripping his wrists to pin him down, Shiro looked at Paul inquisitively. "You could have easily dodged that. Why didn't you?"

"Because winning is not always the point." Paul was unperturbed by hs position. "Or at least, winning at the game that seems to be being played."

Shiro cocked his head to one side, confused, but not letting up on his grip. "Did I miss something?"

"You won't accept a loss. In the practice ring, you're still trying to win. It's admirable and noble. And yet, I wonder if you're learning as well as you could that way. If I were to confront you with anything close to my ability, I would not only win and end the game, I'd hurt you, and I don't want to do that," Paul explained, tossing his head a little to get a lock of hair out of his eyes. "So instead, I let you end it by bringing me down. If I'd been a normal person at normal speeds, you would have done so. And now we can talk."

"That's no victory. If anything, that is condescending." Shiro got off of Paul and held out a hand to help him up. "You are good, Mr. Beaubier, but you have not seen me at my best. Don't make any assumptions until you have seen me."

"I'm not condescending to you if, as your teacher, I'm working at your level." Paul got up without the assistance of the proffered hand.

"I did not challenge you as a teacher." Shiro folded his arms over his chest, feeling his anger rise. "I challenged you as another warrior. I am just as curious about your limits as you are of mine."

"Then the practice room is the wrong place for such things," Paul said patiently. "And you are a student and I am a teacher, these things are constant. Therefore in all my dealings with you I must approach you as a teacher. It's only correct."

"Baka na gai-jin," Shiro muttered under his breath, walking across the room to pick up his belongings. "In that case, some time soon I challenge you to a real fight. No holds barred. If you are so insistent on being nothing but a teacher, then only through this will you see the full extent of my training."

"Still so arrogant." Paul watched Shiro stalk away. "How ever do you learn? Nothing but a teacher?" He followed at an easy pace. "It would be nothing for me to school you, Shiro. But teaching? Teaching is a sacrifice on my part. It's an offer and not just one I make because I'm getting paid for it, one I make here because I see something in you that speaks to me." He bent and picked up his shirt. "Don't disrespect me for having the strength of character to stop winning and start teaching. I'll let you get away with it because you're obviously still a child and you're not mine to discipline. I can only be insulted by someone I can respect."

"I do not disrespect you, Mr. Beaubier. But you do not seem to understand that 'lowering' yourself to 'my level,'" (and Shiro said those parts spitefully) "is no way to teach me anything except that you are more competent. No. I do not learn by fighting anyone who is at my level. One can only become better by fighting one who is stronger. Strength begets strength."

"What good is it if you learn to fight a man who can almost break the speed of sound? Would it not benefit you more to learn to fight one who is closer to the norm? Did I say I lowered myself?" Paul was cold and irritable now. "Don't put words in my mouth. I said I was working at your level, that being altering myself and my abilities to fit your needs. Do you think I do something like that lightly? You insult me more by that than anything else. I let you end the fight by restricting my speed to a more normal level so we could discuss what was going on. You want to hit something, pick a punching bag. You want to get beaten up, go insult someone who doesn't have the ethical restraints of being your teacher."

"What I wanted was a challenge." Shiro tone of voice echoed Paul's. "You did lower yourself. You are much better than you showed me. I would rather lose a spectacular fight than achieve an empty victory." He angrily pulled on his shirt and grabbed his sheathed katana and water bottle. "I am well aware that I have much more to learn. And I can only learn from someone above my level. Sayonara."

Paul moved very fast and was in Shiro's way in a heartbeat, almost nose to nose with him, blue eyes bright and hard. "I am above your level," he said evenly, ready to grab Shiro by the shoulders to keep him in place. "I am better than you and I know what I am doing. And if I say you need to learn one way, you will learn that way. I will be teaching your flight class and I will teach it from behind you for the whole of the year if I feel it is the best thing for you. You can shun my offer in here, but up there? I am the one who will be your teacher, and the class is mandatory. This is not about winning or losing, Shiro, not in the game you're playing anyway. If I teach, my victory is when you succeed. Better still, it is when you survive. I like you. I'd like to see both things happen, for a very long time."

Shiro stared Paul in the eyes, not daring to move or blink. He stood there for a minute or two, silent, just looking at the other man, trying to read him. With a resigned sigh, Shiro nodded. "Fine. But you had damn well better make me better, harder, faster, and stronger."

"I won't be satisfied with less. From either of us." Paul stepped back and pulled his shirt on. "I'll see you later, Shiro."