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On an an otherwise pleasant afternoon, the clang of metal from the training yard could be bravely ignored, a minor annoyance that was actively filtered not to ruin Spy’s day. The god-awful din could be heard anywhere in the base, but at least it was only the thump of the Demoman’s sword against a dummy, and certainly no individual with working ears could fathom striking steel against steel.
Say, another sword, for instance.
Needless to say, when Demoman began training Soldier in the Half-Zatoichi, Spy’s days became measurably more unbearable.
"You got tae return it to center after every strike," Demo reminded for the umpteenth time. "Stop holding it out to the side, you’re nae beating anyone over the head with it.“
The only ever visible half of Soldier’s face warbled in a way that spelled trouble. Spy was sure if it were any other of his teammates who’d been schooling him nearly nonstop for the past hour, he’d do more than simply sneer, but the Demoman had some sort of spell on the lunatic, and he kept his complaints to a mere frown. The pair returned to their stances.
"Again," Demo said.
Again, and sword met sword. A few moves, blades sliding off one another as the pair flew through a series of stances, arm positions tensile to legs, fluidly reacting to whatever his partner did in turn. But the bout was over quickly, Soldier’s frustration clear in his snarl.
"That’s enough for today, I think," Demo wisely noted. Less wisely, "Oi! Don’t you walk away from me you git! We bow when we’re done beating the shite out 'o each other.“
"Ridiculous! Bowing to an enemy is for the loser! Which I am not!"
"It's a show of respect!"
"Pedantic!"
"You dunnae even know what that word means."
"It means doing stupid rules just because they are stupid rules! Sun Tzu would have left his katana buried in your chest and called it a day."
"For the last time, Sun Tzu would have been using a jian, nae a katana, they're from completely different geographic locations, and also he was a strategist nae an actual-"
That was apparently the Soldier's tolerance for sword talk. He left his katana lying in the dirt, stalking off to do god knows whatever he got up to when he wasn't making a scene in the training yard. Demo snarled, shoved the weapon into its sheath, and bowed to the empty air.
Spy rolled his eyes—for umpteenth time baffled anyone would willingly engage with Soldier for any length of time, and made his presence known by strutting into the yard and tossing the mask and foil at Demo's feet.
"Perhaps something more to a refined man's disposition?" he asked.
Demo cocked his head at the items next to his shoe. "Fencing?"
"Oui. Your little training sessions reminded me I have not practiced in some time. Now," Spy adjusted his cufflinks as Demo curiously picked up his weapon, "I do not expect you to offer me much in the way of a challenge, but you are the only one on this base who might at least be entertaining. Be quiet, pay attention, and I will teach you a few things in order to keep me from growing bored. Now-"
Spy's foil was no longer in his hand.
If he were better minded, (less himself, less likely to keep walking into situations because these sorts of things didn't happen to him) he would actually think about what he was doing. He scooped up his sword, blinking at the fluke in reality, blinking at the Demoman before him whose arms were raised in perfect En Garde.
He once again lowered into his stance; once again, Demo moved, and Spy's foil went bouncing away.
"You fence?" Spy demanded.
Demo, who hadn't even bothered putting on his mask, grinned. "Four pm, piano. Five pm, dance lessons. Six pm," he lowered back into ready, "fencing."
"Ah, yes," Spy said. "How could I have forgotten I am teammates with the world's most ill-begotten royal brat."
Demo's smug smile widened to radiate as much royal brat as conceivably possible.
"Allez!" he shouted.
This time Spy managed a high block for the Demoman's impossible speed, but it was clumsy, still clinging to denial. He guarded against the next few swings as well, but he retreated with each one, only a few steps from out-of-bounds when Demo scored another touch.
Spy sneered. "That is how it is? So be it!"
And the fight began in earnest.
But try as he might Spy never gained the natural footing he had always taken for granted. The rounds lasted longer than his humiliating few disarms, but they dragged only to end in touches for twos and chasing Spy out of the ring entirely. The air began to sing. The fwip and thrum of the lithe little blades moving through the air: what Spy so adored about fencing found in those small sounds. Sounds that should demand dignity, and yet blood pumped under his skin, sweat pulled under his mask and dampened the back of his neck. He ground his teeth, hating how the oafish Demoman had come alive like never before, bending with a grace that should have been Spy's and Spy's alone. They went through bout after bout, never ceasing. Spy's rage built until he delivered a cut to the side of Demo's head—his first point.
"Not legal," Demo huffed. Good, at least this was wearing on him too, even if he'd never scrubbed that smug smile from his mug.
Spy raised his blade again, exhausted, willing to drive the dispute into the ground. "On the battlefield, I rarely care about legal."
He lunged. Demo's sword met his, cross-sections locking for one fleeting moment.
Oh no.
Then Spy was disarmed once again, and—to add insult to injury—shoved off-balance, his arms pinwheeling.
"Aye. And on the battlefield, I-," Demo lunged forward, grabbing Spy's collar while simultaneously locking his leg behind his opponent's. Spy's body wanted to fall, but he could neither land nor regain his footing, his weight entirely suspended on the shirt now held in the Demoman's fist as he yanked him in close and whispered, "-am wielding a two meter Zweihander that weighs as much as you. Savvy?"
The exhale shook with adrenaline. It jittered being so close to that single, maddening eye that twinkled out of an equally maddening face. Spy knew, right then, that the sight of Demo daring a rebuke would haunt his nights for the foreseeable future.
"…I will keep that in mind.”
"Good!" Demo cheered as his fist uncurled and let Spy fall unceremoniously into the dirt. He landed next to his weapon with a puff. "Think we should call it there for the day, handing both you and Solly your arses is tough work." He sauntered off, saying, "Thanks for the pick-me-up Spy, needed something to lighten my mood. We should do this again some time."
Oh we will, Spy thought as he gathered the gear, focusing on thoughts of revenge and not the fluster in his cheeks.