The pirate boy (Frerard, Petekey)

Chapter eleven - like summer rain

Chapter eleven - like summer rain

Sorry for lateness. I am a forgetful asshole.

A majestic asshole, I will admit, but forgetful all the same.

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Gerard scrubbed his face with his hands. "You're awful. You're the worst fighter in the world."

"I'm not that bad," I muttered.

Although I rather was that bad.

It had been hours we'd been training, and we'd got nowhere. I was terrible. I couldn't throw a punch, couldn't dodge a punch, couldn't swordfight, couldn't even defend myself. Gerard was tired, and I was so exhausted I think I was close to death, but Gerard refused to let me stop until we made progress. (The sooner I learned how to fight, the sooner he could drink again.)

"Pick up that sword." Gerard motioned towards the sword I had dropped on the floor in frustration. "Pick it up. Now."

I reluctantly lifted up the weapon and held it awkwardly by my side. Gerard drew his own dagger from his belt.

"Take a hit at me," he instructed. "Go on."

I dithered. What if I actually hurt him? I didn't want to admit it but I was a little scared of the consequences of injuring him.

"Frank, fucking hit me," he said impatiently.

I waved the sword at him weakly. It scratched his sleeve and he looked down at it pitifully as it wobbled and fell back by my side.

"Come on," he pleaded. "A real hit."

The sword was way fucking heavier than it looked. These were  real hits. I waved the sword at him again and it scraped acroross his jacket, barely marking the fabric.

"What, you're going to stroke me to death?"

"I'm trying, I swear," I said. "These stupid swords are too heavy."

Gerard raised his eyebrows. "Too heavy?" He slid his cutlass back into its holster, giving up. "Too-" He buried his face in his hands. "You're unbelievable."

"I'm sorry," I insisted. "I really am trying."

"You're trying, but it's not working. You're just- so ridiculously weak."

I slumped back onto the bench. "I can't help it."

Gerard sighed and sat down beside me. He chewed on his lip. "Maybe we need to train you in hand to hand combat before you start trying with weapons."

"We already tried that. You hit me several times. I missed several times and ended up with what is probably a cracked rib." I rubbed at my bruised side. "You're some thirty year old pirate with decades of experience, you're allegedly the best fighter on the ship, and I know absolutely nothing-- yet you're still expecting me to be a pro from day one."

"Maybe I need to start with basics then," Gerard pondered. "Like what you'd teach a child."

"I am a child, Gerard. I'm eighteen years old, from the aristocracy. I know words, I know maps and numbers. Never has anyone taught me anything at all relating to fighting."

"Hm," Gerard frowned, almost like that fact surprised him. "Basics it is then."

I sighed in relief.

"Oh--" he held up his index finger as if to make a formal point. "--Just so you know, I'm only twenty four."

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