frenchpony (frenchpony) wrote,

  • Music:

My Swash Is Firmly Buckled

The most atrocious, cocky, arrogant, irritating little twit has joined the University fencing club. He's a first-semester froshling, because he graduated high school early. Although he hasn't fenced in two years, he still considers himself The Shit. Coach Mike did the normal club routine, beginning with a footwork drill. He corrected The Twit's footwork, along with everyone else's. At this point, The Twit asks, "But in a real bout wouldn't it be more useful to do this instead of that?"

Coach Mike replied (after taking a few deep breaths to avoid telling The Twit off immediately), "Well, Twit, let me explain. What we're doing now is, technically speaking, known as a drill. A footwork drill. We're stretching. . . practicing a few basic maneuvers. . . warming up. . . perfecting our form. We're not interested in strategy right now." Which should have been a sign to The Twit to shut up and let the coach coach.

Only he didn't. Coach Mike then did a drill demonstration, using The Twit as his partner. The Twit stopped about halfway through and tried to correct Coach Mike's form. Mike nearly smacked him one, but didn't, because, well, he's the coach. The Twit and I went on to be partners for the drill, during which a) I mopped the floor with him, and b) I learned how he has a Speshul Hungarian Mask, and was the Only Junior Fencer Ever Invited To Fence With Virginia Tech, and c) according to him, in his superior tone, the only reason I was able to score any points off of him at all was because he hadn't fenced in two years and was a little off his game. If he was in tip-top form, oh no, I certainly would not be able to land a single point on his exalted body. To which, being the mature grad student I am, I simply smirked.

He then proceeded to annoy the living daylights out of the entire foil squad using much the same method. He will be radically entertaining to have in the club, if only for the street theater value of watching Coach Mike and the other fencers fume and fume and fume to avoid sinking to his level. But, whether or not he continues to grace our humble club with his exalted presence, I got something out of the deal. Turns out he had an old French grip foil that he no longer uses (because he only uses short Belgian pistol grips, thankyouverymuch), and was perfectly happy to give it away. I'm no fool. That was a good foil, and if someone's going around giving out free fencing equipment, I'll take it. Now all I need to do is think of a name for my new toy. Right now, I'm thinking Glamdring, to go with Narsil the (currently broken) foil and Andúril the épée.
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