[ a good amount of this is, actually, entirely sam's fault. he'd had tracked down kylo at the beginning of all this for lessons, and had done quite a bit of practicing following each lesson on his own. but then things started to get more complicated, started to get more tense, and sam had - definitely - let it all fall to the wayside. mostly because he doesn't really like the feeling of it, still - even after months in this fantasy land - it feels ridiculous.
he gets some of the basics, kind of knows where to put his feet and how to hold the sword itself. and the strength training he does, actually, work on. can, even out of practice and unsure of the weight distribution and how not to look like a total freaking dufus, he can hold it without worrying about his hands losing grip or his arms shaking. even with a training sword, he knows that the number one way to fail this whole thing is to not expect the weight of the weapon. so at the very least sam can do that.
but there's something about this whole thing that feels vaguely...what? exciting? funny? it's hard to put words to it, but he agrees to the lessons geralt offers and they head out of the city not long after the night of the living dead situation. geralt had mentioned a hunting trip, and hadn't totally balked at the idea sam gave of tagging along. he needed a little fresh air, time out of the city, and a hunting trip - no matter how old school it sounds - would help. (truth was, with the whole thing with mal, the newcomers, the whole thing with ciri and jaskir, his conversation with marlo - sam was exhausted, down to his very bones, and something about camping and hunting and getting away from it all with someone who both understood what was happening but wouldn't, necessarily, make him talk about it sounded a lot better than it had any right to.)
and so they are here, and geralt is weaponless, sam feels absolutely ridiculous - but it's good. it's nice. sam feels himself laughing a little, in the early morning light. ]
I still can't believe you won't cross swords with me, man. [ yes, the joke is lame. give him a break, it's still early, and it still makes sam chuckle a bit to himself before readjusting his grip (he will never feel comfortable holding one of these, he's sure of it) and holding geralt's eyes. he recognizes the sharp edge, the tightness in his look. for all this might be training, geralt does not take this lightly, and while he does joke - sam's stance makes it obvious he doesn't either.
he strikes out wide, first. going for geralt's arm, or shoulder, or really anything along that left side of his. he knows, though, the second he steps into it that he's moving too slow. that it'll be easy to block. but sam is already moving and tries for it all the same. ]
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he gets some of the basics, kind of knows where to put his feet and how to hold the sword itself. and the strength training he does, actually, work on. can, even out of practice and unsure of the weight distribution and how not to look like a total freaking dufus, he can hold it without worrying about his hands losing grip or his arms shaking. even with a training sword, he knows that the number one way to fail this whole thing is to not expect the weight of the weapon. so at the very least sam can do that.
but there's something about this whole thing that feels vaguely...what? exciting? funny? it's hard to put words to it, but he agrees to the lessons geralt offers and they head out of the city not long after the night of the living dead situation. geralt had mentioned a hunting trip, and hadn't totally balked at the idea sam gave of tagging along. he needed a little fresh air, time out of the city, and a hunting trip - no matter how old school it sounds - would help. (truth was, with the whole thing with mal, the newcomers, the whole thing with ciri and jaskir, his conversation with marlo - sam was exhausted, down to his very bones, and something about camping and hunting and getting away from it all with someone who both understood what was happening but wouldn't, necessarily, make him talk about it sounded a lot better than it had any right to.)
and so they are here, and geralt is weaponless, sam feels absolutely ridiculous - but it's good. it's nice. sam feels himself laughing a little, in the early morning light. ]
I still can't believe you won't cross swords with me, man. [ yes, the joke is lame. give him a break, it's still early, and it still makes sam chuckle a bit to himself before readjusting his grip (he will never feel comfortable holding one of these, he's sure of it) and holding geralt's eyes. he recognizes the sharp edge, the tightness in his look. for all this might be training, geralt does not take this lightly, and while he does joke - sam's stance makes it obvious he doesn't either.
he strikes out wide, first. going for geralt's arm, or shoulder, or really anything along that left side of his. he knows, though, the second he steps into it that he's moving too slow. that it'll be easy to block. but sam is already moving and tries for it all the same. ]