ᵢ Wₒₙ'ₜ ₛₜₐy ₕᵢddₑₙ ₐₙyₘₒᵣₑ - H&S

Sal knew he couldn’t do much good in politics. For one thing, he wasn’t made for it, at all. He wasn’t a good speaker. He wasn’t able to project what he wanted done into an easy to follow plan with lots of good points. And he was painfully aware his prosthetic would only get him pity points, which he didn’t want.
And all that aside, he just actually didn’t want to go into politics, which was enough of a reason by itself in his opinion.
He moved, not letting himself consider what he wanted to do with his life, not letting himself overthink. That was a good way to lose this match, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He wasn’t going to lose. He wasn’t going to let Zuko take the win, even if he could only get a tie.
He pulled back just a little as Zuko hissed. He didn’t want to hurt him. Not only was that against the rules, it was also just mean. But Zuko seemed okay, and the fight continued rapidly, Sal swerving to avoid the attack and barely blocking it as it went towards his arm instead.
“Close,” he breathed out, and attacked again, his blade striking at Zuko’s chest. It was the same risky move Zuko had tried to pull in the first round, only Sal knew Zuko’s defense now. Which meant he knew it probably wouldn’t land, but he’d really, really like it to. Just for bragging rights, not to humiliate him. He didn’t want to humiliate him.

Sal didn’t want a tie. When was the last time that had happened to him? It wasn’t a very frequent thing, really...it wasn’t much of an option in fencing, not generally speaking. It required exactly the situation they were in now. One tie, one win each.
He didn’t answer Zuko’s soft words, but they spurred him on, gave him new energy, because they meant he could still win this thing. He could still pull this off. He knew he could. All he needed was to win the next two rounds. Unless, of course, the ref didn’t give them that, but why shouldn’t they be given an extra round? There was no real reason why not. It wasn’t like anyone else was waiting on them.
Then again...the ref didn’t seem like the nicest of human beings.
He couldn’t help the wild grin that spread over his scarred features as his touch landed, and he gave a short nod, accepting the praise. It felt good, this sort of fight, where they were fairly evenly matched, where no one felt out of their depth, where no win was certain and no touch was guaranteed. It felt...well. It felt amazing.
He tried to block the strike to his thigh, but he wasn’t fast enough, and he felt it hit. “Good one,” he breathed as he moved to the side, feinting to Zuko’s right and then moving to his left shoulder instead. He didn’t respond to the second part, though it did hit home, right where he thought Zuko had probably intended for it to. The silent question remained unanswered, for the moment.

Sal had no idea whether the ref would allow them another round. Or maybe he just wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt. He didn’t know. Maybe they weren’t as bad as they seemed. Maybe it had been an honest mistake.
Wishful thinking, and he knew it. But it didn’t stop him.
The point was, he had a real chance at winning again. A tie felt like...almost a consolation prize. He didn’t want that. He wasn’t particularly competitive by nature, but he could feel it now, drawing him in and making it very hard to ignore its call.
He didn’t know Zuko. He knew of Zuko, thanks to Sam. He knew about Zuko. But he didn’t know him. He didn’t know what he was like, or what he was thinking about how, or whether he was the sort of person who might draw Sal back into fencing. It seemed possible. Under the circumstances, blade against blade, a lot seemed possible.
He followed the strike up with one at Zuko’s leg, trying to hit below the knee. He wanted to get as many hits in as he could, in case Zuko started to catch up. He wanted to be ahead enough that it didn’t matter.
Maybe he just wanted a guaranteed next match.
The whistle blew. Sal stepped back, widening the distance, eyes wide. And there they were.
Tied.

Sal wasn’t as competitive as Zuko was, most likely. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to win, it was just that he didn’t tend to get too wrapped up in games in general. Even ones that weren’t competitive, he tended to get sidetracked before most people did, just because he’d rather do something else.
Fencing, it seemed, was the exception to the rule. Sal didn’t know why or how Zuko brought out the side of him that actually cared a lot about the win, but there was no denying that he did. He almost felt like he cared as much as Zuko did.
The last blow hit, but it was a moment too late. Sal gave a small, invisible smile - he’d won this round, fair and square, no need to get Zuko carded - and stepped back, giving his own small, respectful bow.
He looked at the ref. A tie was...well, it wasn’t what he wanted. Zuko had said they could go again, but Sal knew that was really up to the ref. If they said no, for any reason, then they’d both be stuck with a tie whether they wanted one or not.
He eyed the ref, not taking his mask off. He couldn’t take it off, he didn’t have his prosthetic on beneath it. He hoped Zuko wouldn’t expect him to.
He nodded, offering his own support to Zuko’s words. He wouldn’t have phrased it that way, but it was probably fine.
The ref looked between them, eyes narrowing. “No,” they said flatly. “Three rounds is enough. Just take the tie.”

Sal could tell there would be no winning the ref over. They seemed to have already made up their mind that they didn’t like either one of them, which...probably was because they’d both called out the carding incident. Which had been unfair, and deserved to be called out. But he thought he’d have been in better standing with them if he’d let it go.
Oh well. He didn’t want to be in good standing with someone who condoned cheating.
They’d had a good match, at least. Sal wasn’t going to push it...he had no way of pushing it. He couldn’t make the ref give them a game. He couldn’t do a thing about it.
There wasn’t really anyone else watching, anyway. Sam, of course. Sal considered waving, but he thought the gesture might not be entirely welcome. Other than that? Not a lot of people were interested in an early game of fencing.
He looked at Zuko as the boy said his name, waiting for him to...actually, Sal had no idea what he was going to say.
He certainly didn’t expect what he’d said.
Was he supposed to have the keys? That seemed like a good question to ask. But Sal didn’t ask it. He appraised Zuko for a long moment, rolling the offer over in his head.
“Okay,” he agreed at last. “I’ll be here.”
He didn’t know what he wanted, if he won. The stakes Zuko offered, well...he was tempted by them. He didn’t know why. He just knew he was.

Sal was a little bit early, but he hadn’t wanted to be late. He hadn’t slept much, for fear of sleeping through his alarm and missing it, and also because this felt like it meant something, somehow. He didn’t quite understand what, but somehow...he really cared. He wanted to win this. It wasn’t even just for Sam anymore, since Sam wasn’t even going to be there. They didn’t know this was happening. No one did.
Which meant, if either of them decided to, they could claim to have won even if they didn’t. Somehow, Sal didn’t think Zuko would do that. And he knew he wouldn’t, it was just that there was nothing but honor to hold them to their word.
He slowed when he saw Zuko. So he’d come. Sal wasn’t surprised, exactly. But he couldn’t help that he’d thought it could be a trap. He still didn’t know Zuko that well, and he knew Azula would have loved to prove her power once again, if she was given the opportunity. It could have even an ambush.
Technically, it still could be.
Sal approached, raising a hand to get Zuko’s attention so he wouldn’t startle him.
“Hey,” he said as soon as he was close enough. He has stretched at home, thankfully, and jogged a little on the way there, so he wasn’t too jealous of the extra time Zuko had gotten.

Sal followed Zuko into the building, trying not to think about how badly this could go, if it was a trap.
He couldn’t think of a single person who wouldn’t have advised against this. That was probably a bad sign. Still...he’d felt pretty confident when he’d agreed to come. Maybe it was just actually being here that was spooking him a little.
It didn’t matter. He was here now, and he wasn’t going to leave, not until they finished their match. He wondered what they’d do if it was another tie...have another round, until it wasn’t? He would be okay with that. He found he wanted to go against Zuko again, after this...maybe that was the adrenaline talking, though. He wasn’t sure he was ready to get back on the team.
“It’s a good morning for it,” he replied. He meant it, too. He felt awake, ready to go. He didn’t want to wait, he wanted to get started.
“Yeah,” he added as Zuko continued. “I’m ready. If the stuff still there it is in the day, or is there a supply closet or anything?”
He hadn’t ever been there this early. He kind of liked it. It was...quieter. And easier to navigate, knowing there was only one other person there. Plus, no classes, yet.

L frowned, trying to think through what Orpheus was telling him. It made sense, and he wasn’t really sure what to do about that. He didn’t want it to make sense. He didn’t really want to think that perfection wasn’t possible, but he had to admit, he could see Orpheus’ reasoning. If you were perfect, you could never improve, and there was no way to prove that.
He didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t like being wrong, and he couldn’t even tell for sure if he was wrong.
“I suppose...perhaps that’s true,” he allowed finally, head tilted. “Math can be done better, even if it’s been done right. And there’s no way to tell if it’s been done the best way, so there could always be a better way out there.”
He looked at Orpheus, frowning a little more. “Maybe that means that it’s possible to be perfect, but you can’t know for sure if you are. So...perfection itself isn’t impossible, and maybe we’ve both done things perfectly before and just not known it.”
He wasn’t sure he liked that possibility much more, actually. He wanted to know if he’d been perfect.
He fell silent as Orpheus began to play, and listened carefully, his eyes wide with interest. It sounded...it sounded just fine to him. Like a violin. He tapped his lip thoughtfully, trying to head what Orpheus might be referring to, his forehead creased in concentration.
The more he played, the more L thought he was just very, very good at playing music. He couldn’t hear the whine like Orpheus could, but he could tell the other kid was extremely practiced at this...he knew right then that he wasn’t kidding about spending all of his time here.
He didn’t want to interrupt. It was actually very beautiful...even though he wasn’t a music person himself. He could still appreciate talent when he saw it.

It seemed like the two of them weren’t ever going to agree on what perfection was, so Orpheus decided it would probably be best to just drop it. He didn’t really care if they ended up agreeing or not, and both of them seemed to take comfort in their definitions of perfection. Frankly, Orpheus could barely remember how it had come up. It didn’t seem terribly important now, though, especially because there were other things they could be talking about. It was, however, rather interesting to ponder the fact that he could have done something perfectly in the past, but with no idea of how he had done it or what that perfect thing had been.
Orpheus turned his full attention to the music, noting the way the violin didn’t yield itself as easily as a more expensive instrument might have. He needed to finish the song, though, so L could hear the difference between the full song played on this instrument and the same song played on a much more expensive instrument. The difference between the two was subtle, but in Orpheus’ opinion it was impossible to ignore once you knew it was there. Once you knew what to listen for.
After a long moment he finished up the song, setting the bow down and giving L a small smile.
“See… it doesn’t sound bad necessarily, but that’s because I’ve had a lot of practice with it. If a less experienced player were to pick it up, they might get discouraged because it doesn’t sound exactly as it does when other people play it, but that’s not their fault. It’s the instrument they’re playing. Hold on…” Orpheus broke off, putting away the cheaper violin and pulling the more expensive one out of its case.
“I think you’re going to be able to hear the difference.” He raised the bow to the instrument, letting his eyes close as he slowly pulled it across. Music seemed to emanate from it, the sound much smoother than it had been before, as though it was gliding through the room rather than shambling.

Sal caught the glance, but it was hard to say whether it was at him or the prosthetic. He didn’t actually mind either way - as far as he was concerned, people could do double takes all they wanted, it was human nature to notice the abnormal - but it did make him wonder whether Zuko had really been so caught up in the match that he hadn’t even noticed the prosthetic before. Which, in all honesty, made Sal like him a little bit more, if that was the case. He could respect the amount of effort that seemed to have gone into this sport...Zuko seemed to really care about it, and the passion seemed to be contagious.
Then Zuko turned away, and Sal felt his respect for the other boy skyrocket. It could have been a coincidence, but he felt like it had been a move out of respect.
Still, better safe than sorry. He turned around to slip his prosthetic off, and replaced 8t with the visor as quickly as he could.
“Sounds fair,” he agreed, brushing back a stray blue hair. “It’s not like a dare or anything. More like if I need a hand, you’ll owe me a bit of your time, or if I need something weird, you can’t ask why. Nothing embarrassing or dangerous, I promise.”
He turned back, visor on, and moved both to get the rest of his supplies and to let Zuko know it was alright to look again.

Sal didn’t think most people would have been given a prosthetic face for some scarring, generally speaking. Like Zuko, for example. He had a scar on his face, a pretty significant one, too. But Sal was willing to bet that Zuko hadn’t been offered a prosthetic when it had happened and he’d had it taken care of.
Had that been because of how severe Sal’s scarring was, or had it been that one doctor? If Sal had grown up without a prosthetic, would he be the way he was now? He had been so small...it was possible the prosthetic had convinced him his face was hideous and something to be hidden away and forgotten. It eas possible, if he hadn’t received it, he would have been much different.
He didn’t resent it. It was a part of him, as much his face as the one it covered. But he did wonder.
Once the deal was solidified, Sal had to wonder what sort of favor he expected to want from Zuko. What had prompted him to choose that? He didn’t like asking for help, usually. It was just...well, he hadn’t been able to think of anything concrete that he wanted. It was a little like asking for a gift card for your birthday.
“That should work,” he agreed. “We’ll need to keep track of our own strikes, of course, but that shouldn’t be hard, we did that last time anyway.”

L might have continued the conversation, if he hadn’t gotten distracted by other things. As it was, he wasn’t too serious about this conversation. It was okay that Orpheus didn’t agree. He was used to people disagreeing with him about things he was sure about. Besides, he liked Orpheus. Orpheus wasn’t being mean about it.
He couldn’t quite see the way the violin wasn’t perfect. He could hear the good music, though…he liked it. He liked it a lot. Orpheus was really good at that, he decided, and made a mental not to tell him so, when he was done.
He nodded a little as the song ended. So that had been the worse one…he wondered whether he’d be able to tell the difference. He wanted to. He believed Orpheus thatit was there, at least.
He could tell Orpheus really cared about this music in general, from how he was talking about it. That was…endearing. It was nice to see someone be passionate with something, even if it was something he knew nothing about.
Then Orpheus started playing again, and he went still.
He could tell. He could tell a lot more than he’d expected to be able to. Of was a little like seeing a shadow and mistaking it for a person.
He breathed out, nodding. So…the instrument was a vessel for his talent. The better the vessel, the easier it was for him to express himself. That made sense.

Sal could understand wanting to turn things off, sometimes. He knew what it was like to have a brain that wouldn’t shut up, and to want to just do, without thinking. The great thing about fencing was that that was actually possible, and you wouldn’t get in serious trouble for doing something stupid.
There was a lot in his head. There was the type that he needed to be alone with, to think about, and there was the type that he needed to not be alone with and ignore. Running away and skipping class was excellent for the first sort, but the second…he hadn’t found anything a good for it as fencing was.
“We at least counted the strikes right,” he admitted, shaking his head a little. “Brutality. They could have at least tried to make it convincing.”
He gave a small nod. He had no intention of letting Zuko win, but he wasn’t going to cheat, either. That would miss the entire point of this round.
He moved into position, once they’d both gotten their supplies ready. The epee felt light and ready in his hand, and now thst there was no audience at all? Somehow...it felt even more like he was doing this for himself.
Which was accurate.
Zuko had the timer, so he waited, at the ready for the round to begin.

There was probably a reason this appealed to them both so much. They were both good at thinking fast, they were both good at being quick on their feet, and Sal could tell they were probably very close to equal at this. Zuko was the more practiced at it, undoubtedly, but it had come back to Sal quickly, and he didn’t think he was going to lose, at least not without a good fight first. He was confident he could beat Zuko. He just needed to actually pull it off.
He got in position, blade ready, and bowed, going through the formalities because that was what you did when you fenced. Maybe no one was there to enforce it, but that didn’t matter. It was the spirit of the thing.
He avoided the attack at his leg and dodged back, then attacked, striking at Zuko’s chest, his aim to make the first attack a good one. He tried to do it fast, to avoid any strikes Zuko might attempt while head was closer, while he processed the information.
“She must be mad then. Since she paid and it didn’t even work.”