[flashback] Fighting Blind (Rand and Stitch) (Finished)

[Rand]

Summer 503 AV

The day was overcast. Large dark clouds were strewn across the sky and threatened to explode at any moment. Thunder clapped and rolled as the crew of the Swift filed off the decks for their shore leave. The ship was a medium sized Zeltivan Naval ship that had asked to come into dock because of the brewing storm. Rand pushed the stray strands of hair out of his face. His hair was short, but starting to gain the length it would one day become. His mind was elsewhere as he stepped foot on solid ground for the first time in weeks. Rand moved forward beginning to search for a place to stay.

As Rand walked he noticed his fellow naval men moving off and filling up the bars and inns of Syliras. Rand kept walking, as he didnt want to have to socialize with the men of his ship any longer. He reminisced back to the ship, to the constant jeers, taunts, and general cruelty from his peers. He was different, yes, but he was just trying to do his duty. Rand, continued to wander through the streets, his head in the clouds, his thoughts turning to home, how he'd managed to miss putting flowers on his mother's grave. His father was probably at sea, and here was Rand.....

The rain burst suddenly along with a brilliant flash of lightning. The rain came in furious sheets, slanting sideways and pelting Rand's face. He quickly came back to himself, realizing he had no clue where he was as he'd been meandering mindlessly through the streets. Rand started to move quickly as his clothes and boots became soaked to the bone. As he ran he he noticed that there were no inns or bars around. Suddenly Rand noticed a large building, he wasn't sure but it looked like a half-way home or something of that sort. Above the door was a sign. It read "The Welcome Home". Rand decided to take a chance he ran up knocking on the door loudly hoping for a reply.

[Stitch]

It would only be a few seconds for Rand before the door flew open, a young head peering out and catching him in a soft gaze. Stitch stood there, young and fit, dark black eyes staring curiously at the sailor. He didn't speak for a moment, simply cocked his head and eyed the man shivering outside his door, as if wondering why he was out there. It was horrible weather after all, sheets of rain falling by the second. Stitch had never seen him around town either, so he couldn't understand why the man might be just hanging around at the door of the Welcome Home...

Oh, probably because he indeed wasn't from around here, and was seeking shelter from the fury outside.

Stitch glanced at the storm, realization dawning in his eyes, before stepping back and allowing Rand room to enter. "This one is horribly sorry, this one doesn't know where his head was!" The young man apologized profusely, wiping his long black locks out of his eyes. The entirely of his head was now throughly soaked, as he had stuck the bulk of it outside to examine the knocking culprit. Holding out a hand to the man, Stitch smiled kindly, black eyes now locking firmly onto Rand's. "This one is known as Stitch sir, odd name, this one knows. This one has always been called that, though. As a child, and beyond." He motioned around himself, still smiling brightly. "This is the Welcome Home. An orphanage this one grew up in, and now helps out the owner in. They are all gone, owner and children, they were traveling out of town on an extended field trip. They left this one in charge."

Stitch motioned for Rand to follow him, and if he did, Stitch would lead him through the little front office the front door had led into, and into the playroom beyond. From there, it was a short hike into the kitchen, where a single table with a single chair awaited, and a steaming hot cup of tea. Stitch offered Rand the chair, smiling. "Have a cup of tea, milord. I don't know who milord is, or where milord comes from, but everyone is welcome here. This one was just getting ready to practice some of his art, just by relaxing the body first."

[Rand]

Rand blinked as the door flew open and the young head popped out. Curious, the house had a head. Was Rand's thought as he listened to the demonstrative tone of the house head's young voice. When at last the man grabbed him and escorted him inside Rand found that it was a young man, slightly odd, but so was Rand himself. Rand instantly took aliking to him, feeling as if they were kindred spirits somehow. He smiled and graciously accepted the cup of tea.

Sitting felt a little odd as the young man with black hair stood over him talking, but Rand quickly drifted off into his own mind, his body relaxing for a moment as he drifted off into the Zeltivan mountains, trampsing through them quickly, searching for a small meal.....


Rand's face contorted in pain as his calf muscle seized up from the damp cold of his clothes. His daydream faded away as the young man was saying something about practice.

Please sir, could we get some dry clothes. My name if Rand, if I havent already said that, and its nice to meet you.


Rand worked the muscle in his leg till it relaxed hoping that he could get some clothes soon

[Stitch]

Stitch cocked his head, his eyes searching the man quickly, concern written across the face of the young human. He could see pain written all over Rand's face, and he wondered what was wrong. The man didn't look very injured, just cold and wet. Perhaps relaxing in the chair would help with whatever pain the man was going through, and perhaps the tea would help warm him up. Smiling, satisfied with the solution he had come to, Stitch grabbed another nearby chair and sat. Clasping his hands together, he smiled expectantly at the man, like a little child. He was eager for conversation, he was home alone, and it looked as if Stitch expected the man to have some great story to tell.

Leaning forward eagerly as the man began to speak, Stitch's face was quickly overcome by horror. "This one is terribly sorry, milord! Of course, of course, let this one get you some dry clothes. This one's head, no idea where it could be..." Stitch mumbled apologies as he quickly exited the room, trotting up the stairs to the bedrooms on the second floor. His was at the very end, and he hurriedly located a nice pair of his own clothes. The man looked about like him, somewhat tall height with a slim, athletic frame. Picking out a pair of black trousers, suspenders, and a white shirt, Stitch continued his quick pace as he headed downstairs.

Entering the kitchen once more, he laid the clothes on the table in front of the man. "There you go, milord. You can change in the bedrooms upstairs, or in any other room, if you wish. This one will stay here." Stitch poured himself a cup of tea, and sat back down at the table, glancing over to Rand. On his way in, he had noticed the man working his leg. "Are you hurt? This one noticed you working your leg. If milord would like, this one could take a look at it... This one knows a few leg stretches, and could probably pinpoint which muscle is sore..."

[Rand]

Rand chuckled to himself as he shivered in the kitchen. This Stitch was so nice, so humble, could he be real? Was Rand just dreaming, was he really alone, in his own world again? No, that wasn't true, Rand thought as he changed clothes in the bedroom Stitch had pointed to. Laying his clothes out to dry in the closet. As he walked back down stairs he pondered what kind of man, this person must be.

Sitting back at the table Rand observed the man seriously for the first time. This man was similar to him, eerie in a way, but Rand was humbled, and wanted to show his appreciation to this man for taking him in, so he reinitiated the conversation.

So, your name was Stitch? That is an interesting name, how did you come by it? Rand looked around a bit confused. Oh and my leg is fine, I just had a cramp from the cold..... Rand stalled for a second before taking a deep breath and continuing quickly. I rememeber you saying something about training as well, and I was wondering what kind it was? Im very grateful you took me in, most of the inns were full and I was lost in the city. So i was hoping to pay for the room, and possibly help you with your training?

Rand sat back in the chair, rubbing his arm where the three long scars from a past attack were itching. He watched the man, anxiously awaiting the reply of the man.

[Stitch]

Stitch blinked as the man asked him the cause for his name, and instantly flushed a deep red shade. No one had asked him that question in awhile, because the owner of the Welcome Home was quick to tell the story to everyone who came near. Apparently it was quite the amusing little tale, or so everyone said. Stitch should have seen the question coming, the man seemed to be a stranger to Syliras, after all. Rubbing the back of his neck bashfully, Stitch cast his eyes to the side while he slowly explained the origin of his odd name.

"Well... It is a bit of an odd story... But this one was raised in this very home, and no one really knew this one's name... Apparently when this one was quite young, they tried to name this one, and..." He paused, glancing about the room, a small grin coming to the corners of his lips. The story was a bit cute, perhaps. He could see the humor in it. "...apparently this one had already been named. This one, over and over again, insisted that this one be called Stitch. This one had a teddy, and the teddy had already bestowed a name. Apparently the teddy was one this one had come to the home with... And this one believed, back then, the teddy was what knew Stitch's true name." He glanced back at the man, offering him a bit of a bashful grin. "Amusing story, isn't it, milord?"

At the next question, Stitch shook his head quickly. "No payment is needed, milord. This one is happy to take you in, and keep you under a warm roof. This one would appreciate the company, that would be payment enough." He cocked his head to the side, observing the man for a bit, and slowly offered yet another smile. He seemed to be full of them. "If milord wishes to help with training, however... This one will not pass up that opportunity. This one is hard pressed to find sparring partners, since the dojo in Syliras closed down." Stitch stood from his chair, now grinning. "This one trains in the Martial Arts, milord. You are welcome to learn, if you wish, or train with me. This one would be honored."

[Rand]

Rand held in the laugh as long as he could as Stitch told his story. It was indeed amusing, and Rand quickly tried to calm himself as he realized that it might be rude. However, his laughter turned to a bit of shame as he man told him he needed no payment.

You are a great man, an Syliras is a better place for it in my eyes. I would welcome and be honored to train with you, however, all I know is some boxing. The navy teaches us how to box as a fighting and disipline, but im sure we can work it out. Shall we proceed?
\
Rand hoped the change of topic would smooth over any ill will, if there was any for his earlier outburst. As Rand stood he envisioned this ma as an angel, glowing brightly in the sky, and he smiled again. Perhaps today was not all bad afterall he thought as he made a slight bow towards Stitch extending his left arm outwards.

After you my friend, and let the sparring commence.

[Stitch]

Stitch nodded quickly, excitedly, too worked up at the idea of a friendly spar to even notice the man had nearly laughed at his name. He had blushed at the compliment his new friend had paid him, but now... His head was already working, already forming a strategy, as he quickly walked toward the playroom they had come through earlier. Motioning for Rand to follow him, he reached the door and held it open, all the while thinking of what kind of plan he would be using. Boxing was a dangerous kind of art to fight against, he was aware. The art may not have much in the realm of kicks, submissions, take downs, or throws... But the punches of boxers sometimes made it so that no other techniques were required. It seemed like the right idea would be to get in close, to take away from the power of those hard punches and force the opponent onto the ground, or into a submission. Grappling was probably the best way to go, but Stitch wasn't particularly trained in grappling. He wasn't sure how to approach the fight, honestly.

The playroom was freshly cleaned, and only a few toys in the large room remained on the floor. The large rubber balls that were placed in random points around the room were the large worry. Everything else was minor, little cloth dolls, one or two marbles, and a few miniature mock musical instruments. The door leading back to the office, and the front door could be seen, as well as another door that led to an outside porch. The rain continued to beat down hard, flashes of lightning pulsing every few moments, the full fury of nature released.

Stitch would stride into the playroom after Rand had entered, and make his way to the opposite side of the area. Taking a deep breath, he squared his feet and bowed at the waist, angling the bow toward his opponent. He held the bow before just a split second, before standing straight once more and setting himself into a fighting position. The full front of his body was facing his opponent, as if he was offering himself, in a way. His fists were clenched and held at his sides, slightly angled away, and slightly bent forward at the elbow. His left foot was forward, bent at the knee a bit, and his right foot was back, bent as well. He was leaning forward just a bit, his face looking incredibly ripe for the punching.

"Face and chest blows are a point. Three points, and the winner is called?"

[Rand]

Rand followed the young man into what seemed to be a play room, it was rather neat other than the balls, which could become a problem. As Stitch prepared himself Rand did the same. A few arm stretches, then alternating to his legs helped to limber him up. Jumping up and down in place Rand focused, his vision tunneling for a moment then coming back up. The placid look on his face was gone, replaced by that of one of a stoic fighter. Rand was in another mode, and he liked it.

Rand positioned himself about eight feet away from Stitch, keeping on the balls of his feet he brought his arms in tight and his hands up to his chin. He leaned forward slightly as he mentally prepared for whatever Stitch was about to do. I dont kno alot about martial arts, but the rules sound fine. How about we start in ten seconds? Rand asked as he started to count down louldly. Ten, nine, eight, seven......two one DING DING With that Rand began to move forward slowly.

Rand was cautious as he initiated the fight, he had to gauge his opponent first before making his own move. As he came forward he kept a similar postion, hands up, arms in, chin tucked in.

[Stitch]

A boxing stance, that must be that position Rand had assumed. It seemed like a stance designed for striking. The fists were up and ready to throw a punch, but at a position where they could easily be used to block, as well. His chin was tucked in, protecting that weak spot, as if he was facing another boxer. Stitch knew how to throw a blow, but that wasn't what he was particularly trained in. However, his current stance was now not one he would apply to this situation. His stance was a defensive stance, meant to tempt an aggressive opponent with offered targets. His arms were to the side, leaving his chest wide open, and his face was forward, leaving it wide open as well. Yet, when there were two such obvious areas of attack, and everything else was tucked back, then most aggressive opponents would go right for it. The thought behind this was, that with only two points to defend, you can be extremely ready to defend those points. Stitch had indeed been very ready, with his elbows and knees bent, ready to move.

He slowly stepped back, switching stances. His opponent was being cautious, somewhat defensive, so Stitch would take his invitation and go on the attack.

His knees bent into a crouch, and he turned his body sideways, providing much less of a target for the man. Rand would now also have to angle his punches downwards, which wouldn't make too much of a difference, Stitch supposed. Perhaps put an ounce more of power behind them. Did the man even know how to throw a proper punch? Chewing his lower lip in thought, Stitch threw a small variation into his stance. His left arm was forward, the back of the open left hand facing Rand. His fist was tucked back, clenched, ready to fire, cocked at the elbow and held at about hip level. His entire body looked relaxed though, the muscles not particularly tight, or taunt.

He shuffled forward slowly, much like Rand, taking slow and precise steps. Finally, when he was almost within range, he took his step. With a single mighty, solid step forward, propelling his weight; he made the single punch all one swift move. He moved forward in the step, and twisted at the waist to twist his cocked arm forward. It straightened out, slamming toward the chest of Rand in an extremely swift punch, the open palm flickering back to guard. As he struck, he actually began to talk, instinctively teaching.

"The full power of a simple strike is a hard thing to achieve. First, stay relaxed! One might think that when one tenses his muscles, he is making them stronger, harder, which one would assume is better when one is to strike! However, if you study the muscles that tense when you flex, you are tensing muscles that don't attribute to the strike at all! They merely hinder the speed by being flexed, by being locked and hard! There are different kinds of muscle fibers for completely different functions! Think of these muscle fibers as fast switching ones, and slow twitching ones! The explosive kind of power needed for a strong punch uses fast twitch muscle fibers, but a tense body will be bringing slow twitch muscle fibers to play in a situation they aren't made for! If you keep your body as relaxed as possible before striking, and then just concentrate on speed and technique during the strike, there will be no interference from muscles that don't need to be used! As you land the strike you should then tense up on your body's own natural will, not only your fist, arm and shoulder, but also your chest muscles, and stomach muscles!"

The gentle man still sounded soft, gentle, but firm. He would make a good teacher.