Yankee
TruthHurts
princess
Plank SinatraA dozen or so children bustled about, giggling and swinging wooden practice weapons at each other as they fought to control a small hill. A few had swords, some axes, and there was even one child wielding a relatively massive hammer, but a young pair of the kids stood out from all the rest.
The thin, wiry boy held in his hands a sword and shield, while his partner, a short girl with bright red hair, was equipped with a pair of small wood swords. The boy kept a few steps ahead of his companion, maintaining a small barrier between her and the chaos, calling out behind himself. “C’mon, Cerise, we gotta go get on top of the hill!”
Cerise responded by running up past him and throwing one of her swords at another of the children among the chaos, who responded with a grunt and an exaggerated death scene. “That kinda hurt, Cerise!”
“Sorry Ash, too bad!” Giggling, the young redhead dashed forward and grabbed her fallen sword, the boy from before struggling to keep pace with her. The hill they were climbing was hardly steep, but the rocks and the loose dirt made keeping a good foothold difficult, especially for somebody not used to difficult terrain.
“Cerise, wait u-Uff!” He called after his partner, only to be interrupted by one of the other fighters crashing ax-first into his shield, pushing him back an inch before the two swung their weapons at each other wildly. His mind otherwise occupied, he missed Cerise’s call to keep up with her.
In a display of impressive coordination for an eight year-old, the boy with the ax managed to hook the sword out of the other boy’s hand and fling it to the ground. His celebration was short-lived, however, and a wooden shield smacked him on the shoulder, knocking him off-balance and sending him crashing to the floor.
“Good try, Finley, but not good enough!” Carefully grabbing his sword, the ‘survivor’ of the fight poked Finley in the ribs, and the prone boy responded with a soft moan of faux pain.
“OOOOssssswwwwwaaaaaaaallldddd!!!!” Whipping his head at the sound, Oswald looked up in horror at the top of the hill: Cerise was fighting off a small redheaded boy and a larger one with platinum blond hair, the former holding an ax and the other carrying the large hammer. Even with two weapons, she was hard-pressed to keep two fighters off of herself, and while the redhead fell to a quick jab, his partner was swinging his hammer directly into Cerise’s path.
As the hammer’s descent suddenly ceased, the two combatants both dropped their weapons in shock as Oswald tackled the other to the ground, playfully smacking him with his sword. “Leave her alone, Yahto!”
Normally, this would have resulted in an impromptu wrestling match, but when Yahto didn’t fight back, Oswald himself stopped and paused. “W…what’s wrong, guys?”
The short moment of silence was shattered by their instructor, a loud and battle-hardened man, barreling up the hill. “Connoly, come with me right now, please.” Looking back at Cerise, Oswald shrugged and followed after their instructor, his face betraying his utter confusion.
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The room the pair were now seated in was small, with only a few chairs and a short table in way of decoration. The walls were a dull, faded blue, and a small scorch mark was clearly visible in one of the corners. “So…you’re saying I can teleport?” A beat passed as his instructor nodded and Oswald nearly exploded in celebration. “THAT’S SO COOL!”
Oswald was practically running around the room in his excitement now, only stopping when a firm hand clapped him on the shoulder and his instructor spoke again.
“Yes, Oswald, it would appear that your Semblance is, in some form, a teleportation. I’m a bit surprised that it took this long to show up, though. Usually, movement-related Semblances manifest when somebody is a young child. We’ll have to continue researching this at a later time. I just want you to remember what we talked about just now. Semblances are a reflection of who you are as a person. I guess it fits that you used yours to protect Cerise. I almost never see the two of you apart.” Oswald visibly brightened at the mention of his female friend.
“Yeah, Cerise is my best friend! She’s like my sister! Can I go now?” Chuckling, the instructor gently pushed at Oswald’s shoulder, signaling for him to leave.
“Sure thing, bud. Get back out there.”