Following his disastrous encounter with an advanced sparring dummy, Zan had taken to temporarily wearing long sleeves and more permanently avoiding said dummies like the plague. The weapons, however, intrigued him more than he would have guessed, and he had been drawn to them this morning, standing close enough to the practice swords and axes to touch, but keeping his hands to himself. They'd told him he would be best suited to daggers and tiny crossbows and other kooky assassin s**t, but he wanted to subdue and overpower, to control the situation before he could get the crap beat out of him, not strike from the shadows and hope his opponent went down before they could find him. You couldn't knock someone out with a throwing star.

Zan inhaled slowly, exhaled, stopped chewing his nails and shoved his hands in the pockets of his plaid pants. He began to hum, but since his subconscious had chosen one of those catchy pop songs from the early 2000s, he was soon whispering the words instead, toe-tapping and jaunty swaying following closely behind. It was time to get out of here before he broke into a dance number. Getting one last eyeful of the closest padded sword, he turned to leave.

kuropeco
I FINALLY FIXED IT WHAT IS THIS MADNESS <333