"so, caspar." the training grounds were almost always filled with students, and the steel ringing in the air showed that today was no exception. caspar was there, head bowed and fists pummeling a training dummy. claude approached from the side, wary of being caught by a wayward fist. "i've been hearing people talk, people have been saying you've got the fastest hands in garreg mach." claude slowly slipped an arrow from his quiver, a sly grin grew across his face. "think you can catch an arrow?"
never let it be said that there will ever be a day that CASPAR VON BERGLIEZ will back down from a challenge! even ones that will have him risking life, limb and fingertips. ESPECIALLY ones that will have him risking life, limb and fingertips! his grin has got to be at least ten times the size of claude’s, and then he’s staring down at his palms. fastest hands in garreg mach, eh? far be it from him to let his adoring fans down!
“you’re ON!” caspar declares, slapping his hands together in an effort to wipe them of non-existent dirt. there’s probably a more optimal time to do this, perhaps when his knuckles aren’t red raw and screaming for him to nick dorothea’s moisturiser, or when his arms aren’t still reverberating from his strikes on near-solid wood and threatening to pack up and leave all together, but caspar doesn’t particularly care. he’s either going to catch that arrow, or he won’t. foresight doesn’t travel a step further than that.
caspar skips back a few steps, light on the balls of his feet and deciding that it’s a good thing he’s not wearing armour at present. after all, it would only weigh him down, and he’s going to need all of the agility he can muster if he wants to catch an arrow as fast as claude can shoot it. at the very least, he’s got never underestimate your opponent down pat. shame about the rest.
by this point, a few heads have turned to hear where the yells of “gimme whatcha got!” and “i’m ready for ya!” are coming from (apparently none more responsible than either caspar or claude, seeing as no-one steps in to intervene) and a small crowd gathers around the sides of the fifteen foot gap between them. caspar’s eyes are fixed on the arrow, but he can still see claude’s flashing grin from the corner of his eye. he’d wonder if distraction is the name of his game, but then a particularly plucky kid that caspar recognises as one of the stable boys calls out three! and then several other people are joining in.
two!
caspar’s heart is thundering and his tongue juts out of his mouth, swiping the sweat from his upper lip.
one!
the twang of claude’s bow slices through the tension and caspar throws his arm out almost hard enough to wrench the limb from its socket. at first, he grabs at nothing but air and feels a sinking disappointment in his chest, but as his fingers release their grip of nothingness he feels something hard strike his palm. his fingers snap back around it, and he’s yelling something unintelligible but definitely self-congratulatory before he realises that the bustle of the training yard has fallen to a deathly silence. it takes more than one look at his hand to realise that the head of the arrow is jutting out of the back of it, his wraps are stained a deep dark red, and it hurts like the fires of ailell.
“wow,” caspar utters under a shaky breath, shifting his hand outwards so that his blood doesn’t drip on his pants. his face is starting to grow a deathly shade of pale and his entire expression is strained, but he looks up at claude with a cheery grin nonetheless.
“well hey, I CAUGHT IT!”
[caspar vc] i can’t believe you’ve done this / unprompted / @slyshot
