Squalo isn't used to life in the Varia yet. Not that he's had much of a chance - he's only been at the manor a few days now, and people are still scoffing and calling him kid, but he's pretty sure he can fix that as soon as he's maimed enough of them. They think Tyr is special kinds of crazy for bringing in a child. And he is a child at just past ten years old. But Tyr also gave him a sword and set him loose in the practice yard, and that quieted a good deal of the open protests.
He's at it again today, grabbed the blade that is too big for him still, and he has to make sure that he doesn't scrape it through the dirt with each swing he takes. Mercifully, and how he figured this was a good idea Squalo really doesn't know, Tyr also told him he'd set some targets up a little ways off in the woods. It's a very good thing, the boy thinks, because it's not like he doesn't realize he's the main attraction anywhere he goes. The whispers follow along, and the sidelong glances. He doesn't care about them much, but he damn well wants to practice in peace somewhere where he can figure things out for himself, without two dozen assassins staring at him.
So, the forest it is. True to his word (which seems to fit with Tyr) the targets are there. Simple and weathered but functional. And for a moment, the boy just takes in the silence of it all, compared to the noise in the manor. It's all quiet now, early in the morning. Nobody's really gonna need him, right? He was brought here to train under Tyr, but the man's made no move to do anything about it himself the last few days, so Squalo figures he probably won't now, either. To avoid having to run back anytime soon, he's charmed some food out of the kitchen staff, and he sets that, wrapped up, down by a tree, draws his sword and begins to practice. Repeat the moves he's seen so far until they're just right, every one. Then string them together into a sequence. Then a longer sequence. Then just changing it up as he goes along, forgetting the time, forgetting everything around him and the sweat forming on his face and trickling down his temples. Forgetting where he is and what brought him here, and just entirely lost to the world for a while.
potential. a child and a blade.
He's at it again today, grabbed the blade that is too big for him still, and he has to make sure that he doesn't scrape it through the dirt with each swing he takes. Mercifully, and how he figured this was a good idea Squalo really doesn't know, Tyr also told him he'd set some targets up a little ways off in the woods. It's a very good thing, the boy thinks, because it's not like he doesn't realize he's the main attraction anywhere he goes. The whispers follow along, and the sidelong glances. He doesn't care about them much, but he damn well wants to practice in peace somewhere where he can figure things out for himself, without two dozen assassins staring at him.
So, the forest it is. True to his word (which seems to fit with Tyr) the targets are there. Simple and weathered but functional. And for a moment, the boy just takes in the silence of it all, compared to the noise in the manor. It's all quiet now, early in the morning. Nobody's really gonna need him, right? He was brought here to train under Tyr, but the man's made no move to do anything about it himself the last few days, so Squalo figures he probably won't now, either. To avoid having to run back anytime soon, he's charmed some food out of the kitchen staff, and he sets that, wrapped up, down by a tree, draws his sword and begins to practice. Repeat the moves he's seen so far until they're just right, every one. Then string them together into a sequence. Then a longer sequence. Then just changing it up as he goes along, forgetting the time, forgetting everything around him and the sweat forming on his face and trickling down his temples. Forgetting where he is and what brought him here, and just entirely lost to the world for a while.