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May. 23rd, 2017 05:56 pmLaurent preferred to know.
It was more than a matter of pride or of self-worth. In Vere he had faced death daily, spared from it only by his own calculations and plans. In such a court knowledge was both sword and shield, at times a cutting arrow, at others, a wall. He was small for his age, and slender, but Laurent had identified the traits that would cancel these physical shortcomings and nurtured them.
He could not fight with his hands; he learned to use a sword. He could not speak for his kingdom; he learned to negotiate with those who could, orchestrating the changes he needed from the outskirts. He could not defeat his Uncle; he aligned himself with the only man who dared try.
Whatever uncertainties Laurent faced never remained so for very long. His intolerance for ignorance within himself simply wouldn't allow it.
And so, when the dirty floors and cracked walls of their gym began to take form with new padding, new ceilings, and finally, a host of large and confusing equipment, Laurent took special affront to the latter. Some held a purpose he could divine simply by looking at them. The benches and the long bars with weights on either end were surely meant to strengthen one's chest and arms. The ill-named dumbbells were also for arms, and the seat in which one sat and pushed away weights with one's feet was for legs, but this was were Laurent's understanding stopped.
He walked towards a large machine comprised almost entirely of bars and cables. He tugged half heartedly on one of the handles and pulled it down with ease. It must need to be weighted; he resolved to watch Damen with the machine and determine how it was done. He drifted to another machine next, this one looking almost like a very short set of stairs. Why this would be required when there were stairs in every building in Darrow, Laurent didn't know.
With a sigh, he ventured to the rows of dumbbells next. He had worked out kilograms some time ago, preferring metric to the more foolish methods of measuring weight, but all these seemed to be labeled in pounds. Laurent paused before one marked '100.' His hand hovered over the top of it, then closed. Laurent pulled.
He pulled again, harder this time. And again, until a fine sheen popped forth on his forehead.
'You moved,' Laurent muttered. 'I saw it.'
It was more than a matter of pride or of self-worth. In Vere he had faced death daily, spared from it only by his own calculations and plans. In such a court knowledge was both sword and shield, at times a cutting arrow, at others, a wall. He was small for his age, and slender, but Laurent had identified the traits that would cancel these physical shortcomings and nurtured them.
He could not fight with his hands; he learned to use a sword. He could not speak for his kingdom; he learned to negotiate with those who could, orchestrating the changes he needed from the outskirts. He could not defeat his Uncle; he aligned himself with the only man who dared try.
Whatever uncertainties Laurent faced never remained so for very long. His intolerance for ignorance within himself simply wouldn't allow it.
And so, when the dirty floors and cracked walls of their gym began to take form with new padding, new ceilings, and finally, a host of large and confusing equipment, Laurent took special affront to the latter. Some held a purpose he could divine simply by looking at them. The benches and the long bars with weights on either end were surely meant to strengthen one's chest and arms. The ill-named dumbbells were also for arms, and the seat in which one sat and pushed away weights with one's feet was for legs, but this was were Laurent's understanding stopped.
He walked towards a large machine comprised almost entirely of bars and cables. He tugged half heartedly on one of the handles and pulled it down with ease. It must need to be weighted; he resolved to watch Damen with the machine and determine how it was done. He drifted to another machine next, this one looking almost like a very short set of stairs. Why this would be required when there were stairs in every building in Darrow, Laurent didn't know.
With a sigh, he ventured to the rows of dumbbells next. He had worked out kilograms some time ago, preferring metric to the more foolish methods of measuring weight, but all these seemed to be labeled in pounds. Laurent paused before one marked '100.' His hand hovered over the top of it, then closed. Laurent pulled.
He pulled again, harder this time. And again, until a fine sheen popped forth on his forehead.
'You moved,' Laurent muttered. 'I saw it.'
