Post by Maelstrom on Mar 16, 2015 16:10:52 GMT -6
Jonathan stood at the mouth of the roda, breathing in the simultaneously soothing and exhilarating sounds of the berimbau and the singing mestres. Only through sheer force of will could he stay still- every muscle in his body yearned to move to the music, to be lost to the beautiful and lethal art they knew so well. His mestre and that of the other grupo had announced this gathering weeks ago, where both schools would meet to fellowship and to play the game with each other. All anyone could think about was preparing for the rare opportunity to play with strangers, people whose quirks and tendencies were unknowns to them.
He smiled as he looked down at his new cord for a moment, only two months old. White and blue. The top of the first rank of cords for adults. His next glance was to the children's roda, off in a corner of the room. An instructor stood at the head of it, making sure that the younger students- some nearly Jonathan's age- did not get carried away. Some of them were quite good, but his mestre had not promoted any of them to the adult cord. It showed a lot of faith in him.
There was a cheer from the crowd, and Jonathan looked back just in time to watch one of his professors falling, as his opponent caught him in a nearly-perfect vingativa. The move involved trapping an opponent's forward leg in front of one's own, then leaning into the person, forcing their torso backwards and making them lose their balance. Jonathan knew the professor would never fall for such a simple move, though. The defense was too easy. At the last moment, his professor smiled, planting his more distant hand on the hardwood floor and bringing both legs up to grab his opponent's torso like a vise. A slight twist of his professor's body was all it took to send the other man crashing to the floor.
As was customary, the upper cord had their fun first, showing off their skill for the onlookers. Now, though, anyone could buy in without causing offense, so long as they were positioned at the mouth of the roda. A motion at the corner of his vision caught his attention. Looking to it's source, he saw his mestre gesturing with his head (his hands were occupied with the berimbau) for him to join the roda. The professor had been playing longer than the other man, so when Jonathan joined in, he bought the professor out, joining the person from the other school.
The two faced each other, nodded, clapped hands, then gave each other a fist-bump, as they stood in the center of the ring of their peers. There was not a moment's more hesitation before they both fell into the ginga. Within his own school, Jonathan- Lagartixa- was known as an aggressive player, preferring to keep his opponent at-bay with frequent, often disparate. kicks. Not knowing his opponent, though, he practiced patience.
The other player made the first move, a step intended to change the angle of the attack that would follow. Jonathan knew the man's next move well in advance. The man's whole body, not to mention his eyes, were practically telegraphing it. It was a simple queixada, an attack any beginner could easily dodge. The odd angle was the only thing challenging about it. To simply dodge would have been an invitation for the man to set up any number of moves that would have truly forced Jonathan to the defensive.
Instead, Jonathan arched his back and did a little leap backwards. Before hitting the ground, he caught himself with his hands and launched himself back towards his previous location. The kick had passed, and his opponent had retreated back to the safety of the ginga. Jonathan smiled, as he got low and swept the floor under the man with his leg, forcing his opponent to jump into the air. Without missing a beat, Jonathan launched himself into a perfectly-aimed mariposa, a butterfly kick. That the blow missed the man by almost two inches was no mistake. Nothing cast quite the dampener over a good roda that an injury did. Besides, the way the man was forced to arch his back and lose balance for a moment more than showcased the success of Jonathan's maneuver in a martial art that was as much about maintaining composure and form as taking an enemy down.
The rest of the match, only a little over a minute long, was much the same. His opponent was an open book to Jonathan. Every time the man made a move, it was easily avoided with style, and though Jonathan did not take every opportunity to demonstrate his superior skill, there were a couple more deliberately-close calls.
In the end, the person who took his opponent's place was a middle-aged man with the same colored cord as Jonathan's. They repeated the greeting shared between the prior pair and fell back into ginga.
This time, confident in his ability to best someone of the same cord as himself, Jonathan made the first move, stepping forward before launching into an armada, aimed for the man's head. Though he kept his eyes on his opponent the whole time, Jonathan never quite saw how the man managed to sweep him. All he knew was that one moment he was performing a kick he had done a thousand times before, and the next he was falling through the air. He barely managed to catch himself on one foot and both hands, his other leg stretched out to hook his opponent's leg. It took him a moment to realize the other man was no longer there, cartwheeling behind Jonathan.
He wanted to grind his teeth, but he restrained himself as he quickly pushed himself into a headstand facing his opponent, adding a slight flourish. The other man aimed a low kick, and Jonathan launched himself up and backwards, landing in a secure paralelo- horse stance. The man was already coming at him with another low kick. Jonathan went to dodge it, but quickly noticed that the kick had turned into another sweep. It caught him unprepared, and he found himself falling again. Only with a great deal of effort did he manage to catch himself on his forearm and turn the fall into a low au- a cartwheel.
When he landed, he fired off a meia lua de compasso, a hip-level kick that should have caught the other man in the jaw, given his previous move. Instead, the man followed Jonathan's movements exactly, save that he never raised his leg for the kick. The result was that his shoulder was in the center of Jonathan's chest when they ended the movement, and a slight shove sent Jonathan reeling back without any grace.
Reverting to old habits, Jonathan launched one kick after another at his opponent. They were still on-beat, but there was no pause and no opening for the other man to make a move. Still each kick was dodged in plenty of time. And with plenty of flare.
And then he was swept again.
The match continued for only a few more exchanges, Jonathan struggling to keep his ground the whole time, but it was clear who was in control.
#########
"Mestre, do you have a moment?" Jonathan asked, as his teacher passed.
The party was in full swing, and everyone from both groups were relishing in each others' company. Everyone but Jonathan. His earlier match had left him in a gloom.
"Of course, Lagartixa. Did you have fun today?"
"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, Mestre. I didn't practice enough for today," Jonathan said.
"What are you talking about?" his mestre laughed.
"I should have done better. I was an embarrassment."
A hand clapped him on the back of the shoulder. He turned and found the man he fought earlier who so easily bested him. The man offered a hand, which Jonathan took purely out of habit. His opponent shook it. "I'd heard about the prodigy in your grupo. I was hoping to get to play you. It was a real pleasure. Good game." With that, the man moved on.
Jonathan found himself clenching his fist, when he turned back around to face his mestre. He could not believe the other man had come to rub it in.
"Lagartixa, after all this time, the grupos still don't use the same cord system. He was a professor in their group. You did fine."
Jonathan felt horribly embarrassed that he had let the fight color his mood all day, now that he realized how much more experienced his opponent had been than himself. Even so, something troubled him. "Still, I shouldn't have let myself get swept so much. I was a poor reflection on our school."
Getting serious, the mestre came close and set his hand on his shoulder. "I don't care that you got swept, Lagartixa. I care that you wouldn't fall, no matter what. You always caught yourself and kept playing the game. If I had only one chance to tell the mestre who came before me something to make him proud of what our school has become under my time teaching, it would be that we always catch ourselves and keep playing the game."
Slapping his shoulder, he said, "Now, get out on the floor, find some pretty girl, and samba with her!"
Jonathan laughed to mask his unease at the suggestion. "I don't know about that."
"Oh, Lagartixa, there's always something for me to work with you on..."
As Jonathan made his way towards the front of the studio, where everyone was dancing, he noticed something through the thick windows to the outside. A small group of men and women from both schools had gathered into a small roda, but their game was unlike anything he had ever seen. Each and every one of them seemed to be using biotics in their game- lift fields for higher kicks, pushes and pulls as sweeps, and charges to dodge. Not for the first time, Jonathan wished that his exposure to element zero had gifted him with the almost-magical abilities of a biotic, but he never had any such luck.
He smiled as he looked down at his new cord for a moment, only two months old. White and blue. The top of the first rank of cords for adults. His next glance was to the children's roda, off in a corner of the room. An instructor stood at the head of it, making sure that the younger students- some nearly Jonathan's age- did not get carried away. Some of them were quite good, but his mestre had not promoted any of them to the adult cord. It showed a lot of faith in him.
There was a cheer from the crowd, and Jonathan looked back just in time to watch one of his professors falling, as his opponent caught him in a nearly-perfect vingativa. The move involved trapping an opponent's forward leg in front of one's own, then leaning into the person, forcing their torso backwards and making them lose their balance. Jonathan knew the professor would never fall for such a simple move, though. The defense was too easy. At the last moment, his professor smiled, planting his more distant hand on the hardwood floor and bringing both legs up to grab his opponent's torso like a vise. A slight twist of his professor's body was all it took to send the other man crashing to the floor.
As was customary, the upper cord had their fun first, showing off their skill for the onlookers. Now, though, anyone could buy in without causing offense, so long as they were positioned at the mouth of the roda. A motion at the corner of his vision caught his attention. Looking to it's source, he saw his mestre gesturing with his head (his hands were occupied with the berimbau) for him to join the roda. The professor had been playing longer than the other man, so when Jonathan joined in, he bought the professor out, joining the person from the other school.
The two faced each other, nodded, clapped hands, then gave each other a fist-bump, as they stood in the center of the ring of their peers. There was not a moment's more hesitation before they both fell into the ginga. Within his own school, Jonathan- Lagartixa- was known as an aggressive player, preferring to keep his opponent at-bay with frequent, often disparate. kicks. Not knowing his opponent, though, he practiced patience.
The other player made the first move, a step intended to change the angle of the attack that would follow. Jonathan knew the man's next move well in advance. The man's whole body, not to mention his eyes, were practically telegraphing it. It was a simple queixada, an attack any beginner could easily dodge. The odd angle was the only thing challenging about it. To simply dodge would have been an invitation for the man to set up any number of moves that would have truly forced Jonathan to the defensive.
Instead, Jonathan arched his back and did a little leap backwards. Before hitting the ground, he caught himself with his hands and launched himself back towards his previous location. The kick had passed, and his opponent had retreated back to the safety of the ginga. Jonathan smiled, as he got low and swept the floor under the man with his leg, forcing his opponent to jump into the air. Without missing a beat, Jonathan launched himself into a perfectly-aimed mariposa, a butterfly kick. That the blow missed the man by almost two inches was no mistake. Nothing cast quite the dampener over a good roda that an injury did. Besides, the way the man was forced to arch his back and lose balance for a moment more than showcased the success of Jonathan's maneuver in a martial art that was as much about maintaining composure and form as taking an enemy down.
The rest of the match, only a little over a minute long, was much the same. His opponent was an open book to Jonathan. Every time the man made a move, it was easily avoided with style, and though Jonathan did not take every opportunity to demonstrate his superior skill, there were a couple more deliberately-close calls.
In the end, the person who took his opponent's place was a middle-aged man with the same colored cord as Jonathan's. They repeated the greeting shared between the prior pair and fell back into ginga.
This time, confident in his ability to best someone of the same cord as himself, Jonathan made the first move, stepping forward before launching into an armada, aimed for the man's head. Though he kept his eyes on his opponent the whole time, Jonathan never quite saw how the man managed to sweep him. All he knew was that one moment he was performing a kick he had done a thousand times before, and the next he was falling through the air. He barely managed to catch himself on one foot and both hands, his other leg stretched out to hook his opponent's leg. It took him a moment to realize the other man was no longer there, cartwheeling behind Jonathan.
He wanted to grind his teeth, but he restrained himself as he quickly pushed himself into a headstand facing his opponent, adding a slight flourish. The other man aimed a low kick, and Jonathan launched himself up and backwards, landing in a secure paralelo- horse stance. The man was already coming at him with another low kick. Jonathan went to dodge it, but quickly noticed that the kick had turned into another sweep. It caught him unprepared, and he found himself falling again. Only with a great deal of effort did he manage to catch himself on his forearm and turn the fall into a low au- a cartwheel.
When he landed, he fired off a meia lua de compasso, a hip-level kick that should have caught the other man in the jaw, given his previous move. Instead, the man followed Jonathan's movements exactly, save that he never raised his leg for the kick. The result was that his shoulder was in the center of Jonathan's chest when they ended the movement, and a slight shove sent Jonathan reeling back without any grace.
Reverting to old habits, Jonathan launched one kick after another at his opponent. They were still on-beat, but there was no pause and no opening for the other man to make a move. Still each kick was dodged in plenty of time. And with plenty of flare.
And then he was swept again.
The match continued for only a few more exchanges, Jonathan struggling to keep his ground the whole time, but it was clear who was in control.
#########
"Mestre, do you have a moment?" Jonathan asked, as his teacher passed.
The party was in full swing, and everyone from both groups were relishing in each others' company. Everyone but Jonathan. His earlier match had left him in a gloom.
"Of course, Lagartixa. Did you have fun today?"
"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, Mestre. I didn't practice enough for today," Jonathan said.
"What are you talking about?" his mestre laughed.
"I should have done better. I was an embarrassment."
A hand clapped him on the back of the shoulder. He turned and found the man he fought earlier who so easily bested him. The man offered a hand, which Jonathan took purely out of habit. His opponent shook it. "I'd heard about the prodigy in your grupo. I was hoping to get to play you. It was a real pleasure. Good game." With that, the man moved on.
Jonathan found himself clenching his fist, when he turned back around to face his mestre. He could not believe the other man had come to rub it in.
"Lagartixa, after all this time, the grupos still don't use the same cord system. He was a professor in their group. You did fine."
Jonathan felt horribly embarrassed that he had let the fight color his mood all day, now that he realized how much more experienced his opponent had been than himself. Even so, something troubled him. "Still, I shouldn't have let myself get swept so much. I was a poor reflection on our school."
Getting serious, the mestre came close and set his hand on his shoulder. "I don't care that you got swept, Lagartixa. I care that you wouldn't fall, no matter what. You always caught yourself and kept playing the game. If I had only one chance to tell the mestre who came before me something to make him proud of what our school has become under my time teaching, it would be that we always catch ourselves and keep playing the game."
Slapping his shoulder, he said, "Now, get out on the floor, find some pretty girl, and samba with her!"
Jonathan laughed to mask his unease at the suggestion. "I don't know about that."
"Oh, Lagartixa, there's always something for me to work with you on..."
As Jonathan made his way towards the front of the studio, where everyone was dancing, he noticed something through the thick windows to the outside. A small group of men and women from both schools had gathered into a small roda, but their game was unlike anything he had ever seen. Each and every one of them seemed to be using biotics in their game- lift fields for higher kicks, pushes and pulls as sweeps, and charges to dodge. Not for the first time, Jonathan wished that his exposure to element zero had gifted him with the almost-magical abilities of a biotic, but he never had any such luck.