There's something wrong with the banter, something just a little off. Ezra almost pauses when something whispers through his mind with when have I talked about keeping him in shape? He doesn't have time for more than a slightly furrowed brow, though, before the thought vanishes in the face of that salute. Swiftly, Ezra shifts his own stances to the proper one, a ready grin on his face as he salutes in turn.
And then there really is no more time to think, because practicing his offense means it's his first strike, fully expecting to be met, again and again, but still willing to test and press and flow from one attack into the next. This is a dance he knows, all the way through his bones. Not that that means he thinks he has no chance - just the opposite! - but he's long since learned not to let himself get frustrated when Qui-Gon outmaneuvers him.
Not immediately, at least. Even years of practice and experience with this can't completely curb a teen's impatience.
He's not at that point yet, though. There's still time to push and see if Qui-Gon quite expects him to duck and pivot and try a new combination of the drills they've so often repeated.
no subject
And then there really is no more time to think, because practicing his offense means it's his first strike, fully expecting to be met, again and again, but still willing to test and press and flow from one attack into the next. This is a dance he knows, all the way through his bones. Not that that means he thinks he has no chance - just the opposite! - but he's long since learned not to let himself get frustrated when Qui-Gon outmaneuvers him.
Not immediately, at least. Even years of practice and experience with this can't completely curb a teen's impatience.
He's not at that point yet, though. There's still time to push and see if Qui-Gon quite expects him to duck and pivot and try a new combination of the drills they've so often repeated.