Heavies Infestation

Fighter practice at my house is very interesting to watch, as one who would rather stand around laughing at heavies than to be one. I woke up at some ungodly hour, to hear the familiar sound of metal hitting metal. I looked around to see if I was at war (where I have found there is always the sound of metal hitting metal and/or drums.) Realizing I was in my own bed could mean only one thing: today was fighter practice at my house. I put in my earplugs and went back to sleep. Later, when I got up at the much more reasonable hour of noon, I wandered into the living room in my pajamas. There, my fears were confirmed. The living room was empty, but I could hear sounds emanating from the back yard. "Aaaaaaah!…Light!…Go! go!…Hit him! Hit him harder!" I retreated back to my room to get dressed. IT was true. My house was infested with heavies.

The house being infested with heavies is a very interesting change in the balance of power. Normally the fencers outnumber the heavies two to one (that would be because two fencers live here and only one heavy. Plus two non-combatants…well, non-formally-combatant.)

I wandered back into the living room and, having nothing better to do, sat down to watch them through the glass door. The first game I played was identify the heavy. With helmets off this is easy, but with helmets on its quite another matter. Normally I recognize them by their armor, but in order to accommodate the sudden influx of newbies, they had played musical armor.

Along with switching around armor, because there were so many new people, they were wearing armor that was in many different states of repair, disrepair, and being finished. As I was making bets with myself about how soon it would be before this one poor newby's shoulders fell off (the ones on his armor, not his) someone else finally noticed, and the cry went up. "Duck tape!" (I know that it is actually supposed to be duct tape, but nobody says that, I mean come on, have you?) One fighter leaned down to the huge pile of tape, picked up a roll, and tossed it over. The newby was then thoroughly and medievally taped into his suit. He's not getting out of THAT any time soon. (I NEVER duck tape my fencing armor)

Finally practice is breaking up. People slowly wander and limp out of the yard. Someone shouts out "So, you'll all be back again soon, right?" and I hear the answer from a voice I don't recognize, but I'm sure I will soon come to know "No. I hate you. I hate you all."

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