Tryt grinned when they caught sight of the grin, though that faltered slightly as he looked up to the other “Guardians”. Each of them were far more athletic than the boy and his twelve-year-old physique, making him wallow a bit at his physical inadequacies and wonder if any other qualities of his would also follow in the same linage as his height; Not be enough. Suddenly, he couldn’t help but question how he was going to fair with this job as the “Guardian of Fire”. It seemed undeserving to trail with his name. Plus, thinking about the tangle-less form of heat, he began to think that if he wielded the energy that it would just escape from his fingers and cause harm.
He threw the thought into a small corner of his mind, however, when Jericho advised them to leave their valuables here. Nodding, Tryt, grinning yet again and having forgotten about his whole inadequacies, tossed his green sweater to the top of the bleachers, wanting to see how high he could aim the material. It jaggedly caught itself on the right railing of the bleachers and the boy couldn’t help but marvel at his poor aim. He’d work on basketball when he had the chance.
Than, suddenly, his beloved white shirt and black shorts disappeared to be replaced by crimson wear, lined with very intricate yellow and orange stitches to mimic a fire. Funnily enough, a small cat’s head had been tattooed onto the leg of his burgundy shorts, the out-of-place brown stitches giving him some attention and giggling. The patch was… surprisingly cute and Tryt couldn’t help but think that Jericho had been keeping tabs on his little conversations with Mr. Gato. He appreciated the pattern. It reminded him of Mr. Gato and his own telepathic power. Than, he had a question that he’d like to later address to Jericho.
For now though, he was gratifyingly running around the half court length, playing with himself some type of free-range basketball that allowed him to keep trying his aim. Out of five tries in throwing the orange ball, Tryt had managed to hit the rim three times. The other two tries resulted in a reminder of his height and limited strength from his young physique. Still, the boy had simply dribbled the ball back around and tried shooting again. It was his tenth try that he managed to make a basket, and that was the time he decided to start a conversation with the others.
“So,” he started slowly, cautiously walking back to the free throw line while padding the basketball against the floor, “What’s everybody’s name? If we’re going to be working against the First Guardians, I think we should start with our names. I don’t want to be calling some of you “Fairy girl” or “Elf dude” in the hallways, especially where humans can hear.”
“I’m Tryt.” The boy introduced, tossing the orange ball at the basket.
… It didn’t even make it close to the rim, instead lying many inches away from the bottom of the board that contained the rim and bounced off the wall, back into Tryt’s hand. He couldn’t help the light heat that colored his cheeks. But he still smiled. This was the first time in forever where he had introduced himself by his real name.
“Tryt Sanada, Guardian of Fire.”
What prompted the boy to add the title confused himself, awkwardly rolling off his tongue before he’d really thought about it. Despite that, he knew he’d have to get use to the heavy title. Shouldering the weight started now, with learning how to properly aim.
((Ironically, as you get busy, I get a lot of time
No need to bunny 'fire guy' anymore))
He threw the thought into a small corner of his mind, however, when Jericho advised them to leave their valuables here. Nodding, Tryt, grinning yet again and having forgotten about his whole inadequacies, tossed his green sweater to the top of the bleachers, wanting to see how high he could aim the material. It jaggedly caught itself on the right railing of the bleachers and the boy couldn’t help but marvel at his poor aim. He’d work on basketball when he had the chance.
Than, suddenly, his beloved white shirt and black shorts disappeared to be replaced by crimson wear, lined with very intricate yellow and orange stitches to mimic a fire. Funnily enough, a small cat’s head had been tattooed onto the leg of his burgundy shorts, the out-of-place brown stitches giving him some attention and giggling. The patch was… surprisingly cute and Tryt couldn’t help but think that Jericho had been keeping tabs on his little conversations with Mr. Gato. He appreciated the pattern. It reminded him of Mr. Gato and his own telepathic power. Than, he had a question that he’d like to later address to Jericho.
For now though, he was gratifyingly running around the half court length, playing with himself some type of free-range basketball that allowed him to keep trying his aim. Out of five tries in throwing the orange ball, Tryt had managed to hit the rim three times. The other two tries resulted in a reminder of his height and limited strength from his young physique. Still, the boy had simply dribbled the ball back around and tried shooting again. It was his tenth try that he managed to make a basket, and that was the time he decided to start a conversation with the others.
“So,” he started slowly, cautiously walking back to the free throw line while padding the basketball against the floor, “What’s everybody’s name? If we’re going to be working against the First Guardians, I think we should start with our names. I don’t want to be calling some of you “Fairy girl” or “Elf dude” in the hallways, especially where humans can hear.”
“I’m Tryt.” The boy introduced, tossing the orange ball at the basket.
… It didn’t even make it close to the rim, instead lying many inches away from the bottom of the board that contained the rim and bounced off the wall, back into Tryt’s hand. He couldn’t help the light heat that colored his cheeks. But he still smiled. This was the first time in forever where he had introduced himself by his real name.
“Tryt Sanada, Guardian of Fire.”
What prompted the boy to add the title confused himself, awkwardly rolling off his tongue before he’d really thought about it. Despite that, he knew he’d have to get use to the heavy title. Shouldering the weight started now, with learning how to properly aim.
((Ironically, as you get busy, I get a lot of time