The start of something new (Private)

Sam set down his bag by the long metal cylinder that protruded from the ground. There were several of these a consistent distance from each other. In between each of them was an expanse of grass that ran perpendicular to the line of cylinders. Each line was mowed well, and there were several white lines spray painted on them, each at a different distance. At the opposite end of the cylinder in the middle of the grass path was a straw wheel, painted with a target. The outer circle white, then going towards the middle, black, blue, red, and the smallest section was yellow. Some of the ranges were occupied by campers here and there, not very concentrated in subsequent ranges. They were already well on their way of practicing their archery, and, looking at the targets in front of them, varied greatly in their capabilities.

Samuel kneeled down beside his duffel and unzipped the top. Inside were about fifty arrows. Sam removed some of them, counting as he picked out each one until he got to ten. He reached up and slid them into the black cylinder, and then zipped his bag back up. The ten he removed had two blue feathers and one red one, which marked that they were only to be used for his practice. He never really used his battle ones, or top-of-the-line ones unless he needed to.

Sam stood, and slowly removed the bow from around his shoulder. Again, this was just his training bow. It was a someone simple black recurve bow, the kind typically seen in movies, the ones without the pulleys. Sam preferred this type to train with because it wasn't to hard to pull back, but still delivered some force. Sam had one other one, which was a compound, but tended not to use it.

Grabbing an arrow out of the makeshift quiver, he stepped into the middle of the grass range, and positioned himself at the furthest-back white line. The yellow dot looked disturbingly small, and Sam would have had to squint to see it. Well, he would have if he were mortal. Fortunately for this demigod, one of the traits passed down by his father gave him advanced eyesight. As he looked, his eyes began to focus in on the yellow circle, pupils becoming smaller and smaller, blocking out the rest of his normal view. Keeping his eyes and head locked unmovingly onto the target, he brought the bow up to a set position, the arrow notched onto the string. His arm outstretched, he began to pull back on the string, his muscles straining to force the back end of the arrow to his chin. He inhaled deeply, and on his exhale, his fingers loosed. The arrow whizzed forward, losing a slight bit of altitude before lodging itself squarely into the yellow space. Most people would think this a bull's-eye, but Sam with his vision could see that it was an inch to the lower left section of the circle. Not perfect. But, that's what he was practicing for.

Samuel wasn't oblivious to the person joining him in the arena, positioned at the range just beside his. But, he didn't acknowledge it either. He wanted to mind his own business, because staying out of social interaction was a lot better than getting caught in it without knowing what to do. He ignored them as they set up, and instead grabbed another arrow, setting up to fire again. Before he could pull back and shoot, though, he saw an arrow fly from the boy beside him, and his eyes jumped over to his target. He watched the arrow lodge right into an outer ring. Did it give him a bit of satisfaction that the other was less talented than he? Though he wouldn't admit it, it did.

As if his worst fears were being realized, he caught sight of the boy from the corner of his eye approaching. His muscles tensed, and he brought his long arms closer to his body, a reflex to cover his middle region. He no longer had interest in shooting at the target, not while this boy was watching him. When he heard him speaking, he knew that he was trapped. There could be no ignoring him. Grudgingly, he turned his eyes over and looked at him.

Samuel didn't start by looking right into the boy's eyes. That was much too assertive for him, and it would have scared him too much. Instead, he looked down at the ground, at the lower half of the other's body. Seeing legs that were much shorter than his, and a little skinnier, his eyes ventured upward. Taking in the boy's appearance was something magnificent, to put it into words. There were a few occurrences when Samuel had seen a boy and deemed him too beautiful to make eye contact with. One look at the other's face, and he knew this was one of those instances. He quickly looked down at the bow in his hands, brain suddenly going haywire, as if cutting one of the circuits messed up the entire thing.

"I don't really know how to teach it," he replied, his voice exuding an obviously-fake confidence. That's it. He gave a response. That was sufficient, in his eyes. He couldn't possibly come up with something else to say, nor initiate another conversation. Either the other boy could respond, or Samuel could stare at his boy until he left. Either way, Samuel felt extremely uncomfortable in such an attractive presence.

Hearing the other's tone, a pang of guilt hit Sam, though he knew he wouldn't act on it. Often he felt this feeling that he should change the way he acts or go out of his way to help someone when they ask, but the safety in his personality makes it hard for him to act. Instead, he just mulls over a decision in his mind, ultimately making the choice of being on the safer side of things where he wouldn't have to outwardly exert himself. In this case, teaching the boy seemed tempting, because he wanted to help, but it would involve a lot more social contact than he bargained for, and required a great amount of speaking on his part.

A beat of silence passed between the two of them, in which Samuel could feel himself trying to retract away from the boy, but act casually about it. He stood still, but his arms moved closer to his sides, and his eyes didn't dare leave his shoes. He wasn't going to break the silence, and if he could wait it out, then the boy would likely leave, right? But Samuel underestimated the other's extravertedness.

The silence was broken by the sound of the boy's voice, which to make matters worse Sam noted had a thinly layered British accent to it. Sam cursed silently. Of course he had to be British, why not just throw something even more intimidating at the guy who already can't bare to look at him in the face. Samuel was so lost in thought on the sound of his voice that he didn't even register what the words meant for a good full ten seconds.

"Uh, yeah, uh," Samuel sputtered stupidly. Quickly, he cleared his throat, trying to feign some confidence. "That will work, I think." He took in a breath like he was going to add on, but a moment of silence had passed, and breaking it would be difficult without sounding awkward once again. He scrunched his eyes together. Gods, Samuel. Get it together. He lifted a hand and scratched the back of his head, plucking up the courage to look away from the ground. He opened his eyes and rotated his head up. His eyes came in contact with the boy's face for just an instant.

The boy had tan skin. Not the fake kind of tan from a bed or a bottle, and not really the kind of tan from being in the sun for a long time, either. It was this natural browning to his skin that was slight but present, taking away any possibility of paleness, like himself. His jaw wasn't square at the front, but also not soft. His mandible came to a defined point, and was symmetrical at both sides. His cheek bones were definitely pronounced, and those features alone were enough to quickly slap Samuel's eyes away as if he were not to look.