WHO: Scott and Freddie Morgan, with an appearance by Daniel WHAT: Sword training WHERE: Training Rooms WHEN: Early afternoon Sunday WARNINGS: Probably mild language. This'll probably be light-hearted.
Despite Scott's usually jovial--and sometimes pranking--nature, he was actually an incredibly hard-working individual. He kept himself in top form, constantly training in the training room either with the Hendries or on his own. He had a great deal of respect for the people in his department, and it wouldn't have been fair to expect greatness from them without giving it in return. When he had first gotten Gendry it had been a coping mechanism for him to work with swords, both making them and practicing with them. Even now, every once in a while when the weight of being a Morgan was heavy on his shoulders, Scott would collect a few of the swords from the armory that were looking worse for wear and would melt them down to make new ones.
Nowadays the smithing was less, but fighting with swords was still his go-to catharsis. It was why he never minded hitting the training center with Freddie; to him, building up his brother's already excellent skills to keep him protected in a world where their family name gave them targets was worth the extra time taken from his leisure time. As much as he faced the world with a grin and an air of immaturity, there were few people as loyal as Scott Morgan, especially when it came to people he considered his family.
He had a bastard sword in hand, one of his favorites because he appreciated the irony of the name, and he was standing facing his younger brother with a cheshire grin upon his face--that could probably do with a bit of a shave but who cared, really? He swung the sword around a bit to familiarize himself with the weight and balance of the thing. As much as he teased, Freddie was a formidable opponent. Sure, some of that was from Arthur, but Scott was willing to bet that a good part of that was from Freddie. He was a good kid, and he worked hard.
"Okay, so." Scott bounced the tip lightly off of the toe of his boot, his limbs bouncing with the energy surge he always got right before training. The swords were, of course, dull to prevent any serious injuries, but that didn't mean you couldn't leave with a hefty bruise or two. It was usually a sign of victory if you got a couple; it meant it was a training day well-spent. And then, of course, back to his room for a little ice pack care. If he was lucky, that part would include a certain asshole with noble blood. "What do you want to work on today? I mean, we can just whack at each other with swords a little, but I feel like you've got a good handle on that."