He doesn't know who exactly she's thinking of as she mutters, but he smirks anyway, a laugh behind his teeth. It's the general feeling he understands.
"Way to let me down. A sword pile is what this place really needs," He jokes. Even if the idea of using a sword that's not him and his makes his guts roil.
And with that, his arms fold and his head tilts. He looks at her close, up and down. "So you're a sword person. Really?"
"I don't think a sword pile would solve anyone's problems." Except maybe his. He seems to really be gunning for one.
But when he turns his skepticism on her, she can't help but laugh. He's eying her up like that, and she just leans on her cane again, angling herself forward and grinning. "What's so unbelievable about that?"
"If done right, a sword pile could solve everyone's problems," he says, snickering.
His grin does not diminish as she leers back. Not this time.
"Mmm, I didn't say unbelievable but even aside the rope thing there's a certain sort of people with... greater proclivity. I'm not sure if you seem like one of them yet. Maybe you should show me you're made of."
Her laugh is more like a guffaw, loud and abrupt. "Maybe if you get a sword, Cocoberry. As it stands, you're kinda lacking..."
She stands up straight again, lifting the cane to twirl it nimbly in her hand. Once it makes a full cycle, she grabs just below the dragon's head with her left hand, holding the cane horizontal--and unsheathes a portion of the blade hidden within. "I'm already ready. Any time, any place."
His temporary mirth is indeed temporary. It evaporates in an instant as she reminds him of the central problem, bringing him to make a face, one of deep unhappiness.
Then suddenly, the cane is spinning. It takes him a second to guess what's about to happen, but it's overridden by the sudden rush, the adrenaline over the possibility of a real fight mixing and entangling with that choking sense of jealousy. The cut of the blade through the air, the weight of it in hand, the feeling of swinging out... There is, he thinks, one single thing he hungers for more than those around him.
And then he shakes himself of that, ridding that longing look for one of firm resolve. "I can still take you with a knife. Lets do this."
One thing she can tell, just from the smell of his face, is that he really wants a sword. She almost feels bad, like he's an addict and she's holding his personal drug over his head and taunting him with it. On the other hand, it's her sword, and she's not giving it up for anything. So it's a good thing he doesn't ask.
"Are you sure? I'm going to have a hell of a longer reach than you." She looks a little concerned about that, but if he insists, she'll pull the sword out the rest of the way.
"That just means I'll have to fight smart then, doesn't it?" He says, matching her concern with a complete lack of it. His eyes are fixed on her blade. Give him a fight, give him a real fight, blade clashing and the slice of flesh, he doesn't give a damn if the injury is his.
He falls into a ready stance. "You said any time. Now's as good a time as any."
If he's going to call her bluff, then she's going to give him what he wants. There's really no reason not to. The way she figures: He can't hurt her, and she's skilled enough to avoid murdering him.
He falls back into a ready stance, and she takes a step back to drop the sword's sheath where it won't be in the way.
And then she's whirling around to slash out at him with her sword, aiming high to give him the chance to duck. Hit or miss, she follows through with a stab towards his middle, ready to stop short if he doesn't move. It's a bit of an easy start, but despite seeing his target practice, she doesn't actually know how well he fights. If he matches her opening swings, she'll take it up a notch.
He doesn't have the power anymore to simply leap up over a sword swing so a duck will have to do. She knows what she's doing with her sword, but she lacks something and he thinks he knows what it is. Funny, people don't tend to do that with him.
He moves quick bring that knife to block the force of her sword and it's then she'll find his face lit up with the thrill of this. He pushes her blade up, making it swing high and then spinning, blade switching hands, to get a shot in closer at her.
He meets her swings with more finesse than she really expects. It's pretty clear that he wasn't joking about being good, and there's a part of her that's a little delighted by that. She hasn't had a real match in ages...
Her sword gets forced up and he moves in, but she spins the blade down again, grasping it with both hands, and turns her body to the side, making herself a smaller target. It becomes abundantly clear that he's going to have the upper hand power-wise if she loses that distance advantage--so she kicks out at his gut, using that force and momentum if she can to flip herself back a number of feet. When she lands, she readies herself again, blade held across her body and ready to strike, but not advancing this time.
He can't say he likes being the one to take the first hit, but these things happen and in his spin he's lost that time to avoid her using him as a spring board. His hand snaps out, trying to at least interrupt her flip and landing but it's too little too late.
So she's going on the defensive is she? Well that's just fine with him. He charges forward with wild abandon and the moment he's close enough he starts to slash. He blocks and turns away what swing he can, trying to move in faster and push into the metaphorical corner. The more he swings, the more giddy he becomes, laughter bubbling over and going shrill.
Up until that point, she'd been focused on the fight, her expression all but stoic while his lights right up. But the sound of his laughter seems to snap her out of it a little, and she can't help the grin that finds its way onto her lips.
She meets his swings with her sword, blocking the blows with clashes of metal on metal, trying to knock his weapon aside to give her enough room to swipe back at him. Where she doesn't manage to block his knife, the blade cuts into flesh, drawing teal blood--for a moment, at least. Just enough to linger on the metal but not long enough to leave a mark behind.
As the fight continues on, her empty right hand remains clasped near her side, as if something should be held there. It leaves her feeling off-balanced, and more than once there's a stutter in her reaction time, where she moves instinctively to block with her right--only to realize in that fraction of a second that she needs her other hand.
His reach is short, far too short, and every now and again his attempts to push back her blade end with a faint cut upon his arm, bubbling up red. But he hardly notices it, too focused on the fight. Even the marks he makes, drawing up a curious color, aren't enough to make him pause.
It's her faltering that catches him, and this time he brings the knife in a wide cut upwards, a joyous cry to go with it.
"You're not used to this!" He laughs. "Let me guess! Dual-wielding?"
She ducks to the side to avoid getting a slash up the side of her face, folding into a roll that puts her a few feet away. It gives her a chance to catch a breath, sweat beading on her skin. It's been a while since she's had a fight like this. He really doesn't hold back...
"Good guess," she shoots back at him, a rueful smile on her face. "I lied a bit. Not actually my sword--but close enough to it." At least enough for her to be able to use it, just not as well as her own. Privately, she thinks she can probably use it well enough to beat him, but she's not actually trying to kill him, so the point is moot.
She holds up a hand, though her guard is still up. "Break?"
Damn. He missed. That would have been a good hit. Oh well,
"A sorry replacement or a recent upgrade?" He asks, because that makes all the difference. Seems they've both got something of a handicap even of he's certain he more than makes up for it.
He doesn't get an answer before she's calling time though and he smirks wryly. "Depends. Is this a break to let you catch your breath or a breaking of the sucker that lets his guard down too early?"
She laughs. "I'm not that underhanded." And as a show of good faith, she'll straighten out of her defensive stance, letting her sword relax down to her side. "I just don't want to do too much fighting out here. The mirror dimension's a better place for that. Just in case." In case of accidents or in case of passer-bys.
If he doesn't look likely to reignite their match, she'll look around for where she left the other half of her cane, going over to pick it up. "And this isn't really either thing. It was a gift from my ancestor. There's only one like it. This sword's just about as iconic as she was."
He shrugs, because you never can tell. For now he'll take her word and fall into something more casual. Save of course for the still giddy grin.
"Famous ancestor? Lucky you," he says neither caring about ancestry nor acknowledging his possible own. "You sure it's worth the difference in not being yours?"
"It's the most important thing I own," she says with conviction. "And it's close enough to mine. She's not around anymore, so it might as well be." She wipes the bit of blood off the blade and sheathes it back into the cane properly--then she gestures down at it.
"It feels almost identical like this. But on the one I'm used to, the top and bottom are red--and it separates near the middle instead of near the head. The blades are shorter and slightly smaller, enough to fit side by side inside the cane.
He puts his hands up in surrender, fingers still locked around a knife. If it's hers it's hers now.
His hands drop as he listens to her explanation of the blades. He imagines it, head bobbing a little.
Then assessment made, he asks, "Is it a lighter blade? Looks like one. You dual weild so you're ambidextrous. Could learn to swap hands mid-battle. Or carry a second piece. Otherwise you've got to recorrect your thinking patterns."
"Left-handed, actually," she corrects. Learning to dual-wield was more of a trained thing than something innate with her. But that's a moot point, really. It's ingrained instinct by now.
"It's not as light as I'm used to, but yeah, it's a lighter blade. I've... never considered carrying a second weapon." She frowns a little, down at the cane that's back in one piece again. The nice thing about her cane is that it's not obviously a weapon. She likes that covertness. Carrying a second obvious weapon for probably lose that. It would also lose the feeling of fighting like her ancestor.
"What about you? What kind of blade are you used to? Since knives are clearly subpar."
The correction is met with a wider smirk of interest. She likewise looks intrigued at the thought of returning to dual wielding, but she voices nothing and he doesn't much want to suggest wishing some manner of thing with the topic of wishes becoming an issue for him.
And then he lights up again, not quite as bright as he did in their fight, but all the same.
"It's a blade about as long as I am tall. Half black steel, shaped something like a khyber knife. No guard, the hilt has a cloth wrap with extra length sturdy enough to swing and spin it by." He revels in the memory. "And another. Same make lets say. Single color steel, long sword. Bit of chain at the end. Makes noise but I don't look for stealth and there's no way I'd give up the fun of swinging that around." Pride fills his voice.
The blade he describes is... very specific. Enough that it's an easy guess that he's not just giving a general type. He knows exactly what he wants.
She shoots a wry smile back at him for all the ones he's given her so far. "So, when you said pile of swords, what you really meant were two." Two is... something like a pile, she guesses.
"Why don't you just ask Zephyr? I'm sure they'd find it for you. Bring them here."
Bring them here. Ha! Bringing them here isn't the problem. His grin goes from wry, thinking how it's not even really two he's looking for, straight into something of a grimace.
"I'm not saying no to that sword pile," He says, avoiding the question for just a moment. He chews on his reply. "...Despite what I assume is Zephyr's best efforts... a certain particular wish hasn't exactly been available to me. I can only guess It's going to take them a little more power than they have right now."
That causes her to lift her brows in surprise. A wish that Zephyr can't grant yet? After everything she's seen, she's honestly surprised that there would be something outside of Zephyr's capabilities... Certainly just bringing a sword here wouldn't be that hard.
Which means it must be something else he's asking for.
His mouth presses, and he turns his eyes to the ground, dropping his bangs over his face in the process. It says him from telling her it's the none of her business kind. He told Mom he'd try to be...more willing to share, but the problem still remains that so much of everything is interconnected in over-complicated ways.
"... The sword's connected to a power. A power I should represent. Currently, what everyone sees is what they get of me."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pythianjudgment) wrote2013-11-02 10:30 pm
no subject
"Way to let me down. A sword pile is what this place really needs," He jokes. Even if the idea of using a sword that's not him and his makes his guts roil.
And with that, his arms fold and his head tilts. He looks at her close, up and down. "So you're a sword person. Really?"
no subject
But when he turns his skepticism on her, she can't help but laugh. He's eying her up like that, and she just leans on her cane again, angling herself forward and grinning. "What's so unbelievable about that?"
no subject
His grin does not diminish as she leers back. Not this time.
"Mmm, I didn't say unbelievable but even aside the rope thing there's a certain sort of people with... greater proclivity. I'm not sure if you seem like one of them yet. Maybe you should show me you're made of."
no subject
She stands up straight again, lifting the cane to twirl it nimbly in her hand. Once it makes a full cycle, she grabs just below the dragon's head with her left hand, holding the cane horizontal--and unsheathes a portion of the blade hidden within. "I'm already ready. Any time, any place."
no subject
Then suddenly, the cane is spinning. It takes him a second to guess what's about to happen, but it's overridden by the sudden rush, the adrenaline over the possibility of a real fight mixing and entangling with that choking sense of jealousy. The cut of the blade through the air, the weight of it in hand, the feeling of swinging out... There is, he thinks, one single thing he hungers for more than those around him.
And then he shakes himself of that, ridding that longing look for one of firm resolve. "I can still take you with a knife. Lets do this."
no subject
"Are you sure? I'm going to have a hell of a longer reach than you." She looks a little concerned about that, but if he insists, she'll pull the sword out the rest of the way.
no subject
He falls into a ready stance. "You said any time. Now's as good a time as any."
no subject
If he's going to call her bluff, then she's going to give him what he wants. There's really no reason not to. The way she figures: He can't hurt her, and she's skilled enough to avoid murdering him.
He falls back into a ready stance, and she takes a step back to drop the sword's sheath where it won't be in the way.
And then she's whirling around to slash out at him with her sword, aiming high to give him the chance to duck. Hit or miss, she follows through with a stab towards his middle, ready to stop short if he doesn't move. It's a bit of an easy start, but despite seeing his target practice, she doesn't actually know how well he fights. If he matches her opening swings, she'll take it up a notch.
no subject
He moves quick bring that knife to block the force of her sword and it's then she'll find his face lit up with the thrill of this. He pushes her blade up, making it swing high and then spinning, blade switching hands, to get a shot in closer at her.
no subject
Her sword gets forced up and he moves in, but she spins the blade down again, grasping it with both hands, and turns her body to the side, making herself a smaller target. It becomes abundantly clear that he's going to have the upper hand power-wise if she loses that distance advantage--so she kicks out at his gut, using that force and momentum if she can to flip herself back a number of feet. When she lands, she readies herself again, blade held across her body and ready to strike, but not advancing this time.
no subject
So she's going on the defensive is she? Well that's just fine with him. He charges forward with wild abandon and the moment he's close enough he starts to slash. He blocks and turns away what swing he can, trying to move in faster and push into the metaphorical corner. The more he swings, the more giddy he becomes, laughter bubbling over and going shrill.
no subject
She meets his swings with her sword, blocking the blows with clashes of metal on metal, trying to knock his weapon aside to give her enough room to swipe back at him. Where she doesn't manage to block his knife, the blade cuts into flesh, drawing teal blood--for a moment, at least. Just enough to linger on the metal but not long enough to leave a mark behind.
As the fight continues on, her empty right hand remains clasped near her side, as if something should be held there. It leaves her feeling off-balanced, and more than once there's a stutter in her reaction time, where she moves instinctively to block with her right--only to realize in that fraction of a second that she needs her other hand.
no subject
It's her faltering that catches him, and this time he brings the knife in a wide cut upwards, a joyous cry to go with it.
"You're not used to this!" He laughs. "Let me guess! Dual-wielding?"
no subject
"Good guess," she shoots back at him, a rueful smile on her face. "I lied a bit. Not actually my sword--but close enough to it." At least enough for her to be able to use it, just not as well as her own. Privately, she thinks she can probably use it well enough to beat him, but she's not actually trying to kill him, so the point is moot.
She holds up a hand, though her guard is still up. "Break?"
no subject
"A sorry replacement or a recent upgrade?" He asks, because that makes all the difference. Seems they've both got something of a handicap even of he's certain he more than makes up for it.
He doesn't get an answer before she's calling time though and he smirks wryly. "Depends. Is this a break to let you catch your breath or a breaking of the sucker that lets his guard down too early?"
no subject
If he doesn't look likely to reignite their match, she'll look around for where she left the other half of her cane, going over to pick it up. "And this isn't really either thing. It was a gift from my ancestor. There's only one like it. This sword's just about as iconic as she was."
no subject
"Famous ancestor? Lucky you," he says neither caring about ancestry nor acknowledging his possible own. "You sure it's worth the difference in not being yours?"
no subject
"It feels almost identical like this. But on the one I'm used to, the top and bottom are red--and it separates near the middle instead of near the head. The blades are shorter and slightly smaller, enough to fit side by side inside the cane.
no subject
His hands drop as he listens to her explanation of the blades. He imagines it, head bobbing a little.
Then assessment made, he asks, "Is it a lighter blade? Looks like one. You dual weild so you're ambidextrous. Could learn to swap hands mid-battle. Or carry a second piece. Otherwise you've got to recorrect your thinking patterns."
no subject
"It's not as light as I'm used to, but yeah, it's a lighter blade. I've... never considered carrying a second weapon." She frowns a little, down at the cane that's back in one piece again. The nice thing about her cane is that it's not obviously a weapon. She likes that covertness. Carrying a second obvious weapon for probably lose that. It would also lose the feeling of fighting like her ancestor.
"What about you? What kind of blade are you used to? Since knives are clearly subpar."
no subject
And then he lights up again, not quite as bright as he did in their fight, but all the same.
"It's a blade about as long as I am tall. Half black steel, shaped something like a khyber knife. No guard, the hilt has a cloth wrap with extra length sturdy enough to swing and spin it by." He revels in the memory. "And another. Same make lets say. Single color steel, long sword. Bit of chain at the end. Makes noise but I don't look for stealth and there's no way I'd give up the fun of swinging that around." Pride fills his voice.
no subject
She shoots a wry smile back at him for all the ones he's given her so far. "So, when you said pile of swords, what you really meant were two." Two is... something like a pile, she guesses.
"Why don't you just ask Zephyr? I'm sure they'd find it for you. Bring them here."
no subject
"I'm not saying no to that sword pile," He says, avoiding the question for just a moment. He chews on his reply. "...Despite what I assume is Zephyr's best efforts... a certain particular wish hasn't exactly been available to me. I can only guess It's going to take them a little more power than they have right now."
no subject
Which means it must be something else he's asking for.
"What kind of wish do you mean?"
no subject
"... The sword's connected to a power. A power I should represent. Currently, what everyone sees is what they get of me."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)