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."
She frowns a little deeper, her eyes narrowing on him out of habit. A sword connected to a power... She sniffs, her nose twitching in the process.
"Does that have something to do with...the way you smell to me?" The bitter metallic taste... That could certainly be a sword. If the power is connected to the sword, and he's supposed to represent that power...
His face twists into a quick snarl. "I'm nothing like--" Only to stop, cutting himself off as he remembers that for all his distaste of Justin, it's not all differences between them.
He speaks calmer, if still tense. "I don't know what kind of weapon Justin is. I barely know him. But to put it plainly... yes, a weapon is some portion of what I am. Among other things. I think I've mentioned my state of being is unique." Which people around here seems to think he's so thrilled about, like it's not a pain at best.
"I can't tell you how your weird nose power works, but if I had to guess, that might be a factor."
That snarl doesn't go unnoticed, though she's not quick to step back, either. It surprises her more that he stops himself from whatever outburst he was about to have--if only because she doesn't have a clue as to why.
But she's also not going to question it.
"Yeah, you've mentioned the unique thing." She just didn't know that he meant like this. "So... The wish that you're trying to ask for is to... let you be a sword again? Do you turn into a sword? Or do you manifest it somehow? Or is it a metaphorical thing?" She might be getting a little off track here...
He was braced for questions but he wasn't quite expecting the barrage that comes. A lot of those questions have complicated answers in and of themselves.
"Are you gonna let me answer or do you want to keep playing one-sided twenty questions?" He says with an annoyed huff. When he's sure she's actually going to let him speak he starts a lot slower than someone who was willing to part with the answers would.
"I'm a manifestation of power. The spirit of it you could say. I would be the source of the energy that makes the mostly physical sword exist and in that sense, it is me. I can use "myself" but only under particular circumstances in which I, as you more or less sense me, am also able to physically manifest." There are, he thinks, too many complicated aspects to this. He scowls at the earth underfoot and kinfe he turns over in his hands.
"But because it's not all I am, in my normal state, I have a fractured consciousness with multiple possible forms and levels of manifestation. I'm not just a sword. But having the power that should be mine, that I technically am, would mean having that blade back."
For what it's worth, he chides her into silence. She presses her lips together, biting back any more questions until he's gotten his chance to give an answer. But that doesn't mean that she's not listening to it.
It's just... really difficult to wrap her head around. "So you're... like someone's abilities? Personified?" She's really not sure if she understands that or not. It's not like anything she's hear of before--then again, maybe that's why she gets those weird scents off of him. Like the strawberries that he claims belong to someone else.
Her thoughts linger on the part about the wish, though, and her mouth scrunches up to one side as she thinks. "Can I ask a different question? ...How have you been wording this wish you've been asking for?"
"Pretty much," he says, arms rising up and falling back down again. His hands go to his pockets, one tucked in and one half out with the knife. Maybe he'll remember that way of putting things for later.
He bobs his head to give the okay even as he doesn't much want to. Then makes a face.
"What am I supposed to say please or something? Pray?" He Huff's. "I just say I want my power back, my sword, the rest of me. I've tried a few times."
"I don't think you have to do anything fancy when making wishes. It's just... They're a kid. Maybe they don't understand what you're talking about. Hell, I am arguably an expert on Weird Shit, and I still barely understand it." Emphasis on the barely. And even then, she fully expects him to scoff at that, and maybe rightly so.
But she does cross her arms over her chest, leaning on one foot and then the other. "Or maybe it's like you said and they don't have the power to do it yet. You're not exactly a social butterfly, as far as I can tell."
"I explained it before, didn't I?" she asks, lifting her brows a little again. If he didn't get it before, then he's probably not going to like hearing it now. But he should know nonetheless.
"We were talking about where Zephyr gets their power from... And it's from the people here coming together, right? Well, just extrapolate that to the wishes we ask for. Where do you think the power to grant those is coming from?"
She gives it a second for him to fill in the blanks before gesturing between the two of them. "It's right here."
He hadn't thought about it. He has no excuse, no reason not to have connected the dots beyond foolishness and hope. Already looking unhappy, his face still manages to fall.
"The rest of you can't connect enough to make up for me," he says, tone dull with the revelation. "It has to be me." No collective pool to dip into.
He looks to the space between them, expression closing off again. There's nothing. With her or anybody. He should have known.
"No short cuts then. I'll have to find a way myself," he mutters. And then he scrubs at his face with a hand, letting it run back through his hair.
"I'm not giving up," He says firm, hand dropping. He's never going to give up on his power and proper existence. That's not a lack he's going to stand again.
Her attempt at what might be reassurance earns only a quick side glance her way. He's not giving her the details. But he supposes he has to give her something.
"If I've understood this, and I think I do now, there's not any amount of socializing I can do that's going to help." And he's not good at socializing anyway. "I'm going to find a different way. I know it's possible. It's just not going to be as easy as throwing a rock in a pond."
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pythianjudgment) wrote2013-11-02 10:30 pm
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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?"
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"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?"
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"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?"
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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."
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"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?"
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"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.
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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."
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"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."
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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.
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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."
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"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."
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Which means it must be something else he's asking for.
"What kind of wish do you mean?"
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"... The sword's connected to a power. A power I should represent. Currently, what everyone sees is what they get of me."
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She frowns a little deeper, her eyes narrowing on him out of habit. A sword connected to a power... She sniffs, her nose twitching in the process.
"Does that have something to do with...the way you smell to me?" The bitter metallic taste... That could certainly be a sword. If the power is connected to the sword, and he's supposed to represent that power...
"Are you... some kind of weapon? Like Justin is?"
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He speaks calmer, if still tense. "I don't know what kind of weapon Justin is. I barely know him. But to put it plainly... yes, a weapon is some portion of what I am. Among other things. I think I've mentioned my state of being is unique." Which people around here seems to think he's so thrilled about, like it's not a pain at best.
"I can't tell you how your weird nose power works, but if I had to guess, that might be a factor."
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But she's also not going to question it.
"Yeah, you've mentioned the unique thing." She just didn't know that he meant like this. "So... The wish that you're trying to ask for is to... let you be a sword again? Do you turn into a sword? Or do you manifest it somehow? Or is it a metaphorical thing?" She might be getting a little off track here...
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"Are you gonna let me answer or do you want to keep playing one-sided twenty questions?" He says with an annoyed huff. When he's sure she's actually going to let him speak he starts a lot slower than someone who was willing to part with the answers would.
"I'm a manifestation of power. The spirit of it you could say. I would be the source of the energy that makes the mostly physical sword exist and in that sense, it is me. I can use "myself" but only under particular circumstances in which I, as you more or less sense me, am also able to physically manifest." There are, he thinks, too many complicated aspects to this. He scowls at the earth underfoot and kinfe he turns over in his hands.
"But because it's not all I am, in my normal state, I have a fractured consciousness with multiple possible forms and levels of manifestation. I'm not just a sword. But having the power that should be mine, that I technically am, would mean having that blade back."
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It's just... really difficult to wrap her head around. "So you're... like someone's abilities? Personified?" She's really not sure if she understands that or not. It's not like anything she's hear of before--then again, maybe that's why she gets those weird scents off of him. Like the strawberries that he claims belong to someone else.
Her thoughts linger on the part about the wish, though, and her mouth scrunches up to one side as she thinks. "Can I ask a different question? ...How have you been wording this wish you've been asking for?"
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He bobs his head to give the okay even as he doesn't much want to. Then makes a face.
"What am I supposed to say please or something? Pray?" He Huff's. "I just say I want my power back, my sword, the rest of me. I've tried a few times."
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But she does cross her arms over her chest, leaning on one foot and then the other. "Or maybe it's like you said and they don't have the power to do it yet. You're not exactly a social butterfly, as far as I can tell."
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But the confusion is quickly turned around on him.
"What does that have to do with anything?" This is the first he's heard anything like this.
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"We were talking about where Zephyr gets their power from... And it's from the people here coming together, right? Well, just extrapolate that to the wishes we ask for. Where do you think the power to grant those is coming from?"
She gives it a second for him to fill in the blanks before gesturing between the two of them. "It's right here."
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"The rest of you can't connect enough to make up for me," he says, tone dull with the revelation. "It has to be me." No collective pool to dip into.
He looks to the space between them, expression closing off again. There's nothing. With her or anybody. He should have known.
"No short cuts then. I'll have to find a way myself," he mutters. And then he scrubs at his face with a hand, letting it run back through his hair.
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"You're giving up?" she asks with no small amount of surprise--or confusion, to be honest. "...You're not that bad at socializing, you know?"
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Her attempt at what might be reassurance earns only a quick side glance her way. He's not giving her the details. But he supposes he has to give her something.
"If I've understood this, and I think I do now, there's not any amount of socializing I can do that's going to help." And he's not good at socializing anyway. "I'm going to find a different way. I know it's possible. It's just not going to be as easy as throwing a rock in a pond."
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