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+--- Thread: [Training] we used to be (/showthread.php?tid=13056)
we used to be - Flora - 07-25-2026
The obstacle course stretched across the sand before the queen is composed of lengths of rope, wooden barriers, stacked crates, and narrow balance beams, arranged into something that looks as though a shipwreck and a military training yard have collided. Targets stand at staggered intervals throughout it, their painted centres already marked by feather-thin cuts from her earlier attempts. Flora pauses at the starting line with one hand braced against her thigh, breathing hard while the fingers of the other curl around the hilt of one of her daggers.
Nearby, Spice lounges atop an overturned crate with her wings half-spread, offering a series of bright, chirruping trills that Flora has chosen to interpret as encouragement rather than criticism. [say]"Yes, thank you,"[/say] she pants, straightening. [say]"I’m aware that you could fly over all of it."[/say] Spice’s answering trill rises smugly at the end.
Flora narrows her eyes at the dragon before turning back toward the course. The first target waits several yards away, partly obscured behind a hanging curtain of knotted rope. Rolling one shoulder and then the other, the queen draws a second feather dagger and settles their familiar weight between her fingers. She takes one steadying breath, lets her focus narrow, and throws.
The blade flashes silver-white through the ropes and sinks into the target just left of centre. [say]"Well,"[/say] Flora mutters, already launching herself forward. [say]"It was windy."[/say]
There is almost no wind.
She clears the first barrier with one hand planted against the wood, swinging her legs over without sacrificing much momentum. Her shoes bite into the loose sand when she lands, kicking up a spray behind her as she accelerates toward the next section. A low rope forces her downward, and Flora drops into a run that becomes a dive, one shoulder striking the sand as she tucks into a roll. For one dizzying second there is only sky, beach, and the sharp pressure of grit against her bare legs. Then she’s upright again, ponytail whipping across her shoulder as she draws another dagger before she has entirely regained her balance.
The second target swings from a wooden frame ahead of her. Flora plants one foot, turns through her hips, and throws. The feather dagger cuts across the course and punches neatly into the painted centre just as the target swings away.
RE: we used to be - Finch - 07-26-2026
Finch, not one for taking a day off, doesn't know what draws him to the beach that day. Perhaps it was his utter dread at taking another foray into the Fingers, the tunnels slick with slime and cold from the malaise of Flowerbirth, Jack's promised cache very likely empty and just hard enough to get to that the day ahead stretches like a dirty puddle in front of a necessary entrance. He decided to take the long way to the entrance to the Fingers, and then the even longer way, and he now ambles down the shore in that loping, silent way of his. Each footprint leaves an imprint on the sand, but the wind quickly shifts away the evidence of each footstep.
He's just deliberating turning around and venturing towards the task he had been putting off the whole day when the bones of the obstacle course come into view. There's a woman racing through it with an ease of movement and gracefulness Finch envies, and as the dagger in her hand exits her hold near the end of her routine, it splits apart the wood of the target with a beautiful thunk. The thief is about to commend her work when his feet carry him a little closer and a few more key details come into view. Detail one: long, sandy blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail that whips around from her movement. Detail two: a dangerous grace imbued in her movements as she moved through the course like it owed her money. Detail three, and perhaps most telling: a little white dragon lounging on a nearby crate, trilling and keening.
Now, Finch's job requires him to pull together many discovered observations quickly so he can make a threat assessment. These observations coalesce in a tapestry forming one specific phrase: oh fuck. This is either the Queen of Torchline herself, Flora, or an impersonator who stole her dragon. Either way, very dangerous. Finch adds another piece of evidence to his 'I have the worst luck in Caido' compilation.
He's about to turn tail and make a swift retreat when his curiosity gets the better of him. Perhaps he could learn something from her and her swift grace. Maybe he could die horribly this afternoon as well, but that's something he's choosing to be optimistic about. He raises a hand in greeting when her eyes skirt to his direction. He should probably consider a more formal greeting, or following his first instinct of turning and running, but instead he calls, "That was very impressive."
RE: we used to be - Flora - 07-26-2026
The voice catches her midway through brushing sand from one knee, and Flora turns toward it with a hand lifted against the sun. For a moment Finch is little more than a dark shape against the glare off the water, though as her eyes adjust she makes out a man standing just beyond the scattered bones of the course, looking rather like he’s wandered into the wrong afternoon and hasn’t yet decided whether to admit it.
[say]"Oh, thanks."[/say] Her laugh comes easily, warmed by the lingering satisfaction of the last throw, and she combs her fingers back through the flyaways plastered damply around her face. Several immediately escape again, which feels rude after all the effort she’s just made, but Flora leaves them to it as she raises her other hand.
At once, the feather daggers tear themselves free of the targets. They skim back across the course in pale flashes, curving neatly around ropes and wooden barriers before settling smoothly into her waiting palm. Flora turns them once through her fingers before securing them again, the movement practiced enough to conceal how much attention she’s been giving precisely that sort of ease lately.
[say]"I’ve been feeling a little out of practice lately, so..."[/say] She lifts one shoulder, then the other, letting the explanation taper away beneath another small shrug. Most people know about her ascension to demigodhood by now, or at least enough of it that she doesn’t need to explain why becoming more powerful has somehow left her newly aware of every place she might still be lacking. Nearby, Spice offers a questioning trill, and Flora glances toward her with a faint narrowing of her eyes. [say]"She thinks I’m being dramatic,"[/say] she adds, turning her attention back to Finch. [say]"But she also thinks flying over the course counts as completing it, so..."[/say]
RE: we used to be - Finch - 07-26-2026
Finch eyes the way those feather daggers zoom back to her hand with all the awareness of someone used to being on the other side of sharp things. He doesn't intend on being on the other side of them today, but then again, he very rarely does, except for some occasions with a negotiated partner. Which Flora would not be. Not like her brother. Alright Finch, time to shut up--
He had heard through the grapevine of her recent ascension, and had honestly chalked it up to petty idle gossip, or planted propaganda to discourage people from going after the Queen with their piddly little knives and desiring ambitions. It seems, though, that there was some merit to it, though based on what Finch had seen during her performance in the course, she seemed to be doing rather well for herself. He eyes the bones of the structure curiously, the ropes and targets for daggers, and then turned his gaze to the dragon in question.
"I mean, if she flies over it, she gets from beginning to end, so I don't see a problem with it," he grins, shrugging a lanky shoulder. What's so bad about getting from point A to point B with the least amount of effort? Sure, maybe it's not what the course is technically for, but maybe the dragon was working smarter, not harder.
He drifts a little closer, running a finger over one of the ropes. "How do you complete it if you don't fly over it?" He asks. He's always in pursuit of ways to get spiderier, sneakier, more able to slither into forbidden places. He'd been so occupied with Jack's stupid caches recently he'd put aside some of his pursuits for self-improvement, though Jack's missions had certainly helped him with his patience and his ability to swim.
RE: we used to be - Flora - 07-26-2026
Flora snorts a laugh under her breath, glancing sidelong at Spice as though this betrayal is somehow the dragon’s fault. [say]"Yeah, well, some of us don’t have wings."[/say] Spice promptly rises on her crate and fans hers wide, stretching them until the white membranes catch the sunlight in a pearly shimmer. The display is far too deliberate to be anything but mockery, and Flora rolls her eyes as she turns back toward Finch. [say]"Yet,"[/say] she mutters beneath her breath, because there’s no sense letting Spice become too comfortable with the advantage.
At Finch's question, her attention shifts over the course, following the ropes and barriers she’s already disturbed on her way through. [say]"Well, there are lots of ways through, especially if you take things slow."[/say] Flora lifts one shoulder as though the route is largely a matter of personal taste, but then her brows waggle and amusement brightens her expression. [say]"Buuutttt you aren’t supposed to take it slow."[/say]
One of the feather daggers slips into her hand, and she tosses it lazily into the air. It turns once above her palm, pale and gleaming, before dropping neatly back into her grasp. [say]"Usually I have someone giving me a little extra motivation to go fast,"[/say] she adds, the emphasis landing with all the subtlety of the blade in her hand.
Her gaze travels over Finch then, taking in his height, the loose economy of the way he moves, and the fact that he’d been examining the ropes rather than merely admiring the targets. Flora arches one brow, the corner of her mouth pulling higher as the dagger rolls once between her fingers. [say]"Wanna give it a go?"[/say]
RE: we used to be - Finch - 07-27-2026
Ah. He should’ve known the Queen of Torchline wanted to stab him. Who didn’t these days? Finch eyes the dagger in her hand, sees the loose grace which she holds and handles it, sees the challenging gleam in her eye. At least it doesn’t seem like she wants to stab him in particular, not harboring a personal grudge but rather issuing a challenge that just so happened to have stabbing involved in it.
Finch runs his fingers over the rope again, considering. Knives aside, it was a much more appealing offer than descending down into the Fingers and fighting to unlock a long-rusted, empty cache buried in a slick, slimy wall. It had been a while since he got to do some good, honest, old-fashioned agility work for his thievery. He glances again at the feather daggers in Flora’s hand, and again at her shit-eating grin.
“Alright, fine,” His grin grew to match her own and he started shedding his layers in preparation for the task ahead. Already traveling light, his sleek jacket goes on the ground, as well as his lockpicks, his backup set of lockpicks, his backup backup lockpicks, three daggers, a coil of rope, and after a moment’s consideration, a little pouch carrying an assortment of interesting and very lethal plants.
Unencumbered by the tools of his trade, he turns to Flora and gives a sharp nod. “Let me do it slow without your extra encouragement so I get a feel for it. Then we’ll add your motivation.” He makes his way to the start of the obstacle course and after a small, instinctual gymnast’s setting of his shoulders, he springs forward.
RE: we used to be - Flora - 07-27-2026
Flora chuckles under her breath as Finch begins divesting himself of what appears to be an entire portable criminal enterprise, her brows climbing a little higher with every new item he adds to the sand. By the time the third set of lockpicks joins the pile, she’s stopped pretending not to be impressed, though the pouch of lethal plants earns a more considering glance before her attention follows him toward the course.
[say]"I won’t actually hit you,"[/say] she calls after him, waiting just long enough for the assurance to settle before her grin widens. [say]"I happen to have very good aim."[/say]
One of the feather daggers slips free into her palm, and Flora tosses it lightly into the air while Finch finds his footing at the start. The familiar shape turns above her hand and drops neatly back into it, only to rise again with another effortless flick of her wrist, the weight of it as comfortable now as jewellery she’s worn for years.
Spice shifts atop her crate, white wings drawing closer to her sides as a thin breath of cold spills between her teeth and mists briefly in the warm coastal air. Her bright attention fixes on Finch with considerably more seriousness than she’d shown for Flora’s own run, which feels deeply unfair, but Flora only rolls the dagger once across her knuckles and steps nearer to the edge of the course.
[say]"Just let me know when you’re ready!"[/say] she calls, sounding far too delighted by the prospect of becoming his incentive.
RE: we used to be - Finch - 07-27-2026
It's not that Finch doesn't trust her ability not to hit him. It's that he doesn't trust her restraint not to hit him. He forces her and her twisting, spinning daggers out of his mind as he analyzes the course ahead, mapping out the best route for his spindly body to fly. He only has one practice round before the challenge becomes real, and Flora may not miss, but his body may lack the ability to adequately move out the way before her dagger reaches her target.
Shifting the weight under his feet, he springs forward with all the energy and grace of a cat pouncing. True to his word, he takes his time with the course, spinning his body around ropes and diving through obstacles with an ease of practiced movement. It's not too hard done slowly, but he sees the ways in which the sharp corners of the course would grow tricky -- and even deadly -- if one was moving quickly and avoiding lethal things hurled their way. His body moves and twists with careful precision, light and lithe, as his body begins to remember the ways in which it can be flexible and tricky. He lets loose a wild and happy grin as he sails from one rope to the next, earnestly enjoying the freedom of his body moving without the pressure of a clock or blades. Finishing the course with a sharp exhale of breath, he brushes sand off the knees of his dark pants and sets his shoulders back, again, like a gymnast finishing a routine.
"That was easy," He bluffs, absolutely knowing it was about to get harder, and much so. On his heel he turns and resets to the beginning of the course, fingers twitching from the warmth against the rope and his adrenaline beginning to race from the task ahead. When he reaches the beginning again, he takes a deep breath and centers his beating heart.
"Alright, I'm ready," He calls, and without a moment's hesitation, springs back into the course.