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+---- Thread: [Training] Idle hands are the devil's friend (/showthread.php?tid=2597)
Idle hands are the devil's friend - Maea - 01-21-2020
A semblance of routine had settled over her life. Maea woke up early each day, often before dawn, and began her day with a run through the ruins. The many winding paths required her to keep her attention on alert, both because of the treacherous path but also because of the potential dangers she could encounter. So far she had not seen any rock golems, but the girl knew it was only a matter of time. Once she had run the distance, she found a sheltered spot and worked through the exercises Deimos had given her to increase her flexibility. It actually helped develop muscle too, she had discovered, if only because she was sorely lacking of them to begin with. It was a series of stretches, moves and lunges that took her the better part of an hour to work through, and when she could find no more strength left in her to continue she went back to the VlamVloed to clean up and grab a bite to eat. After that, she was either cooped up at the guildhall or hidden behind a stack of books by a table somewhere, busy studying. Her writing had improved quickly; reading was coming along nicely too, and the difficulty of the books she plowed through was increasing day by day.
Come evening (often after forgetting to eat at all), she went through her training regimen again. It was uncertain whether the General had intended for the double shifts, but no one had told Maea that she couldn't do it, and so... she did as she pleased.
This morning was different. Instead of going back to the tavern she made her way through the empty streets of the Settlement towards the militia barracks. Sunjata had promised to train her, and she wanted to see if he was back from his trip to Halo yet. She had no idea what it had been about, just that he had been grumpy before he left and hadn't been skulking about the bar in a few days. All things considered... perhaps that was a good thing. She still wasn't sure how to treat him after their last encounter, if what happened by the river should stay a river's secret... honestly she didn't know what she wanted. What she might prefer.
Entering the training yard, she found it mostly empty. Only one or two early birds had shown up, and Maea looked around, to see if she might spot the tall man she was here for.
RE: Idle hands are the devil's friend - Sunjata - 01-21-2020
The trip to Halo had been a nightmare, had set him back in his illness even further, and he was sure that the next time Nate saw him, things were going to be rough. So he’d avoided it, dealt with sleeping like shit, dealt with Phoebe leaning harder into alcohol the longer the two of them found something to argue about. It came to a point where the horns and the fangs hadn’t left, even in the warmth and relief of the grounds. It was a nightmare from start to finish, but he was back, he had duties to attend to, and one of those being training for Maea.
Part of him feels like shit for putting it off, for not being fully into her with the sly jesting, with the playful banter. But the ring is still on his finger, and he devolves even further into himself as the days go on. He is waiting for her on this particular day, however, having brought the bow Deimos had made him and a few smaller ones that could be adjusted for Maea, and he sits along the side of the training grounds, against the wall of the barracks, rifling through quivers and arrows to mark them for practice.
He wears not more than a sleeveless shirt and a pair of jeans, dark boots, hair swept back and along the horns, and an equally stormy look to match the bags beneath his eyes, the exhaustion set in his face. He doesn’t notice her yet, too focused on the task at hand, setting aside a quiver to inspect his ebony bow complete with deep gashes into the side — an aesthetic flair from Deimos he cherished more than most things these days.
RE: Idle hands are the devil's friend - Maea - 01-21-2020
Perhaps it was his sitting down that made her eyes glide over him once before actually recognizing him. It made her a bit worried. After what they had shared she should find him immediately, even in a crowd. But even on this empty yard Sunjata looked a stranger, with his tattoo's hidden away and the smile gone. Maea approached him on quiet feet, the old boots so worn that they were almost useless. All her clothes showed signs of wear. The shirt had clearly belonged to someone bigger than her, cut to fit a man rather than a slender girl. Tucked into scuffed leather breeches that rose high on her waist, it had wide flowing arms that she'd tied close against the arms with some string and had been tied as tightly at the throat as she could manage... but still slipped around more than it should. The simple leather jerkin she carried under her arm was in the same state. Clearly heirlooms of her brother, they were the only spare set of clothes she owned now. Better by far than the threadbare dress - or the shift she'd been in last time they spoke.
"Hello, fishboy," she said in way of greeting. She tried a smile, to cover the worry over those dark rings under his eyes. He seemed to be lost in thought as he picked over his bow, or perhaps in a bad mood. As her eyes fell to his hands, Maea noticed the ring on his finger. A ring he'd pulled off , and let fall into the sand not so very long ago.
The bottom of her stomach fell through, and something slightly nauseous rose up. Made her face stiffen as she stared at it, unable to look away.
RE: Idle hands are the devil's friend - Sunjata - 01-21-2020
He works with the string to his bow, focused intently on it that he doesn’t notice when there’s a shuffling that nears, at least not until her voice reaches him – something light and lovely in comparison to what he’s been dealing with over the last few days. And with it, he exhales a small sigh of relief, looking up to spot her in all her pale ivory glory, a smile sent to him and a small nickname given. “[say]Hello Maea.[/say]” He hums to her with his own slightly crooked and fanged smile as the shadows lighten from his steel gaze slightly, looking back to his bow to tie off a bit of the tension, before he uses the wall to brace himself to stand.
He doesn’t notice the tension within her, the way her eyes land on the ring, the way she stiffens and how he’d forgotten to take it off – how things had gone wrong in Halo and yet he still wore it, still hadn’t found a chance nor will to tell Phoebe anything with how drunk she’d gotten, how she’d paraded herself around the town as though she were some martyr. The timing hadn’t been right, nothing about it had been right.
But Maea was here, now, and he delves all of his focus into that, trying his best to push aside the swarming and warring terrible feelings within him before he slings his own dark bow along his back, reaching for the two that he’d brought that he thought would suit her best. “[say]I thought we could start with the bow? I’ve got these ones, we just need to make sure the size fits. Then we can adjust the tension after.[/say]” He says, stepping toward her with each bow in each hand, held out before him for her to make her decision.
RE: Idle hands are the devil's friend - Maea - 01-21-2020
Really, she should have just left. Simply turned around and walked out, before this got any more complicated. Before she started to care too much. But Sunjata looked up and said her name like nothing was wrong, like he hadn't just made a liar and a fool out of himself, and she knew - she knew - he didn't even think it mattered. The kiss, the words, her offer... Just like that he'd thrown it all away.
She really should have known better than to trust him.
Maea met his gaze and there was a door quietly closing in her eyes. A quiet snick as the lock snapped shut around a heart that had started to thaw, ever so slightly. By some miracle she managed to keep the smile on her face as he launched straight into the matter at hand. Sunjata was all business and Maea guessed she could be too. Walling herself up with ice on the inside to cool the burning pain, she looked at the bows he'd brought for her, absorbed the instructions - just another lesson - and nodded her assent.
"That sounds good. How do we check the size?"
How could she sound so normal? There was no quiver to the voice, no trembling hands or racing pulse. Just the ice. The calm stillness that filled her as she settled back into the void she normally inhabited when surrounded by other people. Perhaps he'd brought her out of it once, but that offer? It had been a once in a lifetime thing.
RE: Idle hands are the devil's friend - Sunjata - 01-21-2020
It isn’t that he hadn’t wanted to, the timing hadn’t been right, the accusations thrown at him around every corner, until he’s latched onto the insecurity deep within Phoebe enough to draw her out into the cold, and he had been happy for it – had hesitated to go after her, thought perhaps that the cannibals, cultists, or ursurs could have her and solve all of his problems. But even he wasn’t as cold as that, despite how much he hated the situation she’d put him in.
He had wanted to tell her, to make some sort of ultimatum. But out here in public when he hasn’t had a chance to mention anything yet – well, for appearances sake he keeps it on.
The playfulness is shut off from Maea’s end, and he can tell that much as he offers the bows, finally deigning to look at her and he can see how icy she is, how closed off she is, and he realizes why as he glances back down to the hands offering the bows. He’d taken the ring off for her, and slipped it back on, kept it. He exhales a rasping, quiet sigh at her own businesslike tone, but pushes on – unable to talk to her while the others mill around. Thankfully, they should be wrapping up soon to head inside.
“[say]Hold your arms out like this.[/say]” He offers her, showing how to spread them apart in a relaxed posture, so he can measure and divide, to figure out just what size string she requires, what would be the most successful. He sets the bows aside and waits for her to begin, before he steps closer to her and in her space, dark steel eyes scanning over the measurement from her middle finger to the other middle finger, before he reaches to the box beside him and grabs a piece of twine, to add to the measurement and ensure he gets as close to accurate, gaze avoiding hers as he looks to her pale arms and too big clothes.
RE: Idle hands are the devil's friend - Maea - 01-21-2020
If she pretended not to care, Maea could almost make her believe it was true. Like she had pretended that losing her family didn't hurt, like being rejected by her friends as she tried to change a town towards something new didn't matter. It was a game she was very good at. She'd had much practice throughout her life.
Her expression remained cool as she followed his instructions. Holding out her arms, Maea kept her gaze at the far wall while he measured and calculated, and did not so much as stiffen or flinch when he invaded her space to do the same for her hand. He loomed over her, too tall to be allowed, but the shadow he cast over her was neither soothing or comforting. Only cold, like the icy waters that flowed through her veins.
The curious, intelligent part of her wanted to know what system he used to decide the best size for her, how he had calculated it, what to look for. The doppleganger inside her made of frost and pain only shrugged, unable to give a flying fuck; it won, and she remained quiet as she waited for the next set of instructions.
Quiet was a very fun game too. Also one she knew well. Weapons aside, Maea had quite the set of skills to her name.
RE: Idle hands are the devil's friend - Sunjata - 01-21-2020
She says nothing, and it burns within him in a much colder way than anything else had. So he clenches his jaw, feels the muscle feather along his cheek, feels the softness of her skin when he holds it up to place it from fingertip to fingertip. And how she refuses to look at him, it has him sinking too – and gods when was the last time he felt somewhat okay? Likely that day on the river, from what felt like ages ago. So he exhales a deep sound, pinching at the twine to mark where it was, before he goes to fold it into a section that he can pick out the length of what it would be for her, splitting it apart into what seems like would fit two and a half of them within her reach.
And then he has his measurement, but he doesn’t drift away, no. In fact, he leans in ever so slightly, above her shoulder to talk to her in a more private sort of sense, that even those around them who may be attuned can’t hear it. “[say]I can’t talk about what happened until we get to the training space.[/say]” He offers, voice hoarse as he tries to whisper it, the toll taken from his escapades in his attempts to whisper – a drawn drafty sort of sound. He withdraws then, his stormy gaze drifting across her briefly, before he takes the measurement and picks the slightly larger one of the bows that he’d brought, picking up a quiver to hand to her and guide her toward the far back training dummy he’d put up – far enough away from the rest of them that they wouldn’t be able to hear anything unless they shouted.
He grabs his own quiver, pulling his dark ebony bow from his shoulder and holding it in his hand as he begins to walk toward it, horned head focused down and along the path they take, slow at first.
RE: Idle hands are the devil's friend - Maea - 01-21-2020
Her hands should have felt numb as she reached for the quiver he offered, and the bow. The feel of his hands holding her own, touching the bare skin ought to have made it tremble at the memory of all the other places his hands had been. But while it does linger it is only another sensation. Like the sun growing warmer as it rose higher in the sky, or the sound of practice swords hitting training dummies with the steady whack, thwack off to the side. He leans in, speaks to her like she's anything more than another student to train, and the look she gave him was flat, distant, as cool and collected as the voice when she replies. Shattering the silence like a boot stepping through Leafchange ice.
"What is there to talk about?"
She gave him no chance to say anything else as she followed him back to the area sectioned off for bow practice. He could speak but she would not answer, retreating back into that unthinking void where she could hide amidst shadows and frost. A LongDark night, she was, and embraced the notion with no small amount of satisfaction. Everyone hid from the LongDark. The really smart folks left it alone, did not brave the frigid winds or the hungry darkness.
RE: Idle hands are the devil's friend - Sunjata - 01-21-2020
Everything. He wants to say, but she shuts him out again. And he exhales with that, handing her the bow and the quiver, shifting as his boots crunch against the ground, against the rocks and dirt used to flatten the earth around them, to give them ample space. He just keeps it all inside, keeps it close as he invades the darkness within once more, letting it call to him further – he was already far enough in it, the lengthened canines, the horns protruding from his skull. He was already diving deeper and deeper as time went on.
And so when he stops before the target, mentally marking out the line to stop at, he drags the toe of his boot along it to mark it for her, offering her to stand up to it – looking out at the rest of them that are too far away to hear anything. “[say]Why I still wear it.[/say]” He offers to her by way of explanation, not caring what she thinks of him – that if she looks at him, she might see the shift in his darkened gaze, the shadows that haunt him and creep closer much like the ice over her own.
It hadn’t been his attention to drag her into the middle of it, but nothing had gone right, nothing had gone his way, none of it. And he’s broken again on the inside, shattering and splintering, a flint for a fire to ignite. At least he doesn’t have the energy to argue anything, wondering how long it would take for the short breaths to grow more and more difficult to prolong. It hasn’t gotten better, he hasn’t gotten better – and yet he’d drank in Halo, he’d smoked despite knowing more harm than good would come from them.
He just couldn’t stop himself.
So he glances over to her once more, taking a stance along the edge of the line he’d drawn in the dirt, pulling an arrow from the quiver and nocking it into the bow, drawing back enough that his muscles flex and his gaze follows down the makeshift sights he’s added, before letting it fly. And it hits the dummy right in the chest, upper shoulder area, before he steps back and looks back over to her – waiting for her to try, to critique her form, to help her because he said he would and that he still intends to, even if she shuts him out completely.
RE: Idle hands are the devil's friend - Maea - 01-21-2020
Then again... Sunjata wasn't known for his ability to make good decisions. At least he waited until they were out of earshot before he tried again. She listened - because she always did whenever people spoke, whether they believed it or not - and his boldness in braving her chill was rewarded with the barest glance in his direction.
Oh, she saw the darkness. The cracks that spiderwebbed across a glass pane from whatever knives edge she was holding against him. Perhaps the quiet was more damaging than any words she used, because it left him alone with his own thoughts. Perhaps, she thought, she should just leave him like that. See if he could figure out for himself
But while not wise, Sunjata wasn't exactly stupid either. He knew what he had done.
Without much response to his offer, his words, Maea watched him take a stance and fire the arrow. It was a smooth stroke, a deft shot that struck true and made it look very easy. Lifting her own bow, she inspected it the way her brother had once taught her, a long time ago. Checking that the limbs were not notched, that the bow was straight and the arrow sight undamaged. She ran a finger down the string, making sure that it was whole, and with two fingers she pulled it back to her ear - '..with your back, Maea sweet, not your arms..' - to get a sense for the weight of it. Releasing slowly, so that the recoil would not damage the bow or her own unguarded arm, she nodded to herself. It was all pointless, of course. Sunjata would have made sure the bow was in working order before he handed it to her. She'd expected no less, and yet had checked it all the same.
Trust was something to be earned, and he had already damaged what little she'd given.
Still. Maea threw him a lifeline even as he sank into that broken darkness. Throwing a glance at him as she turned sideways towards the target, she raised a single, white brow.
"I'm listening."
Pulling an arrow from the quiver and nocking it to the string, she raised the bow and sighted down the arrow at the target, squinting a little. For a moment she held, straining against the weight, then loosed. And missed. The arrow shot straight over the right shoulder of the target and bounced off the innocent wall beyond it.
RE: Idle hands are the devil's friend - Sunjata - 01-21-2020
He takes his stance, pulls the arrow back along the dark ebony bow, aims with a calm collection, focusing until he lets the arrow fly and it hits almost where he’d planned. Off by a hair, but practice was practice after all – and he’d been good enough to fell a deer before LongNight, a wolf before Fiat Lux. He steps aside, to look back at her as she inspects the bow – taking no offense to it despite the fact that he had indeed checked them both, restrung them both, all of that.
She says nothing at first before she takes her stance, and when she does she arches her brow toward him, telling him that she’s listening, and for a second he’s not sure where to even start. So he lets her get the arrow nocked and ready, not wanting to interfere with her focus, watching her posture and her attention, waiting to see how it goes. She holds, then she fires, and he watches it miss. But he doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t smile or tease or jest, instead he steps toward her, angling himself the way that she had, peering down to see where things had gone awry.
“[say]I wanted to tell her in Halo.[/say]” He begins, stepping beside her and drawing his own bow and seeing how he sights down his own sights before inspecting her own posture once more. “[say]But then she got drunk and lost in the snow, and it was a mess.[/say]” He sighs a rasping sigh, refraining from mentioning that he too got drunk, despite the fact it had harmed him. “[say]Shoulders back a bit more.[/say]” He suggests, breaking up the intense conversation to show her again, his form as he takes a stance not exactly directly in front of it, but from where he can. He faces her, in how she draws differently, favoring her dominant hand that is the opposite of his. He focuses on the sights and how it looks in comparison to hers, before focusing back on her bow and adjusting it slightly more to the left.
“[say]Apparently she thinks I want to kill her.[/say]” He says simply, sadly. Perhaps that would explain his refrain from adding more tension to it, as he focuses on stepping away from her and off to the side, a different angle as he grabs another arrow, nocks it, half paying attention in the admission he’s given her, of the monster he’s envisioned as. He’s too focused on that, it seems, as his arrow slips past the shoulder of the dummy he’d shot at, snagging and tearing the burlap fabric covering it as it zooms past and penetrates into the back wall.
RE: Idle hands are the devil's friend - Maea - 01-21-2020
Reaching for another arrow, Maea followed his examples and altered her stance. Shoulders more back, her chin a little less tilted so the bow would not lean so much to the right. Back a breath straighter. Again she sighted down the arrow and aimed. Held. Loosed.
Miss. This time it went off to the left instead. Attempting to correct it on her own, the girl reached for the quiver once more and repeated the process. Aim, hold, loose.
Miss. But it was closer this time. The arrow sighed past the head of the doll and would have taken an ear off it had been an actual person. Better, if barely. All the while, she listened, and when his explanation came... it failed to move her.
Phoebe got drunk.
Phoebe got lost.
Phoebe thought him a monster.
"So? she asked, the one word question a snowstorm looming on the horizon. Heavy clouds closing in on her private Halo landscape, in a dark foreboding. Maea reached for another arrow.
RE: Idle hands are the devil's friend - Sunjata - 01-21-2020
’So?’ Gods, he doesn’t even know how to explain it. Instead, he watches her take aim and miss again and again, and he focuses on his own, taking up his bow again and another arrow, checking down the sights and pausing, holding his breath to keep from swaying or moving, feeling the light breeze ruffle his hair ever so slightly. He lets his arrow go and it misses, and he chides himself internally, shifting as he lowers his bow, stretches out his arm a bit, already feeling the exhaustion set in.
“[say]So, I couldn’t tell her. I don’t even know where to begin to tell her.[/say]” He clenches his jaw. It’s not for lack of wanting to, lack of wanting his life to go back to some semblance of normal. He doesn’t know if it ever could, if it ever will, but he wonders what part of himself he could give up if the opportunity arose to change it, to go back in time and fix the decisions and mistakes he’d made. Perhaps it’d be easier that way, to sacrifice to fix.
He draws the arrow back again, grip tightening around the handle, squinting through the rising sun and holding his breath again before he aims once more. And this time, it slides into the space between where the dummy’s chest and arm meets. “[say]Ter wille van Gods.[/say]” He curses beneath his short breath, running a hand through his hair, unable to focus because of the topic at hand, the insanity of it all.
“[say]So I said nothing, while she went off claiming that it wasn't so bad if I stopped making it about me.[/say]” He finally says, knowing it's not the right words, but knowing that it's what happened, what caused him from saying anything to her and burying himself further away and further down, cold and detached and bitter. He clenches his jaw and refrains from looking at her as he focuses on the wind, the stance and placement he’s taken, literally anything else.
Ter wille van Gods. – for gods’ sake