[SE] [Training] jab well done

Lena

and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm

She smiled at that comment; mostly because she knew she didn’t ever firmly commit to training exercises. She should’ve, but her inclination towards non-violence never instilled a love of it.

When his advice was proven to be effectual, her eyes widened again, still shocked, awed, and surprised. The Attuned mustered a small grin for her achievements, trying to instill them further into her thoughts and the next round of motions.

But he was much closer now, and she had to think methodically. This time, she swung towards his upper arm, wondering if the past hit might’ve been an effective use of strategy (or sheer luck), and she could gain a hand in these matters (though, she still glanced at him quickly after, to ensure she was doing everything right).

that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm

// we haven't won, and if we win, //

The pride that lingers on her face is one that Asta finds quite comforting – because while he had always been born a fighter, the kind that scraped at the bottom of the barrel for whatever they could, he knew that she wasn’t at all like him. She was everything opposite – selfless, caretaking and gentle in ways that the butcher never was. Or if he did, felt as though it wasn’t right.

So he waits, letting his patience take matters into its own hands as she debates what to do next with him this close – the scent of smoke from the fire he conjured often etched into his skin. He’s composed, though his smile remains, sharp and eager for her next decision. And truthfully? It’s a good one – as her hit isn’t as strong as it would have been if he’d had more distance, but it does jostle his arm enough to make it miss, careening over her shoulder and shorter stature, even as it draws him a moment to get away from her and create more space. “Nicely done.” He hums with absolute pride glittering in his voice.

“Now try to block mine.” He murmurs as he surges in toward her, slower than he would, aiming a punch toward her center of mass to see just how she would evade it. And if she can’t, the hit would be minimal at best, a brief dusting, conscious of how hard he could hit without wanting to actually hurt her.

3/4

Astaroth

// and if the morning light sets in, we've cheated fate again //

Lena

and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm

Lena’s version of fighting had been amidst benevolence and kindness, the sort that endured in determination and stubborn, tenacious emblems of resolution. Up until a certain point in Stormbreak, under Dahlia’s control, it had worked – subversive, meaningful, but still, not enough for the power wielded from parasitic ventures.

Maybe these moments sprinkled within would help.

The ‘nicely done’ rang through her ears and she glanced at him again for further confirmation, before grinning, and then her brows furrowed back into concentration. She’d done some practice in blocking, but most had been instinctual endeavors, and she watched as she aimed a punch towards her. Eyes widening again, she placed her arms up as she’d been trained before, and lowered herself so that his fist would hit the broader side of her limbs rather than her stomach or chest. “Like that?”

that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm

// we haven't won, and if we win, //

It was a perfect spark, one that spurred what onlookers could see and believe to be a true training session – the way the two of them work through their motions. Slowly, calculatingly, like they’re trying to pick up mistakes before they speed it up and see the dance for what it was. Only, this time, they wouldn’t be doing that. If only because Lena would need the slower portions to be able to think about these interactions, should she ever find herself unfortunately in a position to need them.

He hopes not, given that he’s fond of the Celestine’s Caretaker. But that does not mean that he can’t help her just in case.

So the butcher nears, his punch aimed at her center of mass and he watches as she moves quickly into position, blocking the punch that greets the broadside of her limbs with not a lot of movement behind them, but just enough to give her the idea that she’d done a brilliant job. “Perfect, darling.” He grins, shifting his weight before his tail snakes out from where he’d kept it at his heels, to offer a little pat to her side. “Now, you can utilize that while keeping in mind the additional abilities and crafty ways others can fight against you.” Such as his tail for example, one that she could think about later on the journey.

“You did a wonderful job either way. And I thank you for helping me warm up. I should get going.” Stepping away from her to offer a bow and an easier smile, the butcher leaves her to continue her collections, before he makes his way to the rendezvous point for the hunt of the corrupted unicorns.

4/4

- FIN

Astaroth

// and if the morning light sets in, we've cheated fate again //