Wessex dropped, easily: he had given them both more room to react, after all, and this one he hadn't thrown as fast. He had been focused on other things, like eventually splitting it, and there was never really any danger to her. Somewhere, deep down, he was glad. Relieved. Rory didn't want to become proficient at hurting others.
But what choice did he have? Absolutely none.
So he watched as she got up again, thought as she asked him her questions. What did let him control it? (The blood fault—) He gazed down into his palm, upturned, as flame licked into life. And he gazed into his other palm, upturned, as a small sparrow flitted into existence, sitting on his thumb.
"I don't know," he said quietly, turning his hands upside down. Fire and sparrow merely disappeared. "It's like.. having more limbs, or something. They're just connected up here-" he tapped his temple "-and so, yeah... I can flail instinctively if I'm surprised, but unless I focus on it, it's very brief and not very refined." He shrugged, slightly. At the end of the day, it was like leatherworking, or any other craft: something one had to concentrate on. Sure, he could probably set something on fire and keep it on fire with the back of his mind, but if he wanted to achieve anything, he'd have to keep his mind on it.
"Maybe some knives," he said after a moment, slowly going to where Wessex had dropped them. He needed to clear his head, and not with pyromania. "Then I can tire you out by throwing things at you afterwards." So he grabbed one of the weapons, weighing it in his hand. Gods, he knew absolutely nothing about this.
He hefted the dagger a couple of times, then made the world's worst jab towards Wessex: it wasn't really intended as an attack, just a mock movement to show her just how awful he was at it, and how much work she had ahead of her if she wanted to turn him into a knifeman.
Training post 3/4!
But what choice did he have? Absolutely none.
So he watched as she got up again, thought as she asked him her questions. What did let him control it? (The blood fault—) He gazed down into his palm, upturned, as flame licked into life. And he gazed into his other palm, upturned, as a small sparrow flitted into existence, sitting on his thumb.
"I don't know," he said quietly, turning his hands upside down. Fire and sparrow merely disappeared. "It's like.. having more limbs, or something. They're just connected up here-" he tapped his temple "-and so, yeah... I can flail instinctively if I'm surprised, but unless I focus on it, it's very brief and not very refined." He shrugged, slightly. At the end of the day, it was like leatherworking, or any other craft: something one had to concentrate on. Sure, he could probably set something on fire and keep it on fire with the back of his mind, but if he wanted to achieve anything, he'd have to keep his mind on it.
"Maybe some knives," he said after a moment, slowly going to where Wessex had dropped them. He needed to clear his head, and not with pyromania. "Then I can tire you out by throwing things at you afterwards." So he grabbed one of the weapons, weighing it in his hand. Gods, he knew absolutely nothing about this.
He hefted the dagger a couple of times, then made the world's worst jab towards Wessex: it wasn't really intended as an attack, just a mock movement to show her just how awful he was at it, and how much work she had ahead of her if she wanted to turn him into a knifeman.
Training post 3/4!
