Lovely. What an odd word to choose for a conversation about battle style, and yet Weaver finds it fitting. It is lovely, to create your own style from the workings of others and the devices of your own mind. New combinations, new ways to move, learned from years of practice and trials, successes and failures. The word, though not a word Weaver would use in such a context, fits the redheaded girl perfectly.
Melita continues, speaking of the world she has come from and the training, or lack, she received. Weaver listens, curious, as she always is about these other worlds. ”The Rift,” she repeats, mulling over the name. ”That sounds like hell. And I say this having grown up in Halo.” She was not unfamiliar with hell, but at least she hadn’t had to spend time in a place called The Rift. It doesn’t even sound like a place, but rather some byway between worlds where you got trapped. ”But that’s not a bad way to learn to fight. Sometimes you don’t have the luxury of a weapon, and it is good to know how to fight with anything at your disposal.” She always preferred to have a weapon, knowing her own strength in hand to hand combat was usually lacking, though she understood enough to survive it. Elbows and knees were more powerful when you didn’t have enough strength otherwise behind a punch or kick. Go for the soft spots. Cheat like hell and live.
Weaver simply nods as Melita asks if she has magic, knowing the stigma that comes with her particular brand of skills. She’d never picked it, never been given the choice, and as such she simply was what she was. Perhaps it was less frowned upon by those from other worlds, but who knows how long before the prejudices of this world become their own. Weaver takes a step closer, concentrating, hunting for the feel of the bruise. She finds it after a moment, letting her magic flow through the other girl and mend the wound. It was perhaps not completely perfect, but it should be at least largely painless now and without much of a mark to show. ”I’m still learning it, but it’s been proving to be useful for small things.”
Melita continues, speaking of the world she has come from and the training, or lack, she received. Weaver listens, curious, as she always is about these other worlds. ”The Rift,” she repeats, mulling over the name. ”That sounds like hell. And I say this having grown up in Halo.” She was not unfamiliar with hell, but at least she hadn’t had to spend time in a place called The Rift. It doesn’t even sound like a place, but rather some byway between worlds where you got trapped. ”But that’s not a bad way to learn to fight. Sometimes you don’t have the luxury of a weapon, and it is good to know how to fight with anything at your disposal.” She always preferred to have a weapon, knowing her own strength in hand to hand combat was usually lacking, though she understood enough to survive it. Elbows and knees were more powerful when you didn’t have enough strength otherwise behind a punch or kick. Go for the soft spots. Cheat like hell and live.
Weaver simply nods as Melita asks if she has magic, knowing the stigma that comes with her particular brand of skills. She’d never picked it, never been given the choice, and as such she simply was what she was. Perhaps it was less frowned upon by those from other worlds, but who knows how long before the prejudices of this world become their own. Weaver takes a step closer, concentrating, hunting for the feel of the bruise. She finds it after a moment, letting her magic flow through the other girl and mend the wound. It was perhaps not completely perfect, but it should be at least largely painless now and without much of a mark to show. ”I’m still learning it, but it’s been proving to be useful for small things.”
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
