[Training] no one told you to breathe

SUNJATA

i'm drowning in all these voices in the sea
and meeting all my vices in the ring

He hasn’t been to the boxing ring since before LongNight. He regrets part of it, but on the other hand he hadn’t really been in any position to arrive. But it’s almost the last day of Melita being on land before she sets off, and he decides he can make the trek to the ring, to train with her one last time before the ships take off and he meets her again as an adventurer.

He’s got his set of daggers, the ones from Safrin, and Melita alongside him as they arrive. Haai sits on his heels, sticking close just in case since it takes him a small amount longer to get there. At least this way, this training, it’ll work out some of the soreness in his arms, the tightness of the burns against his skin after realizing he wasn’t going to tear any of it open. And once they’ve reached the inside of the Slagveld, he shrugs out of his light shirt, tossing it to the side and moving to the area with the bags – not the sandy boxing ring interior, not until he gets a bit more on his feet. For now, he needs solid ground.

“You’ve got yours, right?” He flashes her a grin, an opening should she wish to join him with the warm ups in loosening his arms a bit.

so step inside, i ain't afraid to bleed
there ain't a casket strong enough for me

MELITA

Training, in Sunjata’s current condition, sounded foolish at best. The youth understood it was a way to have one more round of scrambling, practice, and precision before she left for things beyond the shoreline (and the greedy contortions to her welcomed it). But that didn’t mean it wasn’t a horrific notion, especially on the size, the scale, of his burns, and any other injuries lurking, not yet fully healed or soothed. The notion to chide, to save it for another day, bristled in the back of her mind, but knowing her uncle, any savagery she instilled wouldn’t do much good – in one ear, and out the other.

So she journeyed alongside him to the boxing ring, forgoing the sigh brewing in her chest. Last time she’d been here Maea had still been alive, and it felt like lifetimes between pale wraiths hanging off the Flood’s arm, and to now; where Sunjata would soon be marrying two people, and wrapping her head around the situation felt like more than she could bother with for the moment. Instead, she marched with an even keel, placing her bag down by the entrance, retrieving her daggers from the inside of her calf, where they commonly rested for any unholy reason (defense, assaults, siege upon siege). But they weren’t her preferred weapon, as the honeybee youth frequently went for the longer ranges of her bow, or the lengthy reach of her staff.

But that was why she was here, after all.

“Of course,” she rolled her eyes and snarked back, as if the girl would travel anywhere without some sort of armament on her (she usually had at least three). Fangorn plopped himself down beside the ring, either to watch as an eager audience member, or to take a nap. Melita maneuvered in front of Sunjata, twin daggers, he’d be able to recognize them, poised in her grasp. “What first?” As she loosened up her arms as well, stretching them over each shoulder, ensuring they were limber and ready for ensuing escalations.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts

SUNJATA

i'm drowning in all these voices in the sea
and meeting all my vices in the ring

It’s an attempt to get him loosened up, lumber again, and also to spend one of the last days she’s here with her. So they make it to the Slagveld, he pulls the daggers out, arms loosening with slight hisses or discomfort as the skin with the burns pull. But she pulls her daggers out with the snark he knows her for, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Perfect.” He hums, eyes drifting to very familiar daggers that only make the grin grow a bit brighter. “And a good choice.” He offers with a huff of laughter.

And when they’re loosened up, then does he focus on her question. What first? Well, footwork. “First off, we have to make sure your feet are planted right.” He muses, shifting to take up the stance, one foot a bit more further forward than the other, making it easier to pivot and move out of the way of a strike. “Think of a triangle. Place your feet so it aligns with where your attacking hand is and make one with that. So that way, when someone strikes like… This —” He makes a show of slowing an attack down, aimed at her, before his other hand moves to adjust her shoulder in the way she’d be able to dodge out of reach of it without losing her balance or creating too much of an opening. “You can avoid it.”

“Take your stance and try to strike.” He murmurs to her with a small grin, settling himself back into position.

so step inside, i ain't afraid to bleed
there ain't a casket strong enough for me

MELITA

The honeybee youth had utilized footwork before – a common practice in implementing her staff movements, hand-to-hand combat with Hotaru, and now with daggers. Ordinarily she would merely ground herself, put her weight into her feet, feel as though she moved across the sanction of the earth with power, poise, pushing off its ramparts with fervent ease. This one seemed more rigid in its structure, so she nodded, indicating her listening, as her eyes followed the movements of his limbs.

A triangle she mused, gaze glinting down towards her feet, bare again, turning and twisting them so they aligned with the way she positioned her hands. Her stare raised once more to him as he slowed the attack down, the movements precise, so she could snag, catch at it, turn and churn it into her own mind. They narrowed in speculation – somehow adverse to the close quarters, to the layers mustered in daggers – she rather enjoyed the extension of her staff, the range of the bow, comfortable and formidable from a distance. These intricacies meant one wrong move and she could be damned.

On a breath, she adjusted herself, taking in the directions, molding into her stance. The weapon in her palm sang, ready, willing, and able, and so he right hand struck forward, as if to swipe at his arm.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts

SUNJATA

i'm drowning in all these voices in the sea
and meeting all my vices in the ring

She’s familiar with footwork, but this type was different. And he’s pleased as he watches her assume the stance, watching as she follows his guidance, looking down to her feet to ensure she’s planted herself in a triangle. And then, as he slows his movements down, the sharp blade angled for her and his other hand moving her slightly so she’d be able to dodge without getting hit and losing her balance. And when it seems like she’s gotten the hang of it – she’s always been a quick learner – he asks her to try.

She doesn’t disappoint, as Sunjata readies himself and lets his steel gaze focus on her, narrowing slightly as he calculates – and then she’s swiping out at his arm, and Sunjata’s turning his torso a small amount to the side so the blade misses the place where his arm would have been. “Very good.” He chimes, a grin spreading across his face as he moves, following through with the tilt of his torso until he’s settled in another triangle and swiping out at her as well, a bit slower to not harm but to ensure she gets the hang of slipping out of the reach of him.

so step inside, i ain't afraid to bleed
there ain't a casket strong enough for me

MELITA

There was an obnoxious, devilish cant to her smile on the praise, even if he’d dodged it well. Missing here, in training, wasn’t so bad as when they were huddled amongst caves and striving to harpoon monsters; so she merely collected the information, absorbed it for another turn.

Then Sunjata made a move, and instinct alone prevailed, and the provided slower tactics, so she had a chance, an opportunity, to do more than flinch. The youth surged her body towards the right, intending to get out of his way entirely, not yearning for the mettled metal to pierce flesh or clothing. Slipping, just barely, out of reach, beyond the dagger’s sharpened edges.

Thereafter though, an idea formed, and she lunged directly towards him, lacking the proper stance, but grounded in her feet all the more from habit. Instead of striving to sweep at his arms again, she went for his torso, intending to catch and conform to the way he’d block as well – the grin igniting all over again on her features.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts

SUNJATA

i'm drowning in all these voices in the sea
and meeting all my vices in the ring

Despite Sunjata’s harsh upbringing, despite the way he’d had to learn things – he’s quick to ensure that he gives credit where credit is due. He praises her, watches as she moves right when he twists and moves in with his own blade – the action faster yet still slower than what a true fight would be. And the grin that slips along his face is wide as she dodges out, uses the twist of her feet to her advantage.

Even if she forgoes the triangle formation, which he notices that she does, she dives straight for his middle – his torso – and Sunjata steps back, planting his feet back in those triangles, right at the last moment before her dagger point has the time to reach the fabric of his shirt, and he twists again, bringing his left hand down diagonally toward her shoulder. “Consider it a dance.” He rumbles while he does so. “Each time someone attacks, they’re leading, you get to decide the way you move and react.” He informs her, finding it to be one of his favored types of dances – even metaphorically.

There was something beautiful in the action itself, in the way the blades could sing, close enough to see the shift of pupils and freckles along faces, the beads of sweat that appear along temples, the wild hair that spins and turns with each movement.

so step inside, i ain't afraid to bleed
there ain't a casket strong enough for me

MELITA

A swipe here, a swipe there, a dance she doesn’t know all the steps too, but had begun to pick up, to understand their influential movements. She’d yet to learn the art of warfare or the delicate balances required for true belligerence; the aggression, the motives, the tenacity there, pulsing with grit and mettle. She’d forget, but then she’d learn, and the moves would become less complicated, less demanding, fluid, effortless, a rise and fall of blood and vengeance. Melita was quick to acknowledge she wanted every tome, every book, every description, every lecture about it.

The youth maneuvered quickly out of his range, attempting not to have her shirt or shoulder torn, only minimally glancing down at her feet as she wove around to reposition the stance. Triangle formation, beating the notions in her head as she rendered herself in front of his side, quick, smooth, a dash to the left, a folly to the right, raising her daggers before her chest, and then attempting to lunge towards his left hip; pondering if this was where she decided where someone was to go, where she had some modicum of control in the oblivion.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts

SUNJATA

i'm drowning in all these voices in the sea
and meeting all my vices in the ring

There’s pride that blooms along his face, pride that blossoms in his chest and if she were attuned she’d likely feel it. But she isn’t, and so he gathers everything he wishes to share with her, to have her feel and understand, and tries to put them in the praise and adjustments made for their little dagger spar. She’s silent after his gentle coaxing, following suit and taking a look at her feet as she slips away from his dagger before it has a moment to slip against cloth.

She repositions, and goes on quite the offense, quickly moving to the left, an attempt to the right, before centering and lunching toward his hip where he follows through with the movements in an attempt to avoid. He doesn’t make it out of her way in time and the blade slices through the shirt, a papercut wound to his hip that has a grin spreading across his face. “Very nice Melita.” He rumbles, all pride and praise in his accented voice.

Of course, now that she’s drawn first blood, he goes a bit more intense with his own attacks – ignoring the more annoying version of a cut than a stab, despite the small bead of blood that dots his skin, and moves in that very same triangle shaped position, one hand lowered, the other pulled back and a bit higher. And then he’s moving, both daggers pinpointing her in a way that may box her in, the one from the left attempting to corral her to the right, while the furthest dagger away attempts to go for her side.

Should he manage to get close enough to her, he’s careful enough to stop before the blade reaches skin – just in case. He’s not here to harm her, but he does want her to learn to evade and go back on the offense.

so step inside, i ain't afraid to bleed
there ain't a casket strong enough for me

MELITA

She hadn’t intended to draw blood – careful when it came to training (unless it was Kiada, and then all bets were off), wary of consequences in mere practice. This was to be the building of fortitude and skills, not an hour where they were shredded into nothing. The regret curled along her features in the form of a grimace, an apology almost along her tongue, and then he praised her. The youth sighed, shook her head, and her gaze went to the hole in his shirt, serrated edges of stiletto ease rupturing fabric, and then skin. “Nate won’t be happy about that one either.” The doctor had probably come to expect it, but honestly.

There was no time for further banter or apologies, as Sunjata seemed to up the ante. Her attention went back to stances, watching his footwork, his movements, and then the rapid noticing of the daggers flying towards her, from both sides. An attempt to close in, to render her caught, trapped, snared; and the youth had spent an entire childhood avoiding just that.

So instead of doing the obvious, sharpening into some retreat, some evasion, the girl formulated an altogether different plan, attempting to lower her frame, nearly dropping to her knees, duck underneath the blades, and swipe towards his calves. She didn’t expect it to work, imagining the press and slide of the daggers across her flesh. But the girl also didn’t intent to be predictable, and here was the perfect opportunity to try, to strive, and see what would work, and what definitely couldn’t.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts

SUNJATA

i'm drowning in all these voices in the sea
and meeting all my vices in the ring

“He’ll deal.” He flashes her a grin, before he’s on the offense and moving – feet taking him toward her, arms aiming the daggers in a way that might trap her and see what she might do. Instead of stepping back as he thought she might – thought it might be the initial reaction she’d hold, so used to working with a staff at a distance, that it does come as a surprise when she drops and the blades cleave through the air – no longer careful when he knows he won’t hit her.

And he retracts, stepping back and to the side as she swipes out at him, a smirk growing along his face. A few steps back – her using the height advantage she has when she drops, against him who stands far taller than she. But she misses his calves with the way he slips back, pulling himself in a bit of a side step, tossing the blade up and flipping it into his hand so the dagger edge points down as he points it toward her in a sort of touché motion.

“I think that’s all I’ve got in me for now.” He rumbles toward her, though the pride within his voice still is sharp and bright as is the grin along his face. He doesn’t want to push himself too much, and luckily the surface wound to his side has already clotted, having not drawn too much blood.

so step inside, i ain't afraid to bleed
there ain't a casket strong enough for me

MELITA

Melita didn’t want to be predictable. She yearned for the world to wonder just what she was going to do next – in assaults, in sieges, in movement, in motions, a canvas of infernal possibilities, each one as dangerous as the next. So the youth smirked even as the plan didn’t come entirely to fruition, the dagger pointing towards her after he stepped back – and she was left for a moment on how to calculate the next interval, when her uncle announced they were done for the day.

Understandable, given his previous injuries, and time not being on their side. Still, a flicker of disappointment rankled through her at ceasing now, when she was just beginning to get the hang of it. Maybe that meant there’d be more opportunities in the future, after travels across the sea, after weddings on beaches, after honeymoons, times for repose and peace for all of those who’d continued to prevail through the suffering. “Okay,” she uttered in response, a nod granted and given, accepting and obliging, since he’d been for her. “Thank you.” She rose, pushing off the floor. “I’ll be even better when I come back,” mustered on a cheeky grin, on a wink, on the conviction of promises and oaths.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts

SUNJATA

i'm drowning in all these voices in the sea
and meeting all my vices in the ring

He’s a bit more experienced than she is with the daggers, with the power that’s wielded behind them, familiar intimately with the dance it takes, even bearing the brunt of them. But she’s learning, and she’s picked up quickly, and he couldn’t be more proud of her as he moves the daggers back into their places at his hips. An easy smile reaches his face as she agrees, and thanks him, a small shake of his head granted back.

“It’s always good to have more at your disposal.” And it was, when bows and staffs weren’t enough. Surprising your foe with a hidden blade always resulted in a wonderful reaction when otherwise disarmed. “Oh, you’d better be.” He flashes her a sharper grin, then, moving with a bit more soreness toward the little bar section, filling up a couple of glasses with water before handing one to her and grabbing a cloth and dampening it to wipe at the cut she’d given him before drinking his own glass.

so step inside, i ain't afraid to bleed
there ain't a casket strong enough for me

MELITA

Melita placed the daggers back where they belonged, one along her calf, one along her belt of further accessories and dominion. Perhaps it went without saying that she wanted proficiency with all of them: weapon after weapon, armament after armament, siege after siege. So the world wouldn’t even stop to think she was unworthy, not potent, not powerful enough. A combatant, a fighter, a strong, unyielding, lithe little force of nature, adversary to those who would dare cross her, or any of her kin.

She’ll make them proud – every ancestor, every contortion of her lineage carved into her bones.

The youth beamed in reflection of his smile, scratching at the top of Fangorn’s head as the gourd noticed the fight was over, silenced and ceased for another day. “Maybe I can bring some back with me,” she shrugged, insinuating there might be more than just traversing over the great, grand seas, adventure calling her over the air and waves. She took the offered glass, downing and draining. Swallow after swallow to sate the thirst after measures of fortitude and might. “You too.” Be better; but most importantly, be careful.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts