Aamu
"Exactly," he says, soft voice, soft smile (and yet there's something wicked, triumphant in it—). He got Nate where he wanted him, but he won't press.
It almost feels like this isn't about fencing. It's in the way his fingers insist on lingering on Nate, in the way the other grins, as if he knows something—as if he can smell the slight confusion, the fascination. It's nearly enough to make Aamu blush, and he doesn't know how to respond, how to behave, how to joke it all away—
"My my," he merely ends up saying, voice quite dry, his traitorous gaze flicking to Nate's hips as he thrusts with them. He's not even sure what about it is so fascinating, or what he wants (—nothing). It's easiest just to get on with it, so he transitions into ox, and watches as Nate does the same. Aamu peers at him for a moment, before bringing his own blade down again and stepping closer. "Here," he mumbles, straightening out Nate's arms and bringing the hilt up a little bit higher. "You have more strength when your arms are straight, and more distance to your face if something should come close. Really, a lot of fencing is just... controlling where you have your opponent. And say you parry, into ox-" Aamu steps back and places his sword slightly over Nate's, as if it's been parried, and then reaches up to tug on the tip of Nate's "-you can just thrust here, at my chest or face, while my sword is somewhere else entirely doing fuck-all."
He steps back again. "Ox isn't so much of a stance you'll stand around and wait in, it's more.. a really useful defensive position. So you're standing in long point, someone does a downward cut at you and you just parry up into ox." He mimics the transition, and stays in ox. "You can do it on either side of your head, depending on which is your leading leg at the moment." Aamu nimbly switches, then lowers his blade so that the hilt is at hip height, sword pointing diagonally forward and upward. "The plow."
It almost feels like this isn't about fencing. It's in the way his fingers insist on lingering on Nate, in the way the other grins, as if he knows something—as if he can smell the slight confusion, the fascination. It's nearly enough to make Aamu blush, and he doesn't know how to respond, how to behave, how to joke it all away—
"My my," he merely ends up saying, voice quite dry, his traitorous gaze flicking to Nate's hips as he thrusts with them. He's not even sure what about it is so fascinating, or what he wants (—nothing). It's easiest just to get on with it, so he transitions into ox, and watches as Nate does the same. Aamu peers at him for a moment, before bringing his own blade down again and stepping closer. "Here," he mumbles, straightening out Nate's arms and bringing the hilt up a little bit higher. "You have more strength when your arms are straight, and more distance to your face if something should come close. Really, a lot of fencing is just... controlling where you have your opponent. And say you parry, into ox-" Aamu steps back and places his sword slightly over Nate's, as if it's been parried, and then reaches up to tug on the tip of Nate's "-you can just thrust here, at my chest or face, while my sword is somewhere else entirely doing fuck-all."
He steps back again. "Ox isn't so much of a stance you'll stand around and wait in, it's more.. a really useful defensive position. So you're standing in long point, someone does a downward cut at you and you just parry up into ox." He mimics the transition, and stays in ox. "You can do it on either side of your head, depending on which is your leading leg at the moment." Aamu nimbly switches, then lowers his blade so that the hilt is at hip height, sword pointing diagonally forward and upward. "The plow."
Through the streets and the houses of gods you roam
and on their altars you lay your heart of stone
and on their altars you lay your heart of stone
