[Training] they broke the wrong parts

MABEL

Mabel would’ve liked to have been more than capable of facing her fears. Not so hesitant, not so useless, not so feeble, not so helpless. But one couldn’t flick a knife into the ocean to watch it wither and decay. Water had power. Water had might. Water had more than she ever would.

Which was why she stood beneath the canopy of the moon and all its glory, where she pretended to be a wolf stalking the night skyline, where she lingered in the throngs of shadows, staring out over the abyss. She could hear the rolls of the waves and it made her entire body cringe, yearn to collapse on itself. To curl into a little ball and dream of better days; moments spent in lakes, in the Oasis, springing up underneath lily pads and swimming after dream fish. Rather than the cacophony it echoed and pulsed within her now, where the hollowed remnants had carried her far, far, far from shore, and into a slow, dizzying demise.

Eventually, she wound her way across the earth, avoiding the lights of the tiki torches, or the joyous rapture of a bonfire going on further down the stretch of sand. Instead, there was no brazen edge left to her. Just a shy, shuddering thing, like a bird rather than any eldritch abomination the youth yearned to be, clutching her favored dagger, fingers pressed tightly over its hilt.

Let's go to war to make peace
Let's be cold to create heat

Aurelia

hear those bells ring deep in the soul
chiming away for a moment

The darkness is familiar and comfortable to those that can create their own light. In the shadows, Aurelia watches as a young woman stalks along the coast, creeping nearer and nearer.

She's found solace here, along the edges of the sand where no one knows her face or her name because it is obscured by jungle foliage and a night sky. It seems this other person feels the opposite, as they shiver and clutch at something sharp and wieldy that reflects the moonlight.

Aurelia's had her fair share of daggers, she can see one, feel one from miles away. Even as the woman with a weapon nears, she doesn't shift with unease. There are daggers that rest dutifully at her hip (and proudly shown, too), and the bangle hung around her foot. Those things don't even account for her magics.

So from where she's standing in the sand, her gaze turns over with something like indifference, unfeeling. "You don't look like you're from around here," she remarks, her voice raising through the sound of the girl's pacing. As she really looks, her eyes narrow at the whitened knuckles around the blade's hilt, "somethin' the matter?"

feel your breath course frankly below
see life as a worthy opponent

MABEL

She’d seen her in the dark – rounded her Ascended eyes upon the counterpart long before the woman had spoken. Something inside her froze, and all the restless fervency prickled away for frozen, glacial filaments – features rendering into that familiar, haughty disposition, as if she could chip sedition and spread it into the world and ignore everything else around her. “I’m not,” she claimed – rather honest and forthright.

She wasn’t. She’d made her life in the Hollowed Grounds because that was all they had. And one of the few times she’d dared to venture out, it’d gotten her killed.

Her gaze went elsewhere, upon the waves, upon the current, upon the rippling sounds meeting the sand, and then sauntering back. Like it was taunting her. Like it was brushing past her. Tossing her about. A little speck of dust in the sea.

Nothing. Nothing at all.

“No,” she lied, her hand clutching the hilt all the more. Mabel could’ve asked the other why she was out here, but then she figured the question would round back to her, and she didn’t want to say her reasoning. That impudent stare meandered to the weapons on her hilt instead. “Do you know how to use those?” A swallow; for what, she couldn’t be certain. “I want to learn how to utilize mine better.”

Let's go to war to make peace
Let's be cold to create heat

Aurelia

hear those bells ring deep in the soul
chiming away for a moment

"No, you're not," Aurelia repeats, though it's a hushed utterance in the face of the rolling tides and echoing voices. These things don't bother her anymore than the rustle of leaves or the sound of the wind - as accustomed to them as she is the blades at her disposal. So it's easy for her to see the worry in the other woman, clear as though she were made of water.

She saunters out from the treeline, starlight more fully bathing the details of her features, though she doesn't move toward the woman directly. In fact, she seems to gather that this person is closed off, not entirely present, and so she means to drift away on the sands, into darker shadows, to avoid that conflict. Whatever it may be about.

Then, suddenly, a request stops her in her tracks. A hand instinctively goes toward the daggers she knows are in their sheaths, and she turns to look back at the other like this, with her fingers wound about her own dagger's hilt. Her gaze considers the girl more carefully now. "You carry weapons with you that you don't know how to wield?" She counters smoothly. To her, that seems rather dangerous.

Her weight shifts in the ghostly sand and she looks back over her shoulder, towards the city lights and bonfires. When she turns back, she tilts her head in inclination. "I can teach you, but only for a bit," she decides, feeling some measure of kinship for the wild wolfgirl that only wants to know how to fight off her enemies. Or maybe she's projecting too much, and things are simpler than that.

She steps closer, letting her voice lower once within a more confined proximity, "What do you need to learn?"

feel your breath course frankly below
see life as a worthy opponent

MABEL

Mabel had no need to repeat the utterance in a round of echoes; her eyes narrowing again, suspicious and forlorn all at once. Perhaps one day she’d learn how to better contain herself – from the shudders that rack her ribcage, from the sedition spreading into her form, from the portions and pieces of vengeance that inch out from her bones.

Besides, this other woman apparently had some need to prove herself too – sauntering, pandering to an audience already whittled away at the seams. The Ascended’s jaw clenched at the notions, at the presumptions, a dangerous narrowing of her eyes flickering again. Hadn’t she survived LongNight and monsters? And here was this stranger, drawing assumptions about her abilities? She almost snarled. She almost growled. She almost seethed. Instead, the notions came out in a mulish, bitter derision. “I didn’t say that.” The girl thought of whetstones, of sharpening, of knives thrown, of merely yearning to slash them across the throat of her sister’s murderer. “Just that I want to be better.” The waves bounded against her – she could hear them crawling back in – and she felt like a leaf. “We should all aim to improve.”

But then she quieted at the acceptance, as if she was perhaps a little pebble or stone, barely worth a glance. “Thank you.” And then her eyes went back to the world, to the surroundings, meandering further inward, where the forest lined the sand far more. “I want to know more advanced techniques. I’ve had several help me,” and sometimes she was successful, sometimes not. “But I don’t think I’m enough yet.”

Let's go to war to make peace
Let's be cold to create heat

Aurelia

hear those bells ring deep in the soul
chiming away for a moment

Aurelia says nothing of the offense she's garnered, half-expecting it. She feels an urge to smirk at the sudden flash of confidence, but she thinks better of it. This will be easier to teach, in any case, if the one seeking better measures already knows the basics. For that, perhaps a bit of excitement warms Aurelia's blood.

She nods, dipping her chin and blinking her eyes, at the gratitude. She needn't be thanked, she thinks, but she appreciates it all the same. She takes the moment to look over the girl, over the musculature that shifts in her movements and the stony way she describes what she wants to get out of this. Sizing up, determining aptitude or promise, it doesn't matter. At the end of the day, talent or physical strength are unnecessary to be a killer. You need only the might of steel and sharpened techniques.

"You are enough," Aurelia states, adding with more sinister earnest, "the blades will do the work if you let them." This is something she knows from personal experience, how easy it is to cut through flesh and spill blood. It requires much less than one might expect. "Think of yourself as.. a conduit. The weapon is your master, not the other way around."

Aurelia then steps back, intending to give the woman a wider berth now. "Show me what you know, then we can... advance." A display of the techniques that she does know, that could potentially be molded into something better. "No targets," she adds, because she wants to see everything clearly.

feel your breath course frankly below
see life as a worthy opponent

MABEL

You are enough echoed and reverberated against her, and her brows furrowed, before her eyes were drawn downward again. Mabel wasn’t sure she’d ever been told that before in her life. There’d been plenty of times, of moments, where she hadn’t been that at all. And she didn’t know what to say to it, biting, grating, chewing it over in the back of her mind, readily applying a nod as the instructions came from a stranger.

She took them anyway; lifting her head, avaricious and greedy, covetous and mercenary, for any proportion of expertise, knowledge, or sagacity. The weapon her master; and she wasn’t in control. What a bizarre configuration.

And then the pronouncement came, so Mabel stilled, nodding abruptly, taking it all in stride, measure for measure. She lifted her dagger, and with no targets, it was just the Stygian air in front of her, and the ocean waves rustling back and forth. So the youth could only pretend, could only envision, could only imagine a beast standing before her – her sister’s murderer, perhaps – as she raised the dagger and shifted into the midnight overtures, into the shadows, into the pale flickers of moonlight. Perhaps she looked unearthly, unnatural then, some eldritch abomination in the midst, as she slashed against an invisible force, as she ripped it across an unseen torso, as she plunged it into an exposed neck.

She would only cease when asked, spinning, maneuvering, into her blade’s wild, wicked little dance.

Let's go to war to make peace
Let's be cold to create heat

Aurelia

hear those bells ring deep in the soul
chiming away for a moment

The girl seems simultaneously humbled and fueled by the statement, and it comes as no surprise to Aurelia. It's rare that she's the teacher, and she knows nothing of this strange person's life or traumas, but she understands the importance of uplifting a pupil. She knows because she had always craved it when she was the one on the opposite side. She craves it still because she is always learning, climbing her way through the strangeness of a new world and a new way to live. New skills to learn and master, but she had always been a good student; adaptable, allowing herself to be the channel through which her weapons could attain terrible greatness.

So it's with appreciation for the woman's willingness to learn that she watches, and waits. She's silent for the most part, nothing but a glint in her eye or a stretch of her brow to indicate whether something has impressed or troubled her. But these details might've been lost to the girl's undaunted focus, and that is something to be latched onto, nurtured - not interrupted with criticisms or guidance. Aurelia lets her be, until she thinks she's ready to take on this task.

She steps forward to let the notion settle over the space between them - that this will be a spar - and she lifts her chin. "You can stop," she states curtly.

"Well," she starts, slowly drawing her own dagger to not cause alarm, "you pay no attention to yourself and that's where you're falling short," she remarks, and perhaps it's blunt but she knows no other way to teach. "Hurting your opponent is easy, killing is easy, if you can live with it," her eyes narrow and her lips form a tight grimace, "it's keeping yourself alive long enough to do it that's difficult - because everything is going to fight like hell for its own life." She pauses, lifting her blade. Naturally, her body changes stance with such ease as if it were water flowing.

"Your feet first. Place them like this," she motions subtly to herself, where her feet have been directed in such a way that any angle is reachable at a moment's notice, "imagine that there is a triangle beneath you, no wider than your own shoulders. You must always keep your feet on the corners of it."

"If it's easier for you to remember, don't think of it as a technique - but as a series of angles. Your goal is to cut and take off, over and over. It'll give you the advantage." Thereafter, the angles could stretch toward cover, to grant the power of the ambush, but she will not overwhelm the girl with everything all at once. One strike at a time. If the girl wanted to fight like an honorable soldier, she has sought the wrong teacher.

"Now... block this," is a rushed warning before she surges forth, stepping forward with one foot, allowing her shoulder to follow through, and from there the fluidity of dagger does all the work for her - as promised. It strikes upward toward the woman's face. She doesn't aim to actually land the hit, but there is nothing within her expression or ripple of movement that would suggest this. Once done, she will immediately recoil along those sharp angles she spoke of.

feel your breath course frankly below
see life as a worthy opponent

MABEL

Mabel only stopped when the command came – otherwise she would’ve remained the pale little wraith beneath the moonlight, pretending to be a menace. She tucked her dagger in tighter, within palms that had once held only nuances of farm work, of baling twine, of buckets and pails, of siblings’ hands as they rambled and raised a ruckus.

The youth stood unnaturally still while the other woman spoke, only adjusting and tilting her head to acknowledge her absorption of the sagacity. “I cannot feel pain,” she offered in response – and the notion of self-defense therefore went entirely unnoticed. Not bothered with. Openly offensive and nothing more.

Would she need it, if all of this was enough to bring down her sister’s killer? Or the rest of them – who yearned to bleed and die for their stupid Old Gods?

She nodded anyway, understanding to a certain degree, watching the lilt of daggers. Her eyes caught the stance, placating the reel of movement with her own designations, feet on the corners of an invisible triangle. It took her a moment to adjust, to be angles, to be precision, to be might, to be junctures in ruin and demolition.

And while her head was down, processing the information and ensuring her weight was placed into the ground – the other woman launched.

She might’ve sneered or hissed if she had the gods damned time; instead Mabel was forced to react instinctually. Even if the weapon hadn’t actually been intending to hit her, the Ascended treated it like an incoming wound, raising her own miniature blade to catch, to snag – and then push back.

Let's go to war to make peace
Let's be cold to create heat

Aurelia

hear those bells ring deep in the soul
chiming away for a moment

Aurelia's own mentor had taught her in much the same breadth as this; thieving moments of opportunity to use as teaching points. Always be ready, her swipe of the dagger seems to say. It's a cold reality that any moment could be the last. Her gaze flickers, processing, as the girl defends herself. Even though she's caught off-guard, she's successful in parrying the hit.

The daggers clash in a snarl of steel, bending beneath one another's pressure because - truly - they are not meant to be used as swords. They lack the heftiness that would serve well in a fight like this, blade-to-blade. Still, things like that don't matter in the heat of the moment. What matters is surviving, and doing whatever that takes.

Aurelia's lip curls instinctually as she whips herself backwards, not needing to be pushed but using the leverage for her own personal gain anyway.

"Pain is not weakness," she snaps to the earlier comment, "defend a hit, like that? You can lose a finger, a hand, and then what good would a blade do you? The fact you can't feel pain only makes fighting more dangerous for you..." she lets her words trail off, however. Lectures could take precedent all they wanted but words can be futile and warnings can go unheeded. It's the victories and the defeats that are remembered.

"Again. This time, block with your free hand, use your arm to block mine. Then you'll have a clear opening," she instructs with words that are steely and expectant, expectant to see her follow through and see the intelligence of this alternative.

Again, Aurelia swoops in for the strike. This time, it's from a different angle, aiming to slash across the girl's ribs rather than a more direct jab. This one might be harder to predict or block, coming from an angle that will demand quick and skillful movement if the girl wants to be successful. But Aurelia is expecting nothing less from the other woman - judging from moments prior. Plus, she should be ready for it this time.

feel your breath course frankly below
see life as a worthy opponent

MABEL

A very mulish expression settled over the youth’s features before she righted herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to hear the notions; but the repercussions of her own antics and defenses weren’t much to be savored. It hadn’t been what she’d meant anyway, by measures of pain – simply that her body no longer reacted to it. She could be movement and motion, but only for so long, apparently, until something within her gave out.

So Mabel merely nodded, taking the information for what it was worth, and shifted back to the stance. When the other woman came at her again, on different angles and trajectories, the youth turned, shifted, in accord, extending that free hand to block, to knock away, to defend (an entirely different nuance). Quicker and swifter in the folds of moonlight and shadow, she might have actually had a chance to do something.

Then she reached, reached, reached with her dagger, as if to make a passing glance, blow, or dig, into the Torchliner’s ribcage.

Let's go to war to make peace
Let's be cold to create heat

Aurelia

hear those bells ring deep in the soul
chiming away for a moment

Stubborn or not, the girl would have to heed her words or otherwise let her pigheadedness be her downfall. Even in training, the knife is dangerous. Even in practice, Aurelia would be an idiot to willingly let herself get struck just to make someone think they're enough.

So as she swirls forward in a motion that is not a dance but a precise action, she expects what's coming because she's fed it to the girl directly. And when the arm comes up to block hers, one corner of her lips turns up just ever-so-slightly. This is where her gaze falters from the other's, and switches to the blade coming for her flank.

Her own free hand swipes upward, fending off the attack with calculated ease. Aurelia will likely be the first to dive back, better able to predict the scenario that just happened and plan her own safe escape. She resumes her position apart from the girl and lowers her weapon for a moment.

She assesses her again, now that she's seen a bit more, eyeing her up and down, "You don't need more techniques. What you need is practice. This kind of fighting, the kind of killing you want to be able to do? That requires sparring - daily - to sharpen your senses and gain some muscle memory."

She could try and continue to pelt the girl with advices and wisdoms, but if she's gathered anything from the moments prior, it will be a waste of her own time. She's better off getting her ass kicked over and over, would learn more from it.

Resuming the stance, Aurelia lifts her dagger and places her feet apart once again. This time, however, she begins to move in a steady circle around her sparring partner. "One more. You make the first move this time."

feel your breath course frankly below
see life as a worthy opponent

MABEL

Mabel had no predilections that her movements would match the other woman’s; experience had already taught her that there were many, many people far superior in skill and multitudes than her. And while she likely couldn’t quite catch up to their abilities, the youth could at least strive to take bits and pieces of their knowledge with her; to build up a rapport of her capabilities, to practice with in the dark.

Defenses and maneuvers, tactics and drills; things Mabel needed, required, and maintained as much as she could – the assault was fended off easily, and she hid the disappointment within her soul, reflecting, backing away, and resuming the stance as the Torchliner spoke. Her eyes widened slightly at the announcement, then reeled downward, wondering, pondering. “What if I can’t find people? Is there a way to do it by myself?” Henry could only be subjected to her antics for so long, Wessex was terrifying and menacing and far too powerful, and there were quite an array of others she wouldn’t dare or think to ask.

But once more – heading straight back into the flames. She gave her agreement with another bob of her head, grip tightening over the hilt as the woman maneuvered in circles. She wouldn’t be predictable, and so Mabel shouldn’t be either – doing much the same, pacing, almost like a cat. A predator.

Then she lunged, dashing for Aurelia’s torso, higher than before, to gain insight, an edge, on how this manner would be blocked.

Let's go to war to make peace
Let's be cold to create heat

Aurelia

hear those bells ring deep in the soul
chiming away for a moment

Before they continue their practice, Aurelia pauses at the questions. Initially, she wants to say that there isn't a way. The only way to stay sharp is to have a real combatant to fend against, to attack. But... she doesn't want to deter the woman from proceeding, improving, and succeeding with whatever it is her goal may be.

"You can, but it won't be the same," she cautions, explaining, "on your own, you can focus on getting stronger, faster - work on your reflexes. Practice maneuvers and techniques you know, keep them fresh. That will help." She relaxes a bit and then offers, "you can always come and find me. I... am lacking in a proper sparring partner myself. We can arrange to meet again, if you want." Her gaze is uncertain and lacking in confidence suddenly, not knowing if that's something the other would be open to.

But once more, indeed, they head straight back into the flames. Aurelia is ready, always. Whether she looks it or not, she's been trained to such a degree that even if caught off guard, she might recover. She hopes that she might inspire that readiness within this girl, too.

When her circling is matched, there's a brighter glint to her eyes; there's approval there, though she won't comment on it. They're in the fight now. There's no room for words and heart, only the edges and angles.

When the other woman lunges for her, Aurelia doesn't meet it to block. No, she needn't. There is plenty of space around her to utilize, and her teachings won't be so predictable still. Instead of countering the attack, she flinches back. The knife swipes through empty air, the tip barely nicking her clothes. It's normal. Fights like this can go on for a long time without a single hit being landed.

In retaliation, however, Aurelia jumps to one side and drives her own dagger forth. It's an attempt to claw across the outside of the woman's shoulder as she passes like a shadow.

feel your breath course frankly below
see life as a worthy opponent