[Training] [se] articulate frenzy

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

The response had her give a short bark of a laugh; more or less because the life lesson hadn’t come soon enough. Not before a thousand other consequences. If he was learning now, after everything else, perhaps she shouldn’t have been so fractious and bitter. So she heaved a sigh at the response, considering the weight of those factors, of how Nate might’ve responded. “And what did he say?” There were nettles and thorns embedded there too, after curses and occurrences, after livelihoods rendered disastrous and muddled. The honeybee was grateful, once more, for her ties to Ludo, and a different range, course, of expectations embedded within.

Thereafter though, it was all action and movement. An inward growl came unrelenting, bound along her jaw, as she missed the impact (which was a shame, because she’d been waiting a long time to punch him in the face). It glanced off and left her with nothing except a shorter distance, pivoting, turning, twisting out of his way. Lithe, limber, smaller, swifter, she’d long since been able to get herself out of these scraps by motion alone.

So while he missed her side, the wildfire youth aimed for his ribs, waiting to see how he defended, how she could sneak within.

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury

SUNJATA

the flood

anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself

Her bark of a laugh colors the air around them and he works to prepare himself for the incoming attack as he filters through everything that had happened to give her an answer. “He said to wait and see if we had any other options.” He offers – because in reality, it was the immortality bit that had him leaning toward it. Only now, after everything, if Nate weren’t there he finds he doesn’t want it. “And so I am.” He mutters, dodging her strike and offering one of his own.

She’s lithe though, quick on her feet as she’s always been, and his fist sails by her side into open air. He’s overextended, though, stepping heavily on his dominant side, leaving himself open for her own attack. And this one hits, nailing his ribs a bit off center as he huffs a sound of the air leaving him. It’s not a hard hit, one that he recovers from as he turns, aiming his fist for her shoulder this time.

and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

Her eyebrows rose again at the insistence of waiting - she ended up laughing on the spur of the moment. “Good. I’m glad.” The words I’m proud of you didn’t quite make it out into the air, but there was a nestling of understanding instilled there – that he was trying, truly striving now, even if the bar was incredibly low. Actually thinking, actually pausing, actually giving time and space to decisions was a massive step forward. The honeybee didn’t reflect any further, not with the current movements and motions, but there was a nod following through, a modicum of comprehension flickering with the flames and embers.

A satisfied glimmer of a smirk sparked on her features as her fist found its mark. The huff of air was enough, and she wanted more, for the sake of so many others who might’ve yearned for the same. She ducked as the onslaught of his fist came cruising towards her shoulder, could feel the motion shift over her muscle and bone, glancing off; a breath or two following through. That’d been incredibly close.

So the youth rallied, attempting to launch another punch from her vantage point along his side.

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury

SUNJATA

the flood

anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself

He’s glad too – and even if he doesn’t hear the words that sit behind her teeth, he can get the same sentiment. He’s proud of himself too, a feeling that he intends to keep going for as long as he can. For now, though, punches are thrown and fists are dancing between the air – some connecting, some not, and there’s a brief glance of his most recent fist against her, glancing off. “When’d you get so quick?” He asks, breathily, a bit amused and a bit annoyed at himself for being so lumbering.

He's certainly lumbering when she shoots back for his side, nailing him perfectly in a sensitive spot along a build up of scar tissue – arising a hiss and a stumble and the unconscious pulse of his shifts within him threatening to come out. So he uses the stumble to his advantage – creating space – to get his mind under control to keep the creatures within his skin, reorienting himself in a small half circle around her as he figures out his next target.

Now, he knows he said fists, but he launches toward her, hoping to distract her with a fist to her side when in reality he’s settled his weight on his good leg, swinging out his less dominant leg to try and sweep her feet out from under her.

and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

“I’ve been training,” she emphasized with a light snicker, coiling and unfurling, quick and wicked – because some part of it was survival, and some part of it was pure amusement, that necessity of vehemence and violence.

And despite all that preparation, what she didn’t expect were his intertwined onslaughts. Watching and tracking his motions, she expected the fist to her side, ducking away from it, when his foot collided into her.

And promptly fell into the dirt, grass, and soil, sputtering out a fire-forged fury. “Verneuk fokker” came on a growl. And while he certainly wasn’t as bad as Loren had been (like when he’d simply snapped her leg with his stone golem), she’d definitely said fists. But that was all right, because payback could be a bitch.

So from this vantage point, she launched her leg directly towards his balls.

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury

SUNJATA

the flood

anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself

Oh, so he can tell that she has given the quick steps she takes. But it isn’t quick enough this time, his leg sweeping out and taking her down into the ground and there’s a grin that crosses his face as he hears the Korofi curse – something about it falling from her lips that screams distinctly Lusea, Slums, and underground fighting rings. There’s this other part of him that’s partially proud to have taught those words to Gaal’s kid, one that he’s sure would have Gaal rolling in his grave to hear. That wanna-be-royal prick.

But any pride quickly wears off, immediately, because he’s left himself open in quite possibly an awful way but he hadn’t expected her to go that dirty. Her foot comes up and there’s a brief second of a “wait—” that leaves him quite poorly timed while he attempts and fails to block because she doesn’t fucking wait and before he knows it pain sparks across his vision, blurring it for a second, radiating all over him and immediately drops him to the ground.

Nausea sparks in his gut and radiates in waves with the pain that soaks through his every pore and he’s barely quick enough to pull himself up and off tilt himself to the side to promptly vomit at the bottom staircase of the Last Steps. And there goes every idea of keeping his shifts away, because suddenly he’s covering himself in the thick plates of his dragon shift, protecting him while he’s down and he tries to catch his breath.

and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

Leave it to Sunjata to be dramatic.

Truth be told, Melita hadn’t considered her foot would properly connect with such vital parts. She’d figured natural instinct would ensure the Flood to protect the area; and the notions of waiting had come far too late. There was half a snort layered in her chest, and it died, faded, quickly as he sputtered, dropped, and vomited.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t cheat,” she said lamely from her spot still on the ground, watching him reel back into dragon adornments. It was too bad, really, because in any other moment she would’ve been proud to see him wilt into the dirt and soil at her actions. “Sorry,” she uttered thereafter though, because she hadn’t meant to cause him that much pain.

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury

SUNJATA

the flood

anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself

He might be sick again. It’s hard to tell. Her words are quite delayed in his mind as he focuses on what’s happening around him, letting his body coat itself in the thick dark plates, protecting him when he can’t entirely find it in him to protect himself further. Despite the fact he knows Melita and knows she wouldn’t attack him on the ground while they’re sparring like this.

The only thing that he does understand fully is the way she utters a quiet sorry, one that has him heaving over his lost breath from his lungs, one hand planted in the grass and dirt from where he’d gone down. “Its—” He begins, a pant leaving him as he winces again, “fine.” He manages, clearly trying to gesture the fact that he’s going to need a few seconds.

Or minutes, more likely. Though how many, he can’t tell.

and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

Melita wondered, vaguely, if anyone had ever simply crushed him in this way before. Instead of setting fire to his house or various properties, maybe they should’ve just kicked him in the balls and sent him scurrying downward. It seemed effective; rendering him nearly speechless, panting, and heaving, though maybe a bit too cruel. She couldn’t tell anymore – not when the wildfire youth knew the lengths she could be driven to, and edges she could be pushed upon.

So while he took his time, apparently shifting into some human-dragon hybrid thing, the youth rose back up, dusting herself off, eyeing Fangorn quietly while the vampire gourd seemed to be glaring at her. Uncertain what the withering stare could mean, and not yearning for the answer, she settled for glancing back at her uncle, waiting for the minutes and seconds to pass by before the inquiry seemed suitable. “Do you want to go again, or be done?”

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury

SUNJATA

the flood

anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself

Oh it’s incredibly effective. And typically? When he was in a true fight, he never left himself open like that. But this had been a spar and the most he’d done is sweep her feet out, the last thing he expected was to get retaliation in that form. So yeah, he’s brought down, he’s vomited, he’s managing to try and gain his composure again even if every part of him feels like it’s going to explode, like his skin is crawling.

Luckily that’s where the draconic plates come in, covering him from anything else. He answers her after some time and her question brings him out of the vibrating, reverberating pain again. “Gods,” comes a surprised laugh, half pained, half truly amused. “Think you fucked me up for a while, Mel.” He offers, looking a fraction green in the face again, but he manages to get his knees under him again, to draw himself up from the dirt, still bent over his knees with a half clawed dragon hand in the dirt when he goes to look up at her. “I’m going to need a few. I can’t tell if I’m going to be sick again.” He says through his heavy breaths, another shudder racing through his body.

He's not even sure if he can manage to walk just yet.

and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

She didn’t hide the sense of smug satisfaction at his words, a very light snicker crossing her features, but made sure it was pinpointed at the sky, at the stonework of steps, rather than directly at him. Thereafter though, when it seemed he was going to be needing some time to alter back into whatever, the youth brushed her hands together, glancing around until she found some old piece of wood to sit upon. “All right,” was some semblance of a haphazard acceptance, knowing full well she’d done the deed and now had to wait for the aftereffects to subside. Rather than digging her hands into the earth and making arrangements of mischief, she tilted her head, watching precariously – as a cat might survey prey.

She wasn't nurturing like her mother or sister had been. They would've offered him herbs and ministrations of how to counter-act the pain and assaults. Melita bided the moments instead. A careful altering of the subject made a beeline for her words, instead of an assortment of others she nearly pressed. “How’s Kamaria doing?”

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury

SUNJATA

the flood

anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself

He manages to haul himself up into a sitting position, though sweat beads at his temples and his face is a vibrant red from a combination of exertion and pain. Beneath the redness, it’s a mixture of pale and green, the uncertainty of his stomach still flip flopping as he tries to position himself in a way that makes it far more manageable, but struggling through it regardless.

After a moment, though, he doesn’t think he’s going to get sick again – and for good measure he spits out the taste in his mouth, reaching up to run a hand through sun bleached brown hair, before his gaze lands back on his niece. He recovers enough to not pant through the pain, instead, composing himself and swallowing hard. “She’s good.” He pauses, fiddling with a piece of grass beside his leg, plucking it from the earth to thread through his fingers. “It’s nearly her birthday. We plan to take her to Safrin to Attune her.” He offers quietly, a hint of pride coming with the thought, her birthday just a few weeks out at this point. “It’s all she’s been able to talk about.”

Then, tentatively, he lifts his gaze to her again. "What have you been up to?"

and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

Fangorn settled himself into her lap, for lack of anything better to do, and perhaps because she needed it. Her fingers toyed absentmindedly with his vines, playing them out then whisking them back in, as one might do with a small child. Though her gilded eyes weren’t pinpointed on her uncle, she listened carefully, pondering about things that might have been immersed in between. Kamaria being fine and well was decent enough, and the notions of Attunement prospering were intriguing, though Melita couldn’t imagine the girl going towards anyone else – Safrin would likely slay Sunjata on the spot otherwise. “That’s exciting,” she relented with a ghost of a smile. “Tell her I said congratulations.” Because she didn’t know where the youth was now – likely tucked away somewhere, out of the reach of many.

That the Flood asked what she’d been up to surprised her – any prior events had often been about him and his series of events and circumstances. Her brow furrowed after the initial shock, gaze resting back on the vampire gourd, who seemed to be grumbling low in warning. Most likely for herself. “Training and exploring here and there.” The results of the former had been obvious, based on the latest string of violence. “We’ll be sailing soon, I imagine.” But where to, she couldn’t be certain. Hadn’t been given any more of that news. “The Ark can fly now, so,” she shrugged; like this was a normal thing. It only gave credence to the opportunities of where they’d be sauntering and meandering off to next.

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury

SUNJATA

the flood

anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself

Melita’s comment of congratulating Kamaria has a smile managing to break through his pain, the nod of his head once he’s recovered. “I will. She’s been between the house and Torchline for school. She should be back in a few weeks.” A small break for her birthday and then back to the routine, then back when monsoon season starts. Which, honestly, is about the time that Melita should be sailing and he’s already told Jack where they were living in case he needed to drop by.

“Any good new places you’ve gone?” He asks curiously, letting his gaze rest on her – easier now than it had been when they’d first met here at the bottom of the Last Step. But as she continues, the comment has him quirking up, brows raised in confusion. “It flies?” He breathes the question, wondering how the fuck that happened. “How’d Jack manage that?”

and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell