[Knirin Gardens] First Days are Always the Hardest (Closed)

[Aren]

Aren let her twist, with a smile. It hurt, he had to admit, but pain was not a warrior's enemy. It was the currency with which two combatants paid for each other's services. Using his leg to sweep Meera's feet out from under her, the akalak used his uninjured arm to force the girl to the ground. Of course, she still had her hand on the arrow lodged in his forearm, but she could keep it there, if it made her feel better. "Now what?" he asked softly, pressing his entire body weight on her squirming figure, and pinning her free arm with his. "You can keep twisting, if you want, but it won't change the fact that I could kill you from this very spot, if I was so inclined. It also won't change the fact that I could have killed you a half a dozen times since we began," Aren said, knowing Meera would count her arrow in his arm as a victory. "And yet..." he grinned, pressing his face close to her's, half expecting the drykas to bite, "...I never stood a chance." The truth was, Aren had lost. He couldn't bring himself to really hurt her. Seeing her tumble through the air after that blast of wind, seeing her hit the ground in pain... he had been just a little slower after that. He was prepared for the fight, but he simply wasn't ready for it. The akalak was the superior fighter, but his opponent had a trick up her sleeve that he simply couldn't counter: she was Meera. He hoped that the drykas understood what he meant when he said she wasn't ready, that she couldn't be ready, because even she didn't know how she would react when the moment to kill him came. Still, Meera had done better than Aren expected. She could at least hurt him without hesitation. That was good, he supposed, if a little disturbing.

[Meera]

Like before, Meera ignored Aren's words. They were his weapon and his defence, and his words would not hurt her. Her hand still on the arrow, Aren over top, she stilled her body, noticing how he hadn't made his move yet to strike a blow. He leaned his face close, possibly hoping to kiss her. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of conceding in such a manner. Meera would surrender when all the blood left her body.

But yet Aren remained close, her arm pinned and her body completely dwarfed under his. It was Meera's opening.

Osri was gone far behind him and she had no way of getting it. Her legs twisted and she managed to free one, using it to help gain leverage to push herself off the ground, to roll him. Her bad hand held the arrow as tight as she could, twisting the wound deeper, wider. Blood was pooling against her arm and shoulder, seeping into her long braid. Her mouth was a thin pink line against the tanned backdrop of her face, her eyes were set into a determined gaze as she pushed off the ground, similtaneously ripping the arrow from his arm. Once it was free, she know had another weapon. The blade of the arrow was soaked in his blood and it splattered across her face, dotting red across her cheek and nose.

Once she rolled and managed to get on top of him she took hold of the shaft with both hands, threatening to make her kill by stabbing it directly through his neck.

She could kill him, and she could kill him now.

"Said I would destroy you." Her determined eyes softened, realizing the fight had left Aren about a touch too late. To drive her point home, she stabbed the arrow anyways. She twisted her body on top of him, aiming to stab just beside his face. It was then that she climbed off him, the back of her hand smearing the blood off his cheek.

[Aren]

Aren just lay there on the ground, arm bleeding heavily, and a few droplets of blood sliding down his cheek. He just stared at the sky, his body absent movement, his voice absent sound. After a few seconds of looking like he was already dead, however, he got to his feet, dusting himself off with both arms as if there wasn't a gaping hole in one of them. After wiping his injured arm off with his opposite hand, Aren pressed a finger against either side of the wound, a sizzling sound following the action. There was no grimace, no clenched jaw, only the smell of burning flesh. "Next time... finish the job," the akalak said, knowing that if they ever fought like this again, it wouldn't be him doing the fighting, and Meera certainly wouldn't be getting the chances she got this time around. After a moment, however, he smiled, his seriousness seeming to evaporate, "Tomorrow, we'll start trying to educate you on the finer points of fighting with some intelligence," Aren teased, as he flexed his injured arm, but he wasn't joking. She had no sense of her opponent's intentions, and performed too many wasteful actions as a result. In addition, she carried a sword and a dagger she didn't really know how to use, so they were just more weight to slow her down. He couldn't really help her with that though, except to give her some advice. "That sword is slowing you down, you should get rid of it," Aren suggested. The dagger, at least, was light, and it was better than an arrow in close combat.

[Meera]

Meera had already found Osri by the time Aren stood. She held it in her hand, finding her loose arrows to collect and it would appear to any outsider that the blonde was wandering aimlessly amidst the garden. She heard the faint sizzle as she wandered closer to Aren and the Drykas had to wonder why he never offered such healing to herself, if he was so guilt-stricken by her injury. She bit her lip at the thought, obviously displeased.

At Aren's jest that she finish the job Meera stopped her wandering and held her dagger up for him to see.
"You want I finish now?" She growled across their small distance, threatening him in her rush of adrenaline. Meera was confused about a great many things. If she was supposed to fight him... Aren made it sound as though she would be fighting for her life, and she couldn't particularly fathom why she would need to do that. But the Akalak was right about one thing: Meera wasn't smart when it came to fighting. The scars on her arm was testament to that. As far as the sword went, Meera agreed with him as well, but she had purchased it in hopes of learning how to use it. She couldn't learn unless she tried.

"Your scythe is slow. You get rid of it. Maybe next time you do better against great and powerful Meera." She said gruffly, only to hide the fact that she knew she lost.

"If you could kill me dozen times over, why did you not? What... What is point of all this?" Meera questioned, her voice sounding pissed and her arms outstretched, both hands holding weapons as she walked back to him to collect her belongings. Aren had been acting so strange lately. She didn't even know where he had slept, if he had slept at all. He had put her to bed which seemed now his custom, and was not there when she woke. Was there something so repulsive about her that disgusted him? Was the Drykas too feminine now, or not feminine enough still? She remembered he had said it was best for her to just be Meera. What if being Meera was best for her, and not for him?
She bristled as though a chilled air breezed past.

[Aren]

Aren noticed the face Meera made when he cauterized his wound, "This isn't some kind of healing spell and it isn't the ideal way to deal with injuries, but it will do for small ones," he said, trying to explain why it wasn't something you wanted to be throwing about recklessly. The truth, however, was that the heat would burn and mar the flesh. Using this on the drykas would mean causing her pain and leaving unsightly marks on her skin, so Aren wasn't inclined to ever do such a thing unless the wound was life threatening. Perhaps it seemed silly, but his mother hadn't particularly liked the scars on her body, and he would not willingly cause some on any woman, much less Meera. "Even the best teacher cannot educate a corpse," the akalak joked, replying to her question as to why he hadn't killed her. A spar was obviously not a battle to the death, so he didn't think that required an answer, but he supposed Meera was not very familiar with the concept. "You said you didn't want to be weak anymore, didn't you? Today was just... an assessment of your skills, training starts tomorrow," Aren said, carefully, knowing that she wasn't entirely convinced by this argument. It was the truth, in a matter of speaking. He did want her to be strong, it was just that he wanted to make her strong against a very particular foe. What she learned would still help in other situations, of course, but that wasn't the point. Maybe if he told her why he was doing this it would make the whole process easier, but Aren couldn't bring himself to give voice to his darkest of demons. The akalak approached her, sensing something from the young drykas. He could see, behind her eyes, that something was bothering her. If she remembered anything about last night, could she have any doubts about Aren's feelings for her? He had told her that all she needed to do for him was just be her. What else could he say? Maybe that he loved her, but he had tried that, and the words had failed to escape his throat. Aren couldn't bring himself to complete the sentence, knowing that he was keeping a part of himself hidden from her. He simply could not be that much of a hypocrite.

[Meera]

"You sound as if you are sure your scythe would hit. Next time we fight, do not do me any favour. Said I would destroy. I mean to." Her voice was serious, but lifted into almost playfulness as she began to jest. How could Meera run so hot and cold? He had not torn down her walls, she had lowered her defences herself, and yet she still she could not, did not trust him. She couldn't put her finger on why, but assumed that it was due largely in part that she had never trusted anyone as much as she had Aren, and was just waiting for the hammer to fall. Her lack of trust would be better described as anxiety, she decided.

"I would like it you did not throw yourself away. Very much like it." She commented on his magic. It was spoken without much of a tone or inflection to suggest herself mad or in jest. It was said blankly, like much of Meera's words. The Drykas approached the rest of her belongings, restocking her quiver as she did so. Finally, she was simply a step from Aren then, and left wondering what was next.

"If training begins tomorrow, what else for today? More 'assessment' of skills?" She had little idea to the word she repeated him, but knew herself much to proud to ask. At this point she would rather feign her knowledge than admit herself weak in yet another area - especially to Aren, regardless how well he knew her lack of Common. If he wanted to use a gold-miza-word, she would not stop him. In fact, she encouraged it. She could only be as good as her teacher.

[Aren]

Aren glanced at the scythe strapped to his back, "This weapon is to be used only in battle, it's sole purpose to bring death to those that stand before me," he said, plucking his father's words from his memory. The akalak smiled, but did not refute the statement. In this, he was in complete agreement with his father, the man who had taught how to properly wield the weapon. Of course, just because Aren drew his scythe didn't mean that he was going to try and kill his enemy, but it meant it was a possibility. As such, it was something that Meera was not very likely to see during the course of their training together. "It comes back," he replied, with a bit of a laugh. When he taught her how reimancy worked, perhaps she would stop worrying about his use of magic. Then again, knowing the truth would probably just make her worry more. "No. No more assessments. For the rest of today, we can do whatever you want," the akalak's eyes softened on Meera for a second, before he suddenly averted his gaze, "Uh, not that you have to include me in what you're going t- I mean..." he tried to stammer something out, but the loss of blood was getting to him (or so he told himself). Aren's eyes kissed the ground, as he remembered that she had bought a dress that she wanted him to see. He would have liked to see her in it, he thought for a second, looking rather sheepish.

[Meera]

Aren seemed to think the day he pulled his scythe on her would be the day she would die. She could have laughed then, but wondered if it was a possibility. At that thought again she laughed, and laughed aloud.
"Sorry. Thought of you trying to kill me is funny. Because would never happen. Already said I would destroy you and I cannot destroy you if I am cut down like weed." She smirked, finding the whole situation quite humourous despite Aren's somber tone.

He may have tried to comfort Meera on his use of magic, but it did not prove that successful. He wouldn't tell her he'd refrain from it, and so Meera took it as a slight against herself. She wasn't a fan of the feeling she got from it, hard to describe as it was, but the best she could sum up was a feeling of insignificance. The foolish child felt that he had all but said that what she wanted was of no consequence to him, and so Meera hatched a small plan: she would wear the dress and act flippantly in passive aggressive behaviour and shamelessly flirt in front of Aren. Especially since he didn't seem to be wanted in her plans, the way he backtracked his words to say that he didn't need to be included.

It felt like she had been kicked in the chest by Darksand - something that had actually happened once. How could Aren say that he did not need to be included in her plans? She thought, her eyes almost wincing with the cut he gave her.

No matter what Aren and Meera did or did not do, some form of washing would be required.
"I am going to wash you off my neck." she said to him, almost breathy from the wind being knocked from her sails. As she spoke the word her bad hand touched the left side of her neck delicately and brushed against her clavicle with the tiniest touch of fingertips. Meera let her hand fall along the inside of her arm before holding her left elbow.
"Maybe I wear dress and go to sweet shop," A fake smile curved her lips, "finally try those Cut Heads."

[Aren]

"I suppose you have a point," Aren ceded, with a smirk. She was completely right, and yet still completely wrong, all at the same time. He couldn't dream of killing Meera, or bring himself to hurt her, even for her own benefit. If nothing else, today was proof of that. Unfortunately, his Other did not share the same compunction, and was probably itching to get at her throat by now. Seros was... not a happy person. Being Aren's opposite, he was everything his brother was not. Where one was incapable of harming another living creature without a damn good reason, the other was a sadistic maniac who enjoyed violence, even craved it. And so, where one cared for Meera, the other couldn't help but hate her. Aren was not perfect, so he knew Seros couldn't be all bad, but the former had never borne witness to one of these redeeming characteristic his brother was supposed to have. He was a deceptive, manipulative bastard who couldn't be counted on to tell the truth if his life depended on it, and was capable of doing anything just to satisfy his own boredom. If you met him in a dark alley, you were just as likely to be deprived of your life as of your sanity, but you certainly weren't going to walk away with both. Once, Aren made the mistake of asking him why he was a such a complete and total bastard. His reply was to ask Aren why he was such a whiny, little bitch. Thinking about it, they both realized that was just who they were, and there was nothing either one could do about it. In truth, it was one of the few times they ever agreed on anything. As Meera rubbed her neck, Aren's thoughts were returned to her, but his gaze visibly retreated from the sight, his jaw clenching at the knowledge that he had done that. In so doing, however, he had learned that he could not bring himself to do it again. He knew that, no matter the reason, his body would not move to such a purpose again. "But she can hurt you," Seros stated, almost proudly, almost like he saw a kindred spirit in the drykas. Perhaps she wasn't so bad, after all. "Thank Wysar for that," Aren blurted out, absentmindedly, knowing that despite Seros' approval, his darker side was now all the more inclined to have his chance to play with her. Problem was, he always broke his toys when he was bored of them. "I mean-" the akalak tried to recover from his slip, "I'm sure that you'll look... like you always do, beautiful," Aren was readjusting from his misplaced words, but he meant every word he said. "I don't think I can imagine you looking like anything else," he added, his eyes undimmed by the shadow of doubt.

[Meera]

She looked incredulously at Aren, surprised by his outburst that he would thank his god that she would wear a dress. Her hand released her elbow and her fists fell to her hips as her eyes were wide, her mouth agape in a laughing smile.

"Wanted me in dress, could have said so." Her stance relaxed and she slouched, turning from him. Was that what she interpreted wrongly from Aren? She had noticed some oddity in his behaviour and she didn't know what that meant. It was natural for her walls to creep up around her. Apparently he just wished to see her in a dress, which could be easily accomplished, especially now that she had one.

"I will wash up in room and dress. What room are you in, I will meet you." Meera began to turn, having her bundle of weapons in hand. Her braid swayed as she started to walk back to the Inn, her steps slow. The Drykas found herself a few feet from Aren when she turned back, waiting for him to answer and to follow her.