Closed Practice Makes... Something

[Khida]

She blocked, and followed through with a slash from which he twisted away, the clang of metal against metal reverberating through air and bone almost like the peal of some great bell. What next? What would count?

Unlike her opponent, Khida had to think about her actions, in however abbreviated a manner; and that thought progressed much more slowly than his ingrained experience. A sharp tug on her spear brought the slim woman stumbling forward, off-balance in more ways than one, amber eyes blinking up at him from either side of the weapon's shaft.

Four words interspersed into the scant gap between them; then he shoved just as hard as he'd pulled, Khida sent staggering backwards one, two, three scrambling steps. The butt of her spear hit the ground again, her torso folded against the shaft, its bracing length the only reason she didn't topple outright. The thing was certainly proving its worth as more than just a stabbing point...

Come, the coyote-man said, when she at last lifted her head to regard him again. Come, when her bones seemed yet to rattle with the echoes of clashing weapons, of being pushed and shoved and knocked across the field. Her feet hurt; her thigh hurt more, and her chest yet twinged with each of the labored breaths that rasped so-loudly in her ears.

She did not want to move, to step forward, to reengage this man who would surely smash her away again, mark some other lasting impression into her flesh.

Instinct would have said flee, would have left this man staring into the air whole chimes past... yet that instinct, now, lay oddly silent.

She would not flee. She could not win, that had been made emphatically clear. But...

...maybe...

Exhaling a breath heavy with weariness, Khida folded herself down, falling to one knee. Like the doves who pretended at broken wings, she let fatigue consume most of her awareness, and in so doing also exude from her posture; it expressed itself in the weight of her bowed head and the slump of her shoulders, the way her spear tilted down, no longer serving as either brace or apparent hazard to anyone. Only the left hand retained its guiding grip on the spear; her right landed square upon the earth beside -- and just a little behind -- her dropped knee.

...she could do something unfair.

Parched, dusty earth yielded just enough to the flex of Khida's fingers. Bits of chaff came with it, sharper and more prickly than the fine-grained soil. Face screened by a drift of dark hair, Khida listened intently to the sounds the coyote-man made, squinted towards the blob of his feet at the edge of her view. She weighed the small distance between them, the man's greater height, the angle he faced...

...and surged upwards, spear jabbing up and out on her left, weakly aimed and not truly a credible threat, though it might startle. It was meant but to distract, while she cast her fistful of dust and chaff at his face with the right. Subsequently, that hand dropped to catch the tilting haft of her spear, swinging it through a forceful -- and aimed -- swipe at his knees. Afterwards, she would step back in an approximation of guard, buying herself a little space in which to once again evaluate what next.

Maybe he would hit the ground for once. That would be... more than satisfying.

Khida space Common | Pavi
other space Common | Pavi

[Konrad Venger]

Well, that's disappointing.

Those were the words that trundled easily through as Khida slumped down to her knees, like a supplicant before her priest. Maybe he'd misjudged her. No, there were no maybes about it: all fight had fled from the girl, and here he was, expecting so much more from a woman that looks tough as teak when he'd first observed her.

It look less than a chime to regret that.

"Still godda' lot t'learn, girl," he said, voice as smooth as wet grease as he sauntered on over to her, until his head and hat eclipsed Syna and cast shadows across her panting, bobbing head. "No' bad fer a first tim-"

Instinct was what saved his eyes. The spear jabbed out and Konrad was still hissing out the last syllable as his neck jerked back and took his head with it. The echo of it was still on the breeze when he raised his sword, determined to punish this tricksy bitch for-

Then his world went grey, gold, and painful. In that order.

"Shykin' godsdamn-"

Sand and grit and dirt were all clawing at his face, burning the afterimage of her sweeping arm into his brain. Rage and disbelief and embers of sheer, stunned pride were rattling through his head even as he started to back up quick, rubbing at his eyes as he spat curses.

He never finished them. Not before he lost a leg.

All Konrad could do was grunt as his left knee suddenly ceased to exist, and it crunched down onto the dirt. He was almost mirroring her pose from ticks ago: on one knees, kopis had stabbed into the dirt to steady himself, head bowed and tears streaming down his face, blinking uncertainly upward...

... into the face of a woman - not a girl - was who not tired, not spent, and not giving up.

There was silence for a while, broken by panting. Then there was a wet, gurgling thing that eventually cleared up into laughter. Konrad spat to his side and got back to his feet, flexing his knee and nodding his props, eyebrows shooting up to the top of his brow.

"That... That was better," he said, and there was no masculine mockery for the poor little female in there. Just honest approval. "Also means we up the game."

Metal thudded dully into the grass. His kopis was gone. Konrad cocked his head to one side like a bird of prey, not taking his gaze from her. Before he knew how to wield steel, before he collected blades and learned how to practice his profession with them, before he even knew what a knife was... he'd had his fists. Not to mention everything else he could bring to bear.

Konrad clenched his hands, and Khida would just about hear the knuckles crack as he did. Little pops, incongruous and tiny and somehow heraldic. As if some switch had been flipped in that scarred man's head; some light went out in his eyes, and replaced it with cold, inhuman intent.

"Think yer ready for the next-"

He moved. Fast. As in, not-sparring-fast.

Dashed in a handful of strides to her left, drawing her attention there and then-

-zagged rather than zigged to her right, keeping her of balance even as she made her move. No chance to back away or avoid him, and that was the idea. Forcing her into the paths he wanted, and he left but two open.

If she slashed at him, he would sway away from the blow, let the spear go past him, and then smack his forearm into the shaft below the steel head. Knock it further, harder, faster on it's way and then follow it up with a snapping three-knuckle punch to Khida's breastbone. Even then, he would be pulling it. Taking it easy... but she would still need a tick or ten to fill her lungs back up.

If she stabbed at him, tip and shaft all hurtling towards him, it would be a touch easier. His body would twist to the side, hips swiveling so he went from facing her to side-facing... and his arm closest to her would swing out with the same momentum, cracking her around the jaw, open-fisted.

At the end of either road, Konrad saw himself watching her catch her breath, cracking the vertebrae in his neck as he rolled his head from side to side. No words, anymore. No teachings, no wise words, no lessons. This was the lesson.

Unless she had something else, in which case... well, he'd get to that.

Such was the nature of a brawl, after all.

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself.

[Khida]

The man hit the ground, and oh, it was very satisfying to see. Not so satisfying as for Khida to relax, but there was a weary and fleeting triumph in the moment, and she savored it while that moment lasted.

He came up... different. It was a difference of degree, one the Kelvic could not have put easily to words, but a difference that made her hackles stand up and her posture tense. The look of a hunting eagle -- a hunting coyote -- rather than one whiling away the hours from a comfortable perch, keeping its eye in but feeling no great urgency to truly move.

He spoke. The words breezed past; their tone was positive, approving, but she cared less for what he said than how he held his hands, his feet, the carriage of his body. Words, at the end of the day, meant little; actions were the true expression of intent, and his intent had become... sharper.

Between one breath and the next, one word and the next, the man acted. He moved.

And that movement communicated only one certain thing: threat, plain and simple and unmistakable.

Fleet of foot, he darted one way, then another, narrowing potential avenues of retreat and presenting nothing so predictable as a target. The only prediction Khida could make was that she had no effective defense. She was weary, worn, and wielding a weapon she only barely knew how to use... against an attacker whose charge triggered every red alarm in her instincts. It was much like staring down a hunting cat's sprint through the grasses while already weakened, and in no way was the bird in her going to stand still for that.

Challenged, faced with a confrontation that no longer felt like training, the Kelvic reverted to her strength: as the man loomed all too near, she changed.

Human shape shattered into myriad points of light; reformed into a shape smaller, lighter, faster, and above all winged. The peregrine surged past her opopnent for the perceived safety of the sky, flurry of wingbeats blowing dust and grass-chaff about on their own small wind. Spear and vest and trousers alike all fell aside, abandoned to the shackles of earth.

She didn't try to attack the man, beyond -- perhaps -- the weaponized surprise of sudden wings near his face. All the bird wanted was away.

As it turned out, it also hurt to fly. What had been a twinge of chest muscles when she breathed, when she moved her arms, was greatly amplified in the force of each strong downbeat. Left to her own devices, the falcon would simply bank about and seek a perch on her Strider's yvas, gaining both the perceived comforts of high ground and figurative home ground while putting a wary, watchful eye on that man.

Khida space Common | Pavi
other space Common | Pavi

[Konrad Venger]

"Mother of Petching SHYKE-!"

Punches and counters and parries and clever tactics vanished in a blur of flapping feathers, and so did the bloody girl. Konrad's hard, ruthless smirk was banished in an instant, sheer, disbelieving shock taking its place, with all the donkey-arsed stupidity such a look denoted.

Looking back on it, Konrad wasn't too hard on himself. He'd never sparred with a bloody shifter before.

He was a mere swing of his arms away when the tall, defiant woman with brown eyes and a sweaty face just... disappeared. There was a blinding light, no, hundreds of them. Like a tornado had ripped through a candle factory and set thousands of them whirling and flying around, then shrunk down to maybe six feet tall. Konrad grunted and looked away, immediately thinking "magic", and despite his distaste, had to give the girl credit-

-until he refocused, and something a beak and a screech and mad little black eyes was flapping its wings into him.

"Godsshykegerrofbollocks-!"

In hindsight, Konrad figured it wasn't an attack, per se. He just happened to be in the space where those wings happened to be beating furiously, the bird - girl, it's also a sodding girl! - trying to get some speed and height. Of course, as far as the pain went, it didn't matter much.

More than one Drykas stopped to stare as the sparring session was ended by the unexpected expedient of one opponent changing... species. A chorus of low muttering went up as Konrad staggered back, arms up in a boxing stance and gods, he felt like a bloody idiot even as he threw his hands in front of his face. How much experience did he have fighting bloody hawks?

Or falcons or eagles or whatever the hell it is.

Breath coming out ragged, strain of the session beginning to show, instead he focused on the swift, circling, and sleek collection of bone and feathers coming to a smooth landing on the yvas of a Strider. The Drykas horse seemed... less than impressed. It turned around, gave a brief snuffle at the bird riding its back, and then went back to the grass.

The bird looked at him. He looked back, and then down at the fallen spear. Not to mention the clothes strewn around it.

The noise started slow. An echo. Something buried underground, hidden and without form. Then it got louder, signs visible to the eye in bobbing shoulders and parted lips, until finally-

The bird would blink and stare, as Konrad bent over, weary and exhausted and damned if he'd seen anything like this before, and croaked with ugly, honest laughter.

"A'right, I'll admit it," he said between breaths, finally getting his own back and straightening up. "Didnae see that'n comin'. Now, youse wanna say g'bye proper, or..." He reached down and picked up her vest, gesturing with it like a flag of surrender, bearing a smile that promised anything but. "Y'wanna fly off, little birdie?"

[Khida]

oocApologies for the extended delay here...

The falcon shifted her weight on the yvas handle that served as her perch, studying the man who stood before her.

He who laughed, bent over as though his body were hinged in the middle, amusement dry and rasping and shaking through the whole of his form.

At least that meant she could breathe, not precisely comfortably with the twinge in her chest, but her own tension ratcheting down a notch. The falcon's feathers remained fluffed, her gaze never straying from the man for all the time he laughed.

At last he straightened, his amusement brought under control. Her vest came up with him, tawny cloth flashing distraction in the vivid sunlight. He spoke, calling her down -- not in so many words, but the words were Common; reading between their lines came with almost absurd ease.

The words did not, however, put the bird at ease. They did not match his smile, curve of lips that bared more tooth than the Kelvic quite liked. That smile did not speak of peaceful exchanges and cordial farewells.

Unfair.

She might have left the field; that didn't mean she had forgotten the mantra of their bouts.

The falcon did not move; instead, her form shattered into light where it stood, Khida reacquiring her human skin. That got angled ears from Sephra, the horse shifting uneasily in place; but she settled back down once she'd reconfirmed the owner of all that weight now on her back, punctuating irritation with a few irritated swishes of her tail. Khida -- sideways on the yvas, the curve of her bow pressing uncomfortably into the back of her legs, not that anything was comfortable about sitting thus -- patted the Strider's neck consolingly, without ever removing her gaze from him.

"I think you just want to see if I'll come back into reach," Khida stated, forthright in her suspicions -- yet her voice held no rancor, no accusation. Even the signs her hands unthinkingly shaped -- caution, ambush -- inflected simple observations. It wasn't that she minded, really, not least because if he wanted to hold her things hostage, that was... not a problem whatsoever. But most of all, this was par for their interactions so far.

"I'm not good with a spear," she allowed. "Not --" What had been his phrase? "-- to your up the game." Not yet. "But I know hunters. You don't smile like you're saying goodbye." The Kelvic tipped her head slightly, not unlike the bird she also was. "You smile like you're hoping to do something unfair."

No blame there, either. No offense. But caution -- plenty of that.

Khida space Common | Pavi
other space Common | Pavi

[Konrad Venger]

If Konrad was offended, it certainly didn't show. The laughter tapered off, like a leaky bucket capped and sealed, but the smile remained. Not shaky or uncertain, or even confused, simply... amused. Honest words shorn or all pretense were flung his way and the Sunberthian had to admit, he liked how they sounded. If nothing else, they showed that-

"Yer learnin'. S'good."

He tossed the vest over into the patch of grass between him and the woman, perched on the back of her Strider like she was still a raptor, not a woman. A naked woman, he couldn't help but notice. So did every other passing Drykas, apparently, yet the article herself was completely untroubled. She made no effort to hide herself, simply studying the man across from her with the same intensity as he did.

His eyes traveled down. He couldn't help it. But when they traveled a little too low-

-his foot lashed out, and her breeches went fluttering to join her vest.

"Not sayin' yer wrong, by the way," he said, looking away briefly and pacing from side to side, feet taking long, languid steps that matched his easy mood. "S'parta' the lesson, too. Gotta stay on yer toes. Always..."

Steel sighed on leather. A silver grin against the grass as Syna captured the blade. Konrad didn't take his eyes off his fingernails, then brought up his kukri... and started to pick them. As he waited. And didn't watch. Made a point not to watch, in fact. Once she started to stir towards the heap of clothes, he would speak again... and there was little amusement in them that time.

"World ain't fair, girl." His gaze flickered to her. Reptilian where hers was avian. Distant cousins, equally predatory. "Somethin' everyone needs t'learn, sharpish."

Then he eyes would be back on his fingers, the tip of the curved blade picking flecks of dirt and grime from under them, but his attention would still be on her. Ears and nose and the periphery of his vision waiting for her to get closer, like a spider waiting on the trembling of its web. Eventually, she would close in. She had to, for even the Drykas weren't so liberal that they let anyone walk around naked, even shifters.

And what then?

Konrad's lips curled upwards, as if in thought. He honestly didn't know. Perhaps the blade. Perhaps his fists. Or boots.

Perhaps nothing.

[Khida]

The man tossed the vest, and kicked her trousers over after. His gaze wandered, but not in a way that foreboded action; she couldn't care less about just being looked at. But then, he didn't; he unsheathed his blade, turned his attention away.

Spoke, throughout, more words about being alert, about the unfairness of the world. In the lull now settled upon them, Khida had the luxury of wondering why. He seemed more interested in driving that lesson home than any actual use of weaponry. Of course the world wasn't fair. Fair happened between people who stood equally, or nearly so, whose interests were best-served by dealing in the long term. Merchants who wanted customers to return. Families seeking common ground, collaboration. Hunters who benefited more from partnership than competition. Everything else... everything that came down to a struggle for food, resources, survival... there was no fair.

It was curious, all this emphasis he put on unfairness.

He remained nonchalant, though something in the lines of his posture told Khida the brunt of the man's attention remained upon her. She was fine with that. If he did attack again, she'd simply shift and fly away, summoning Sephra to follow. But if he didn't, it would be nice to take her things with her -- nice not to have to go buy replacements.

Accordingly, the Kelvic slid down from her perch on the horse. She moved to retrieve her spear first, it being the most important (to her) of the various discarded things. Then the clothes. Just as he kept a watchful eye on her, so did she on him, alert to any move from him that might suggest a threat; but she wasn't concerned, wasn't afraid. If nothing else, the Kelvic remained fully assured she could leave whenever she saw fit.

"Why does it matter to you," she asked with her first steps into the grass, finally putting voice to that curiosity, "what people learn or don't learn?"

Khida space Common | Pavi
other space Common | Pavi

[Konrad Venger]

Konrad wasn't much for women, but he wasn't a bloody corpse, either. He couldn't help running an appreciative gaze over Khida as she padded over the grass, watchful and careful and gloriously unconcerned with the slack-jawed Drykas passing all around her. She got closer. Close enough for him to scent the musty, crackling, nameless odor on her skin. And when she bent down for her clothes...

... petch it.

He let her be. Watched her get dressed and listened to her speak. Slid the kukri back home without moving too quickly, not wanting to spook her a second time. It was a worthy question, if unexpected. The man scratched under the scraggly stubble covering his jaw and peered into Syna as if divining answers from the glare. Then his shoulders bobbed and he readjusted the hat on his head.

"Ain't no fun testin' yerself on someone don't know what they're doin'."

He paced as he spoke, head down as if studying the blades of grass for unseen patterns. It was rare he was questioned for something other than his chores, his scars, or... business. At the very thought Jonas' face leered into his mind, and he batted it away. Kept his mind on the moment, his eyes on the grass, until they looked up to Khida again.

"Y'don't get better at what y'do by goin' against people worse'n youse. I gotta be the one t'get 'em up there, so be it."

He wasn't just pacing: he was putting distance between them. He jutted his chin at the spear and opened his arms, as if displaying his chest, now darkened with sweat.

"Pick it up an' we'll go again. Might wanna change again, do dat... shifter thing, petch'ever's s'called. But you learn-" he stressed the word with a wry smile, twisted lip curling at the ruined corner "-this, girl: sometimes, when you run, what you lose when you run from is worse than takin' the beatin'. Eventually, y'gotta stand an' fight."

Dry, dead grass crinkled and crunched under his boots as his whole body seemed to roll and crackle. Muscles and tendons popping, bones resetting, a body going from jagged to smooth in one long motion. Limbering up. It never hurt. Once he was done, he shrugged again.

"Or youse can go. Don't matter t'me."

With that, he waited. Wondering how she'd come at him if she chose to stay, or how she'd bid him her farewell.

[Khida]

The man remained quiescent as Khida approached; he did not stir even as she fetched up her things, in those moments where one couldn't help but split attention. The only thing he did was put away his blade, sheathing it in a restrained motion, an action that eased a measure of the tension in her own shoulders. She retreated a handful of steps that opened distance between them once again. Not a great distance, but enough -- enough to breathe, to adjust her bundled clothes so they sat securely in the crook of her arm, and to spend time in the luxury of discourse.

He went on to stare at the heavens and earth as though they contained answers, or at least windows into the workings of his own mind. She waited; she had no difficulty in that. And in due time he replied, words parceled out between long strides that carried him nowhere in particular -- and then somewhere farther away, though not so far that she couldn't readily discern his words.

He spoke of challenge, in rather more words than one, and that Khida understood; yes, her free hand shaped unthinkingly. She might have signed more, but her hand stalled for lack of vocabulary; still, some measure of that understanding filtered through expression and posture.

What he said about running -- about that being worse than standing, sometimes -- that, the Kelvic did not understand. She heeded his words, tucked them away for further consideration, but did not comprehend the second message as she had the first.

The man stood there, arms spread wide under the bizarrely harsh winter sun. He stretched, flexed his joints, gave her the choice of fight or leave. She leaned her weight a bit more heavily into her spear and let his words hang on the air for a breath, but it didn't really take much thought for her to choose. That decision had been made already.

"I will get better with the spear," Khida said at last, regarding the man levelly across the span of dry grass which separated them. "Now, anyone is better than me. When I am better than some people, then we will go again."

When she, perhaps, had even a chance of standing firm. He was right about learning from challenges, but... what this challenge had become, she felt at a very visceral level to be too much for now.

Of course, that all presumed the man would even still be in Endrykas at that 'better' time. But if he wasn't, he wasn't.

Decision stated, Khida regarded the man for a moment longer, then tugged her vest free from the bundle and shrugged it over her shoulders. She didn't bother with the rest, not when the only task ahead of her was to return home. The space between her shoulderblades prickled to turn her back on the man, but Khida did it anyway, padding over to rejoin the horse waiting with her own infinite patience. A leap carried her into the yvas, where she took a moment to make sure her leg was clear of the attached shortbow before glancing back to the man in the grass.

Just in case further words needed to be said.

Khida space Common | Pavi
other space Common | Pavi

[Konrad Venger]

Disappointment flickered across the walahk's face for just a beat or two, though it mad have been hard to tell. If a face were a page, where feelings and thoughts could be read by those of literate eyes, then Konrad's was already marked, torn, marred, and wrinkled. Whatever he felt, though, Khida saw him shrug a tick or so later, looking around and finding his hat as she mounted herself back on her horse.

By the time he'd planted the black thing securely back on his head, she was looking down at him, paused in her expectancy.

The gnarled walahk gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but ah, yes, something else danced across that face made murky by scars. Some amusement, genuine and without much in the way of malice. He reached up and tugged briefly at the brim of the hat.

"Until that day."

An old farewell, spoken in a language new to him. With nothing else of use left to add, the man turned on his heel and walked away, hands still twitching for a brawl but his mind rapidly soothing them. There would be another time.

"And remember!" He said over his shoulder, holding up a warning finger, seemingly made of calluses and scar tissue. "Can't run forever, birdie..."

The breze kicked up, carrying over dry leaved and a drier chuckle to Khida, and then the sound was gone, and Konrad with it.