Roof, Tuesday dawn

[saltandammo.livejournal.com]

He had told Karal when he left that he was going to try more noon and less dawn rituals, but this time it felt important to follow the traditions.

Dean set up the small brazier, waiting until the sky had grown appreciably lighter before he started the ritual, the Karsite words rolling effortlessly off his tongue. He'd timed it just right, reaching the part where he lit a match and dropped it in the tinder just as the sun touched the horizon, it's greater light reflecting off the small one he'd created.

There was a metaphor there that he was probably meant to think about, but he put that aside from later. What mattered now was the familiar Presence surround him and the way It made it easier to let go of the things that had happened over the weekend. Feeling Vkandis like this left Dean as always humbled and awed and a little giddy. This time he could throw in another word as well: cleansed.

The Presence gradually faded back to the normal background level Dean was used to, but he stayed where he was, waiting for his fire to burn out and watching the sun rise on a new day, relishing in the peace he always felt after a ritual like this.

[ooc: establishy but open as roofs are]

The Gym, Tuesday morning

[minnesota-teen.livejournal.com]

The need to kick and punch was strong this morning, and given her skills in self-defense, Amber was attacking the punching bag with an innate sense of self-worth and justice, working up a quick sweat as she inhaled sharply and exhaled in short, quick huffs.

She was glad to be alone.

[It's a gym, so it's open.]

The Range - Girls With Guns [Tuesday afternoon]

[sorella-vecchia.livejournal.com]

Triela looked almost happy enough to be whistling merrily when she arrived to set up for club today. She wasn't the whistling sort, so of course she didn't actually whistle, but she still looked like she might bust out at any moment.

Usually her first order of business was normally to go through her gun cases, but today things were a bit different. Before anything else she hung up a poster. It was an extremely precisely drawn (if thoroughly boring) two-column affair. "Paint ball" and "Laser tag" were written neatly at the top with a line drawn between them and plenty of space under them.

"Write your name under whichever activity sounds more fun to you," she told people as they began to arrive.

Yep. Someone looked a bit smug.

Salle, Tuesday Afternoon

[bitchprince]

He'd now passed the point where his arm could in any way be used as an excuse not to train, at least if you weren't looking for one. Arthur wasn't looking for one, and so as soon as his classes were over he retreated to the salle, where he picked a workable practice blade.

Of course, there were other types of training he'd been slowly building back up into, but it was his ability with the sword he wanted to keep sharpest on. He whiled away most of his afternoon running drills, another in a long line of days waiting for the moment he could finally take the bloody bandage off.

It was helping him deal with the useless feeling quite admirably.

[[ open salle! ]]

Gym - after classes - 2/10, Tuesday

[new-to-liirness.livejournal.com]

Liir stared at the punching bag. The punching bag stared back at him.

He couldn't hit it, wouldn't hit it. What had it done to him, after all? Of course, it could take the hit, would feel nothing, would not be damaged even a scratch, but he couldn't find it in himself to just... hit it. No games, no lies, just aggression.

He'd tried once for Professor Deadpool's class and while practicing for Ino, but it'd always been slightly unnatural, against his grain. Like hitting himself, in a way. Wrong. He'd only really accomplished it by making it a game, thinking of it like a gooseball. But it'd come up again, talking to Dinah the other day, during class today, even to some extent talking to Professor Atreides about what he wanted to do, what he hoped to do.

So he was going to have to learn. He might have magic, might be learning how to use it, but the world didn't change by words alone. If anyone had taught him that, it was his mother.

Get angry, Thropp. Get mad. Snap. Lose it. Hit the bag like it's--like it's the Wizard!

But that just produced a glare, a formidable one to be sure, but a glare all the same. Ridiculous, when it was really just a punching bag.

Woman's anger. That's all you've got. Slow, cold, calculating woman's anger. Sarima would laugh at you.

She did laugh at me. Frequently. When she deigned to notice me.

There you go then.

And now he was talking to himself. Brilliant.

[open for later gym use or any throppishness you might require!]

Third floor common room, Tuesday night

[solo_sword]

Jaina seemed to be making it into the common rooms more often lately for some reason. Today it was because sitting in her room and trying to get work done had gotten boring, and she needed a change of scenery. So she'd brought her datapad with her and curled up in a chair, because she was a fun workaholic that way. She'd ordered pizza, but it was still sitting on the table untouched, and she'd left a random Spanish channel on for noise.

Sometimes you got bored hearing the same language all the time. Don't judge.


[SO. BORED.]