The Salle, Sunday Morning

[nottrivial]

Training early in the mornings wasn't new to Alec, especially now that he was used to the salle and starting to appreciate the relatively simplistic layout of it -- especially its lack of the Institute's high support beams for practicing balancing and flips, which had only ever made him fret about someone's safety cord snapping in the middle of training. He wasn't really much for those acrobatics anyway.

Since his bow had gotten a lot of use lately, today he was changing it up and practicing with seraph blades. He had three on him, each one dull and inert in his left hand as he assumed a fighting stance across from a target, steadying himself. Then he took one in his right hand, gave its name -- "Camael--" and as the blade extended and flames sprung up around it, making it glow, he hurled it at the target, where it landed cleanly in the right shoulder.

Not bad. He'd been aiming for the neck, though.

Time to try again.

[[open like a salle on a boring sunday!]]