fandomhighdorms | The Salle, Monday Morning

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The Salle, Monday Morning

His bruises had faded to a point where he could train again, so Arthur was, as usual, back in the salle to go through his morning routine, and to deal with his regulars as they showed themselves.

He was choosing to ignore anything that may have gone on over the weekend (although he was messing about with his Blackberry in order to finally let Reno in on what had happened on Friday. It was a work in progress, but he'd managed to work it down to ensorclld alli and he had hope that with time, he could both finish the last word, and add the 'golden fish' part. It was possible it would be easier if he simply figured out how to leave a voice-mail-- he was quite an expert in the field if he wasn't, in fact, lucid and sober) and took a good training sword instead to give his aching muscles something to remember.

Just an ordinary Monday morning, all in all. He had a vague hope it might actually stay that way for once.

[[ open salle as per usual! ]]

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The tickle was getting more pronounced, more like a memory than anything else.

"That's what I'm here for."

She hoped she didn't sound flippant.

"Mm," he said. That was deliberately flippant, especially since on the next beat, he was striking his practice sword at her shoulder (or a location just slightly off her shoulder, but she didn't need to know that).

Fiona was untrained, but the sword sung to her as one of her feet slid back to give her a firmer stance. The blade went up and knocked the blow aside in a clean movement, her eyes on Arthur now, waiting for what else he might have.

For one thing, raised eyebrows.

For another, "Are you sure you're new to the sword? I can't teach you anything if I don't know where you're at."

For a third, he was not going to compliment her reaction time, because that point seemed moot in the face of the rest of it.

"I'm absolutely sure," she told him, only just holding back from rolling her eyes.

"I'd never touched a weapon of any kind, never even fought, before two months ago."

Huh.

He shot her another look of appraisal. "Very well," Arthur said, at last. "No sense in standing around, then. We'll start with stance."

His feet and arms found their way into one both easy and defensive.

She shifted to match. She didn't actually have to move too much. It all felt, well... natural. She wondered if she looked as surprised by that as Eliot had.

Our instruments, Uncle Aaron had said. It was seeming more and more accurate.

If she didn't have any experience, then she had a bloody good knack for it. Arthur wondered if she was lying to him, or it was just some kind of bizarre natural aptitude. "In this," he started, "We can ground ourselves to parry an attack..."

She nodded, listening to him in a way she hadn't previously. Now, he was instructor, as opposed to 'stupid boy who thinks he's better than everyone'. As such, he had her full attention and probably wouldn't get near as much lip.

Probably.

Whatever she was planning to do, she'd probably get equal or worse lip if she tried; Arthur didn't particularly care, as he began to talk her through the first defensive drill.

He liked to go on about footwork. It was a thing.

Probably very annoying that her footwork was relatively good, though she did take correction silently and with immediate obedience.

It was Arthur. Finding fault in everything was...

Something he had learned well from his father. He just didn't like to practice it as much. "--and that's our very base drill," he finished. "But the real work is done by repetition and discipline."

"Things aren't worth much if you don't work for them," she said with an attempt at flippancy. But the point was true enough and she'd learned her lesson there.

"I'm glad you understand as much," he replied. ...And in a way, Arthur was, because while he had been spoiled rotten in some areas, in others, things had to come very, very harshly.

Of course, that didn't keep him from sounding equally flippant.

"Some lessons come harsher than others," she said, her tone a blank slate. She twitched a smile before nodding to an open area.

"I'll just practice this now, shall I?"

"Yes," he said, "But I'll be keeping my eye on you."

Give it two rounds, and Arthur would be managing to find every scrap of anything he could possibly critique.

Her technique was clean, efficient, and smooth. Graceful, even.

Even her footwork.

She worked for what seemed like forever, her mind having absorbed the drill with startling quickness before she turned to look at Arthur.

"I'm starting to wonder if you're lying to me," he said, matter-of-factly.

Clean, efficient, smooth and graceful? Whatever. Arthur tilted his head at her, the slight crease of his brow the only hint that something was going on in there. "Too slow," he said at last. "Do it again."

She was very, very good, but that had never stopped his father any.

Good, she needed the pushing or she'd get smug.

"I'm not lying," she said, and there was just the smallest hint of a growl on there. It was obvious she was containing herself.

She did it again, faster.

"Of course you're not," he said, dryly. He was mostly containing the note of I'm impressed in his voice rather deliberately.

Getting her smug was definitely not part of the plan, and she was just getting started. "If you're done fumbling around, I'll show you another drill to take home for the day."

It'd taken Dinah two weeks or so. He wasn't going to comment.

Fumbling!

The rage welled up again but she resolutely pushed it down. Her stupid pride was not going to screw this up, not if she had anything to say about it. It wasn't going to screw it up and her rage was not going to control her.

"I'm done," she told him succinctly.

"Whenever you're ready."

"I'm always ready," he informed her, striding back into place.

To keep things interesting, he shifted up his posture a little, finding a middle ground between defensive and something more offensive.

More advanced than what he'd usually go for with a student. Call it an experiment.

She shifted to match him, eyes sharp and a little hard. She might not have said anything to the 'fumbling' comment, but it had struck home and she hadn't been able to let go of some of the anger yet.

"Same here," she told him quietly.

"Let's hope so," Arthur returned, simply. There was nothing quiet about that.

He tended to do determination well, even at the times he didn't actually feel it.

He launched into the drill at an average speed, towards the slow end of things, more violent than the base one he'd shown at first.

She grit her teeth and duplicated what he'd done at the same speed as he'd showed it to her then at the faster speed he'd demanded for the previous exercise. Her fingers itched to spin, to try her luck at attacking him in surprise to show him a thing or two, but she resolutely stuffed the desires away. She couldn't help putting a cutting edge on her blade by the end; there was nothing visible there, but the sound of it was different, the very air 'cut' as the practice sword moved as opposed to the sound of a dull blade.

She removed it as soon as she finished the exercise the second time, a little aggravated with herself now.

The Salle, Monday Morning

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