fandomhighdorms | The Salle, Monday Morning

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The Salle, Monday Morning

Not that Arthur would admit it, but yesterday had helped to calm him down from the state of introverted confusion he'd been in since Thursday. He was no longer showing signs of such, or at least nothing that was as easily, visibly sedate.

He was, however, very focused on his own swordwork that morning. He'd asked Merlin to ~~stand guard~~ come with him into the salle, but now that what bothered him worst had gotten out, he was free to focus on his movements to ward off the rest of it. Slowly, carefully, and with full concentration, he lapsed into familiar patterns that were as easy as breathing by now.

[[ open salle, but I'll be SP in bursts until the evening ]]

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"The weekend was fine," Arthur said, simply. In several ways, it had been, if you simply ignored the colossal breakdown that had inspired the parts of the weekend that had been fine. "Morning."

"You missed all the music on Saturday night," Dinah teased. "You're never going to find one modern piece of music you like if you don't explore a bit." She got into position and started her drill, slowly falling into the pattern again.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I get enough of your music with the squirrels every week," he said, "Pick up the pace a bit."

Dinah snickered, then did so, remembering that he'd wanted her to work on this at extra-speed this week, and how it'd stretched her. "There are still musicians that play stuff closer to medieval. Triela likes that stuff." Okay, not medieval. Still, close enough. First position, second, cut-slash-parry-faster-now-yes!

"And what a coincidence, I'm none too fond of music back home," Arthur pointed out, stalking around her as he mentioned a necessary change or two.

"How can you not like music?" Incomprehensible. Dinah made the changes, then corrected her footwork without being told, and moved into the second drill, block, block, burn in the muscles, high slash, straight cut.

"Because most of it is boring," Arthur said, indicating a spot where she'd left herself open without another word, "Or too bloody loud."

"You can turn it down," Dinah protested, correcting her arms and side, face creasing in concentration. "Sweeping indictment of a whole section of the arts...."

Keep breathing through this, awareness through this, use the other skills for fighting too.

That was a peculiar phrasing. "Have you been talking to Priestly too much?" he asked, squinting at her.

"I talk to Priestly a lot, he's in the play with me this semester, and one of my best friends," Dinah said, frowning at that tangent. "So there is no 'too much!'" Slash, spin, cut. She calmed a little, and said, "What, did he finally come by and talk to you about the Reserves?"

"I haven't spoken to Priestly in months." Thankfully. "Keep your mind with what you're doing, unless you're trying to dismember yourself."

"Oh." Calm again, and a little anxious. "Um. If he does come by the Reserves..." What? "Just, don't take it personally."

More concentration on the moves now, moving back into the headspace for practice and learning, not argument.

Don't take it personally?

"Dinah, it's Priestly," Arthur assured her, leaning back as he watched her work, "He's really not worth the effort of taking personally."

Dinah glared at him for that, but simply said, "That's not true." Slice. Careful cut, arms straight. Feet following along, like a dance. "He had questions I couldn't answer. Maybe you can." Cut. Downward slice. Block, block, block.

If Arthur took Priestly personally, their last few encounters would've been markably bloodier. "It's true," he said, "But if he has any questions, then by all means."

He made a grand gesture.

"Tell him to come bother me."

"I will," Dinah paused, guiltily remembering. "When he's... up for it."

Arthur paused in kind. "What, does he need time to work up the courage to talk to me?" Keep flaunting that tiny ego of yours, Arthur.

"Um. No. He's just... not himself at the moment," Dinah muttered, trying to distract Arthur by moving into the more aggressive drill.

Arthur's brow curved into a frown.

Then his mouth curved into something else. "What did he turn into, Dinah?"

Dinah's shoulders hunched, and her cheeks turned pink. Stupid euphemisms. "I didn't-- um." She moved into another block, step, slide. "No laughing at him to his face?" she tried.

Arthur considered that. "Only behind his back," he promised.

"Not on Radio!" Dinah quickly said, because maybe Arthur knew about podcasts now, and maybe he didn't, but no reason to be the one to give him the info if he wouldn't agree.

"Fine," Arthur said, with a roll of his eyes, "Not on radio. Now spit it out." He could use a laugh; he'd just die before he told anyone besides Merlin why.

"A chameleon," Dinah finally admitted. "A blue one. With red bits. It's a kind of lizard that can change its color and blend in with its surroundings." She pointed at him. "You promised!"

"A chameleon," Arthur repeated, and promptly cracked up.

If there were edges of desperation to the laughing, well, he figured he could trust her not to ask.

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