fandomhighdorms | The Salle, Monday Morning

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The Salle, Monday Morning

Sure, Dinah had cancelled her training for the day due to some trip or another, but ahaha if you thought that meant Arthur wasn't going to be in the salle that morning anyway, sword in hand, mail weighing him down enough to put some good strain on his muscles. He was making clear strikes with it again, stuck in a rather more advanced attacking drill.

Nothing upset or particularly upbeat about it. Just... moving.

[[ open salle as always ]]

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And, as per usual, Merlin was there. Fiddling with his phone. Because there was the internet on it and clearly there could be nothing wrong with him surfing the web for any sort of questions he may have.

Especially when it came to relationships.

Oh, Merlin.

If Arthur found out Merlin was trying to Dear Abby their thing, he was going to... well, he might pull a face, or crack up laughing, or accuse Merlin of having girlparts. Which he so obviously did. "Looking up new 'smileys' again?"

He did not!

"I might be," Merlin replied, not looking up from his important study of what appeared to be a lively debate on the gender of a very bizarrely dressed woman.

"Let me guess," Arthur said, craning his neck and glancing at him. "One's shaped like a butterfly? Flowers, perhaps?"

Elena couldn't remember the last time she'd fenced. She'd let herself get rusty. Well, she didn't often need to fence with someone, in her line of work. So.

She nodded politely to the boys already in the salle before examining the weapons, trying to select a blade. They would tell her if she was interrupting, wouldn't they?

Considering one of the two was Arthur, that would be a more than obvious assumption. But since she wasn't, and Arthur had just finished one of his drills, she simply got a nod in return, combined with a slight smile. Of encouragement. Or indulging, or something. "Morning."

It was more sort of recognising that she was there than anything else.

"Morning," she said, bowing her head again. It was a nod, but if he wanted to think it was a sign of respect, that was all right, too. "If I'm in the way ..."

There was an uncertain hand gesture accompanying that.

He was... more than happy to think it was a sign of respect, yes.

"Don't be ridiculous," Arthur said, in the proud tradition of being unable to say or do anything nice without prefacing it with an insult of some sort, "It's a big salle. Space for anyone who knows how to use a blade."

"I'm going to hope you're fairly generous with the term," she smiled, drawing one foil and turning it in her hand, considering the weight. "I haven't fenced in years."

Maybe it was like riding a bike, something you just picked up again after having been away for a long time.

Then again, Elena had never been all that great at bike-riding, either.

Oh, of course. "Ah," Arthur said, sliding smoothly back into the beginning stance of a new drill, "It's the oversized knitting needles you're interested in."

She laughed, at that. "It's what we learned with," she said. "We were taught fencing as though it was an art form. Lots of rules about proper forms of attack, right of way, areas you could and couldn't hit. Only the very tip of the blade counted, and you couldn't double-touch. The instructor was a bit full of himself."

She'd always found that a bit ridiculous. It was a military academy, and the instructor was droning on about sportsmanship.

"I'm sure it was a well enough sport, but no one's going to follow the rules in actual combat," Arthur informed her; it was in the last split second before he started to move, swift, efficient, and utterly controlled, every step preplanned.

"My point exactly," she agreed, putting the foil back and trying one of the épées, instead. "Someone jamming a sword into your chest won't stop and apologize for double-touches. I tried pointing that out, but I got written up for insubordination."

The épée had a much more pleasant swing to it, really. Heavier, and felt as though you could actually do damage.

"The first lesson," Arthur said, a while later as his motions had finally petered out, "That my knights learn is all about reaction time. Those needles," he gave the épée a nod, "Don't have enough of an edge to anticipate any sudden movements coming in from the side. If anything, that makes them a dangerous weapon for the one wielding it. No enemy worth his salt is going to wait for you to come running at his sword."

"I think it's dangerous," Elena said, putting the épée back with a frown. "Teaching people a set of rules, and giving them toy weapons. It might be good sport, but if you're going to set them loose in the world, they need to know what to do when someone really, honestly wants you dead, and doesn't give a damn about whether smashing a beer-bottle in your face is sporting."

Bartending in the slums sometimes meant breaking up fights. Ones between angry drunks with very little to lose. It had been far better training than waving a foil around.

"I can turn you into a toad, you know."

Arthur eyed him. "No, you won't."

This was, of course, why Arthur's first course of action in considering potential knights was smacking them in the face when they didn't expect it. ... Arthur may have sometimes been rather literal in his training methods.

"There are rules and forms to any weapon," he noted. "The trick is knowing when to drop them and surprise your enemy." Also see: watch for elbows to the face in armed combat with Arthur.

"I can see why you and Reno got on so well," she laughed, venturing over to where the actual swords were kept. "The martial arts instructor, now he got it. He'd stage interruptions for the middle of matches -- sirens going off, or the like. He said winning in a contained environment won't keep you alive on the street."

"Has Reno learned not to lapse into victory dances after dispatching an opponent yet?" Arthur checked, dryly. "Your instructor was right, though. Clean flourishes are meant for the tournament, not battle for your life."

"No, he's still got the victory dances," Elena said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Usually involving him humping the air or giving bloody corpses the finger. He makes sure they're dead first, though."

Otherwise, it'd be a pretty dangerous pastime. And while Reno liked danger, he liked getting the job done more.

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The Salle, Monday Morning

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