fandomhighdorms | Salle, Mid-Afternoon

Entry tags:

Salle, Mid-Afternoon

Kennedy had been looking forward to this for days, to put the matter in a low-key way, and she'd even kept her morning routine to a minimum (that was hard) to save up her energy. Sure, she'd had her share of spars and actual fights in the year she'd been in Fandom, but the last time she'd trained face-to-face with her Watcher had been at Christmas. Wesley... wasn't her Watcher, precisely, but hey, it worked. She'd already picked out the practice sword she'd be using for the match, but for now she was going through warmups with the SOLDIER sword Zack had given her for her birthday. Partly because it was huge and impressive-looking, and partly because she'd really like to be able to use it for more than five or ten minutes before her arms wanted to give out someday. Someday soon would be good. No, really. [[she's here for

wesleynotponcy, but hey, open for your own mid-afternoon salle needs or if you wanna hang out.]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Wesley arrived at the salle a little wearily, because he'd spent the previous evening there doing a spar with Percy and had ended up getting a little bit banged-up during the whole process. There were bruises. Thanks a lot, Percy. Still, he said he'd do this training thing, so he would. Sleepily.

"Hello," he said, stifling a yawn as he walked in. Oh, this would be good.

"Yo, Wesley." Kennedy wished she could have paused mid-routine, holding that giant sword overhead, but that would've ended in badness so she finished the move and set the sword carefully point-down on the floor instead. "I see you brought your A game today."

Oh, yeah, this was off to a great start already.

Taking a stab at what that meant, he offered, "As did you. That's - that's some blade you have there."

He tried to imagine what Buffy or Faith's reaction would have been if he'd asked them to train with one of those. Not agreeable, certainly.

"Isn't it?" Kennedy asked, smirking. Oh, god, her shoulders were starting to hate her for this already. "Pretty sweet birthday present, huh?"

She probably could have reassured him that she had no intention of actually using that sword for the match, but what fun would that be?

"I'm always on my A game," she said instead, breezily. "You ready to bring it?"

It was probably for the best if her shoulders were hurting, because Wes wasn't exactly in perfect condition either. That was the last time he was sparring with anyone he wasn't sure he could beat, that's for sure. Well. Probably not. But he pretended like it was anyway.

"Certainly," he said. Then looked down at the sword he'd brought with him. "Though I very much doubt that this will hold up against - er - that."

Now would be a good time to mention you weren't using the SOLDIER sword, Kennedy. Now would be good.

"Probably not," she agreed-- no, probably not if someone who actually had the strength to use it effectively were wielding it. Or if she made with the breaky by accident.

...okay, okay.

"Which is why," she went on, moving to one side of the salle to sheath the giant blade reverently and pick up the much less intimidating (translation: one she could actually use for more than a few minutes at a time) longsword she'd chosen earlier, "I'm using this one instead."

God, it was fun being a pain in the ass sometimes.

"That seems much more reasonable," he said, relieved. Then: "Though it says quite a lot for you that you can wield a blade of that nature effectively," he added generously. There was something in the Watchers' Handbook about praising people that just popped into his head. Seemed like it was worth a shot. Even though he was a little bit skeptical about the "effective" part.

Kennedy was really, really torn between continuing to let on that she was a badass with that huge chunk of metal and admitting the truth. Because it was tempting-- but she really did want to get better.

"Effectively, yeah, that's the thing," she admitted, after a momentary pleased look at the praise. "I'm shooting for that but I'm sorta not there yet. Just working on it."

As the way she rolled her shoulders to work out any beginning of a cramp might indicate, yes.

Hmm. Well, yay wanting to get better! "That's admirable," he said, figuring positivity would work in this situation. "If you'd like to become more accustomed to its weight, I'd reccomend arm exercises. You might even lift as though you were lifting weights, in sets of repetitions. Build up from lighter things, of course. But if you practice that way for a month or so, you'll likely develop the necessary arm strength to use it effectively."

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the sword.

[[oh my gosh it's hilarious how little i know about lifting weights. just pretend that was right.]]

Kennedy gave him an aggrieved look. "Been doing that, yeah." What, like she didn't know already? Okay, okay, so there was the whole part where she was impatient, and that was tripping her up.

"Go for it," she added, "just be nice to it? I'm pretty attached to that one."

Not literally. Thank God.

Hmph. Well. Why she had asked Wes for training, he had no idea, if she apparently knew everything, but okay. He picked up the sword (which, yes, was heavy, but he could manage) and looked it over, rattling off some statistics about it as he did so.

After re-sheathing it and setting it back down, he offered, "I have - er - I have a book of arm exercises you might try. They're quite strenuous, largely endurance-based, but if you're looking to expedite the process of familiarizing yourself with the sword, that might be one suggestion."

"Oooh, Watcher-y knowledge? Hit me," she replied, only a tiny bit snarky this time. Hey, it wasn't 'you have no business trying to swing that around,' so she was on board. (She'd half been expecting that.)

"So-- you want to do this thing?"

Yeah, Wes hadn't really had a whole lot of luck with the you-have-no-business-trying-this-or-that approach back in Sunnydale, so he figured there was no reason he should try it here.

"Certainly," he said. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

Please not a spar, please not a spar...

"Well..." Kennedy twitched the blade of the sword in her hand, looked pointedly at it, looked inquisitively at Wes. "I was thinking it'd be a one-on-one sort of deal and all."

Er. Sorry about that, Wes.

That's okay, it probably won't be the last time he gets beat up this week! Um. Anyway.

"That sounds agreeable," he lied, doing a... well, a decent job of masking his disappointment. "Though I wonder if you'd be so kind as to avoid kneeing me in the nose? It's just that my spar yesterday ended with that, and I was rather hoping to avoid having that happening again."

"Ow," Kennedy said in a moment of sympathy. "Yeah, I'm a big fan of intact noses."

Also he was sufficiently taller than her that kneeing him in the nose would take a pretty calculated set of moves on her part anyway. Which, sad to say, she was actually thinking about right now.

...not so she could do it though, sheesh!

"No nose trauma, promise."

"Excellent. Well, in that case, shall we get started?"

He was, actually, pretty excited for this. Especially since the nose was off-limits. But more 'cause training ~~Slayers~~ Potential Slayers was kind of his job, and he never thought he was going to get another shot at that. So - yeah. Excited. He unsheathed his sword and lay the scabbard neatly against the wall. Damn, this was gonna be fun.

[[I'm like half-asleep right now, so resume tomorrow?]]

Kennedy grinned and raised her blade in a jaunty, if not entirely sincere, salute.

"Only been waiting for it for days now, Watcher Junior."

She'd barely finished saying it before she was twitching the blade, looking for a good angle of attack. (Starting out with a defensive stance was for other people, okay.)

Oh, god. He did not want that nickname to stick. Not at all.

But yeah, he'd go ahead and let Kennedy start this off, dropping into a defensive stance.

Karla still hadn't heard anything from Portalocity or Kaeleer, so she had a lot of nervous energy to burn. Rather than have it manifest in bitchiness--as nerves so often did for her--she decided to head to the salle for a little while and work some of it off.

Making sure she wasn't in anyone's way, she called in her Eyrien sticks. If she had her way, she was going to drill until she dropped. If nothing else, all this practice would keep Lucivar from making snide comments about her form when she went home.

Kennedy looked over at one point in her own exercises, just watching for a few moments before finally calling, "Karla. What's with the super-focus?"

Pot, kettle, Kennedy. Like you didn't do that all the time.

Karla finished up her current set of drills before responding. "Just blowing off some steam," she said, wiping off her forehead. "I got some bad news from home and there's nothing I can do right now except wait."

She started into the drills again, giving her swings a bit of extra viciousness. "I'm not very good at waiting."

Shocking, really.

"Right there with you," Kennedy assured her. Waiting sucked. "How bad is bad?"

"Well, according to my bastard uncle--" swish, smack, thud! "--I'm dead. Deceased. Passed on. No more!" Each phrase was punctuated with a sharp thrust of her sticks. "Ceased to be. I am an ex-Karla!"

"What, is he stupid?" Kennedy asked, eyebrow twitching a little higher with every, uh, thrust. "Or just being a jackass? Or both. It can be both, right?"

"He's both, oh yes," Karla growled. "But whoever's idea this was is bloody brilliant. Telling everyone in Glacia that I'm dead does nothing but cause me problems while solidifying his position. As Chief Jackass!"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Salle, Mid-Afternoon

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject