goneawayworld | spar log!

[she's never seen anything like that. she's just struck genuinely dumb.]

[her feet only sort of consciously move her closer, against all sense and sanity, unable to look away from this vulgar spectacle.]

[that could kill someone, and not decently.]

[it's not that Setsuna's never fought for her life, never fought knowing that winning might mean she has to take someone else's life, it's just that she's the sort of person who's grown attached to the idea that she doesn't have to, and that she'd rather fight to the pain or the resolution than ever to the death, or the horrible maiming.]

[that is a weapon, and a use of it, where its purpose begins at maiming, at best, and where dying to it looks like it would be a mercy.]

[she's horrified. just what kind of use would Jorgmund have for something like that? is that what she has to come to terms with, to have any hope of passing as someone who can accept what they're proposing?]

[if it is, she can't afford to look away, can she?]

[Guts takes a few steps backwards, getting closer, too focused on what's ahead to particularly notice the girl behind him. While she was concerned with the unfortunate consequences of the metal slab cleaving flesh, he was counting the swings. How many enemies could he cut down before his arms gave out on him?

It's a test of himself as well as the sword. It's been good while since his last major battle, giving him precious time to recover. Even then, the exertion leaves him sweating and carefully monitoring his breaths. Curse it all - as well as he'd been healed, his body just isn't the same as it was years ago. All the heavy beatings he put himself through were starting to catch up with him. Will he have enough left in him to make it through yet another journey? Frustration seeps into those swings, becoming a less technique and more simple emotional outlet. He focuses on bringing that heap of metal down with all his might.

All these thoughts are interrupted when he catches someone out of the corner of his eye mid-swing. What he intends to be one wide horizontal sweep has its trajectory altered through grit teeth. Diagonally it cuts, the very tip sweeping way too close to the girl's head for comfort. It takes a tremendous effort to halt the thing's momentum once it starts, but he manages, keeping it pointed up and away.]

Hey - !

[ The blade remains hovering in place.]

You got a death wish or something? Get away from here.

[she doesn't realize how close she's walked - much less consider what's compelling her to step that close - until the hollow whistle of the large slab that only barely merits the label of "blade" comes within shrieking distance of her face, far faster than she could have dodged it without being braced for just that.]

[she dodges anyway, too late to have saved herself if he hadn't stopped his own swing before she even registered what was happening, reflexes nonetheless flinging her to the side and down in a curled-up cartwheel, eyes suddenly blown wide in adrenaline-pumping panic.]

I - [she fumbles.] I - what is that thing?!

It's a sword.

[Guts says this as if there's nothing odd about smacking invisible demons with a thing that has more in common with a construction beam than a sword. For him, its just an extra chunky weapon in his hand that he uses to kill stuff with. His favorite chunky weapon, in fact.]

I hack up enemies, remember?

[He isn't actually sure if this girl saw the message he spat out onto that network post. He just sort of spoke at the device and assumed every New Hire could hear him.]

Not any kind of sword I've ever seen!

[she manages to pull herself together enough to stand up relatively straight, again, slowly getting her breathing under control till she's only taking in a ragged inhale slowly, instead of rapidly.]

What are you talking about?!

[Guess she didn't see it...]

Nevermind. Just stay the hell away.

[Perhaps his tone is a bit rough when he says it, but it's out of concern more than anything else. Even if his face is creased with more aggression than worry.

Whether or not Jorgmund would punish him for it, Guts wouldn't be able to forgive himself if the hit landed from his own carelessness. Too close. ]

[rrrgh. she isn't even sure why that gets her hackles up - fear and feeling condescended to are not emotions strange to her but they're also not emotions she enjoys reacting to, either, and she's spent a lot of time trying to marshal the way she was encouraged to respond to them.]

[she is also in a strange place filled with a bunch of reasons why she's not really able to keep up all those happy thoughts and friendships that remind her people are basically good and she is also basically good and can resolve problems kindly.]

[though - he stopped his swing, before she could protect herself from him. she noticed it. maybe he thinks she didn't. maybe he thinks she shouldn't have noticed.]

[that makes her come to a decision, somewhere between the two warring sensations jackhammering in her chest, and she grits her teeth and huffs, and then takes a step closer, eyes hard and determined.]

You don't scare me. Do you even know how to fight someone without that - 'sword'?

...

[Not too long ago, Guts would have said something rather cruel as a response to that. Really sink in the fact that he wasn't looking for company, much less like this. Her insistence was particularly frustrating, considering she almost got her damn head cut off. Luckily, he has learned a bit of patience since those days.

Still, he doesn't need to prove his fighting prowess to anybody. If she wants to fight him, she should go ahead and say so.]

There a problem you have with me? If you're going to keep getting in the way, I'm movin' somewhere else.

[she sucks in a breath. maybe she does have a problem, indeed.]

Why? So you can keep practicing alone? Do you think you can swing that sword of yours forever?

It's worked well enough so far. Don't see why not.

[A lie. It's barely gotten his mind off the situation here - much less the troubling dilemma back home. Honestly, he barely knows what the hell to do at this point.

Swinging his sword is the only thing that makes sense. That's why he's doing it so intensely.]

[deliberately getting inside his sword range, now, all he'd have to do is sneeze and swing inward and he'd at least bludgeon her]

And when you get tired? Does that really seem like a satisfying end to you? Being too slow to get what you want?

What are you barking on about? You don't even know me.

[He won't swing, though he's already done with this conversation. He's been collared, trapped in some incomprehensible metal maze, and how is being lectured at by a stranger who nearly got cut in half. This was supposed to be his Not-Thinking time, damnit, not his Emotional Conversation time!!

He lowers the sword slowly, tip touching the ground, but his gaze he levels at her is a pretty unwelcoming one.]

[she folds her arms across her chest, glaring right back. she even dares to put a foot up on his sword.]

I know you're the sort of person who won't harm a total stranger just because she accidentally gets in his way, even if he likes to act like he's a real careless jerk so nobody notices he's afraid he'll hurt them.

Well, I'm not afraid of you. Put your sword down and actually fight me, or I'll keep barking.

[GRUMBLE]

If you wanted to spar, you should've just said so.

[She wants to fight? Fine then. Force did have an elegance that words lacked, after all. He's in a state of mind where he doesn't really care what the reason is. They're training. He's helping. That's good enough for now. They can resolve their issues with a little exercise.

He moves the Dragonslayer to hoist it back to the leather straps it had in lieu of a sheath. He's ready. Come at him.]

[this is absolutely going to end with getting herself laid out on the exercise mats but she has got to make herself useful somehow and he has got to be less alone somehow and if this gets her back in peak fighting trim then a few bruises are ... well, she's gone through less pleasant things, for much worse purposes. this is, frankly, inspirational material, even when she inevitably "loses".]

Would you have listened?

[she rushes in, slipping low, going for a hooking sweep of her leg against the backs of his.]

You going to keep talking, or are you going to fight?

[It's spar time, so he'd better hear less words and feel more FISTS.

As much as he'd been annoyed, though, he isn't going to take out his frustration on her. He observes her as she makes her first attack, a low sweep. A good choice against a larger opponent.

He takes a few steps back to evade, and raises his hands up to form a guard. He doesn't counter attack - he wants to see what she'll do next, instead.]

[Setsuna smiles - a taut, grim sort of acceptance to it, instead of any sort of feral satisfaction someone else might derive from the exercise - fighting has always been about drilling and about survival, for her, there's never been much to it of joy or victory.]

[she ducks down and feints in towards his gut, drawing her arm back - then sidesteps, trying to aim a disorienting jab directly under his shoulder, just behind his armpit, into a jumble of nerves she knows will make even a burly man's arm flinch to hit.]

[Guts does keep an eye on her moves, and he can recognize that they are all very well trained and coordinated. Fluid and agile. That feint would have gotten him if he wasn't paying attention.

He is quicker than he looks, though, and maneuvers his hand to catch her fist before it hits his body. If he gets a good grip, he knows his brawn will be difficult to escape in that split second. ]

[he grabs her - she is trained, and trained against people who are quick, to boot, but she's not expecting his agility, either, and doesn't recalibrate fast enough to be faster than he is.]

[he has her gripped by the wrist, and for a half-second she panics - it's only reflexes that have her twisting slightly in that hold to try and hook her leg behind his and yank him off-balance and to the ground, willing to risk being pulled down with him if it jars him into loosening his grip even a little.]

[she might even use the momentum of the attempt to drive an elbow into his stomach, see if he's prepared for that, too.]

spar log!

[imagining guts kool-aid manning into the behelit and screaming]

[smashes through screaming GRIFFIIIIIIIIIITH]

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