Not So Great (Attn: Percy)

[Jenn]

Katrie

This... this isn't such a good idea...

That thought dogged her as she finished lacing up the plain overshirt. It harried and harassed her as she wrinkled her nose at the way the trousers rubbed against her skin, the stiff material feeling rough and scratchy. It screamed at her as she stamped her feet into new boots, the leather soft and supple, unlike the strange new clothes she wore. For a fraction of a second, Katrie couldn't believe that she was actually starting to miss the boring dresses that comprised of the majority of her wardrobe. At least the dresses didn't make her itch.

Today though... the banded pristine white wasn't appropriate for the apparent muddle she had somehow landed herself in. She couldn't really say what had possessed her to approach him, this Asan Grey. Katrie herself didn't really understand why she had demanded that he show her how to use that giant two handed stick thing he had been practicing with – a quarterstaff, he had told her, wary and hesitant. The Cairhienin Accepted could see now that she had been unpleasant and a little rude... she'd have to apologize for that later.

In spite of herself, Katrie glanced over towards her window, able to pick out the barest hint of the Yards. She shook her head at herself. She knew who she wanted to see, needed to see... but that was met with equal parts aching hope and palpable dread. Asan was not Rav. Even though she wanted it to be Rav. The Shienaran Drin would have shown her this quarterstaff thing... if he knew how, and if she had just asked. But that was the problem. She still couldn't muster up enough courage to face him... much less talk to him.

Stupid stupid girl.

Be quiet. She snapped silently at the voice in her head that spoke like her papa, Katrie forcing herself to take several deep breaths.

Asan was not Dax, either. Quarterstaff. There was some inappropriate joke in there that the Ji would have cracked, she was sure... and she was equally sure that it would have made her laugh... and Light! Now that was an entirely different beast, Dakson Torellion was, one she both loathed and craved. The pretty Cairhienin sighed and almond shape dark eyes closed for a moment. Escaping into a cup of that stuff at that Blue Falcon place or whatever it was called was looking better and better. A far better idea than heading into the Warder Yards to do... whatever it was that the Drin and Ji and Gaidin did.

Light, but this is a terrible idea!

Her fingers fumbled with the laces of her boots and her self-doubt blared across her mind again, imposing and deafening, in total agreement with her. Katrie made a face, twisting at the gold ring that still sat uncomfortably on the third finger of her left hand. A hiccup of emotion bubbled to the surface, and the hand that bore the Great Serpent Ring clenched. She had no idea what she was doing, but that seemed to be the norm for her these days. At least she would be able to hit something... in theory. Or be hit. She let out a breathless laugh that held no trace of warmth or amusement. She twisted her hair back, fixing it into place with short lengths of black cord. A final, vicious spin of the gold serpent ring and Katrie left her rooms.

The walk to the Yards was both too brief and endless, her silly hope that Asan had forgotten about this crushed as she caught sight of him. She closed her eyes and muttered something unintelligible under her breath before making herself approach him. She bared her teeth in what she hoped passed for a smile, suddenly self-conscious and very aware of where she was and that she had no place being here.

“Hello,” she said quietly, her gaze going everywhere, trying to see everything at once. “I think it's safe to say that I have no idea what I'm doing. What...” Katrie's voice trailed off uncertainly as she looked around uneasily. “What should I do?”

[Percy]

After his ... encounter.. with the Old man in the training yards, Asan had taken to learning the quarterstaff in a much different fashion. He had to accept the truth about himself- the truth about the world he lived in. The ideal life he lived as a child was no more- pricked like a bubble of soap in the wind. He wanted to fight. Wanted to learn to fight, to hurt others for safety, and for protection. He wanted to channel, to understand the five elements, and to pull whatever he could from that. The Way of the Leaf obsessed itself with the world in two colors. The blue of peace, and the red of violence. And yet, there were many hues, millions upon millions of shades the world has seen. Asan was just starting to understand this.

Practicing the quarterstaff was a choice- learning to fight, using his skills. Asan truly left the way behind- not meaning he thought violence was good, meaning that violence and non-violence wasn't the only to understand the world. The Grey Tower was quite the prismatic looking glass- a perspective to end all perspectives. Power without vision only magnified ignorance... meaning the Tower itself was a font of perspective, not just knowledge. Asan needed perspective now more than any time previous.

Reviling in his first choice was cut short by the approach of a rather direct woman. She was abrupt, perhaps even rude.. but it didn't matter, she was in need. Perhaps Asan could help in that- perhaps he could learn more by teaching.

He met her the next day in the training yards, musing at her strangely hesitant nature. She definitely not this way the first time they met. He was dressed in a loose fitting white shirt- he'd worked up a decent sweat from practicing through the day, so his hair was slick to his head, and his breathing was a bit labored before he began to speak. His pants were gray and his shoes were soft and fitted, primed for movement. His baritone voice was primed for singing, even though slightly breathless. "First, choose your weapon. Something that is light enough for you to carry, but thick enough that it won't break upon contact. Shorter staves are faster, and perhaps more maneuverable, but have less range. It takes more strength to wield a longer stave, but the weight helps in power. Once you pick something.. bring it here and put it down." Asan put Hama'ghoba down and stood in a balanced way, feet shoulder-width apart and squared toward her. A warm smile crossed his features, as he awaited her return.

[Jenn]

Katrie

Pick something, Asan had told her. Right. That shouldn't be too difficult. Katrie moved to the rack that had been indicated, her steps slow and heavy. She felt as if every single pair of eyes were fixed on her, making her feel self-conscious and small. She couldn't bring herself to turn and see if the eyes she wanted to avoid were also there, watching and weighing. The Warder Yards were too open... made her feel too vulnerable. And...

No.

She exhaled sharply through her nose and crammed all of her wildly fluctuating emotions into a small box, tucking it away into a place that she did not acknowledge, a place that she didn't have to see, a place that she didn't have to feel.

With some of her focus restored, the pretty Cairhienin made little noise dismay as she looked blankly from staff to staff. There were so many! Shorter meant easier to maneuver and faster... lighter too. Longer meant more range and more power, but heavier... requiring more strength. She had no idea how much she could actually carry, but she doubted that it was all that much. She didn't believe for a second that she was strong enough to wield the longer heavier staves, either.

After several minutes of deliberation, she plucked one out from the rest, choosing it because it looked to be the shortest, thinnest one out of the bunch. Even so, she was not prepared for the actual weight of it or the way the ends bobbed up and down despite her best attempts to hold the staff steady and level. Slowly, as if she was in possession a poisonous viper rather than simple wood, Katrie made her way back to the dark-skinned man. Several times, one of the ends of the staff pitched forward and smacked against the ground, making her wrists twist almost painfully. She couldn't figure out how to compensate for the way the extra weight pulled down at her arms. If thinner meant lighter, how heavy were the longer, thicker staves?

Thud. Smack. Thud. Smack. Thud.

The tall Accepted wrinkled her nose as she clattered her way noisily back to the dark-skinned man. He was smiling at her, his expression kind. She almost looked away, not understanding why he was being so pleasant. “I... ah... I demanded to know your name yesterday but didn't offer mine. That was rude of me. I'm Katrie,” she said awkwardly, “and it's nice to meet you, Asan.”

Gingerly, so she wouldn't hit herself upside her own head, she laid the staff she had chosen next to his, as instructed. Straightening, she was both questioning and apprehensive as she glanced over at him. Her mouth opened, but at the last possible moment, thought better of voicing her question and stayed silent instead. She would try and be patient, for a change.

[Percy]

Watching her pick out a weapon was telling. She was more indecisive than patient and definitely more frustrated with that indecision than anything else. She kept it on a leash, though Asan believed it was more to play nice with him then anything else. Taking the few moments he had to observe her seriously, he watched her movements. Since coming to the tower, and being exposed to more females than his family in the camp, Asan had become convinced that grace was an inborn trait in most women- it was a wonder more were not fighters. He could go so far as to theorize that the methods any battle-master used was meant to mimic a woman's natural grace- her fleeting steps, the misdirection her hips could provide as to the direction of her hands and feet. In this regard,Katrie was a natural- now all she had to do was embrace this natural grace and use it to her advantage.

Once she presented herself before him, he offered a smile and nod at her offer of her name. He shrugged lightly, as if to dismiss the previous day's conversation, and began to speak. His words coming in a soft baritone fit for song: "the staff you chose is thin and will require precision to wield. While it may look delicate, it's movements will be deceptive, and once you are acquainted, you will dance well together." Motioning to himself, and his squared stance, he stated. "Stand, as I do. This balanced stance will be what we consider home. I am no expert, but what I've learned from watching my instructor is this: wielding the staff means your top and bottom half are working together- dancing. If your balance is good and your footwork is smooth, it doesn't matter what song plays, or what partner crosses your path."

Watching her as she moved, he nodded in silence. "Do me a favor. If you were going to slap me, tell me how you would do it. Don't hit me, I am a peace lover, after all. Just walk me through it. What would you do?" Eyes twinkling with amusement, Asan awaited the woman's answer.

[Jenn]

Katrie

“You want me to walk you through the motions of me,” she gestured to herself, “slapping you,” she gestured at him, “without actually slapping you.” When Asan didn't say anything to the contrary, Katrie just blinked at him. That... was not something she had been prepared for. Privately, she wondered if he had taken complete leave of his senses, or perhaps taken a few too many blows to the head... There were two giant sticks laying on the ground between them, after all. And he had been practicing when she had happened upon him a day or so ago.

But there he stood, calm and amused, holding her bewildered gaze levelly. He didn't seem to be unhinged or crazy or suffering from any kind of head trauma. She watched him for a moment longer, then shrugged and mumbled something that she hoped sounded like assent.

She moved until barely a pace separated them, her body squared off with his. Her head canted to the side ever-so-slightly, brows lowering a fraction of an inch. Katrie had never actually slapped anyone before, but she had seen such a thing done to the servants beneath her papa's roof, young and old alike reprimanded harshly for one transgression or other. She didn't enjoying seeing it, and had spoken out against it. Once. She had learned quickly that her papa was not beyond using the same measures on her.

She shoved hard at the memory, dislodging it from the front of her mind and tucking it away some where she didn't have to see. A frown turned down the corners of her mouth. “Well... I would start by lifting my hand from my side, like this.” She moved as she spoke, bringing her arm up and across her body slowly. Her hips turned as she did so, her feet pivoting to maintain balance. It felt... odd to explain what came naturally, but she did it anyway.

Her hand reached outwards and she stopped her fingers before they touched Asan's cheek. “Not going to hit you,” she said with a little smile, “but if I was, my hand would strike the side of your face and continue on until my arm was completely stopped because it would be fully extended and couldn't travel across my body anymore.”

That last bit came out awkwardly, but Katrie didn't know how else to say it. She let her arm drop back to her side, looking at the man in front of her curiously. “Why did you want me to do that?”

[Percy]

Asan nodded, and a smile crossed his features. "Thank you." His voice was calm, and his eyes met hers as he spoke. "When you think about it, you try your best to put yourself at balance. Your hips turn, you make sure that you are safe when you strike. Had this been an attack, and I dodged it, you would recover quickly. This," he motioned to her stance, "is what you think you'd do if there was a situation that called for your immediate reaction. Have you ever hit someone before? Were you this level headed, this balanced?" Asan had learned this from the old man, fighting just a few days ago for what felt like his life. Practicing attacks, and frantically attacking were worlds apart. Someone learned guided their body calmly, regardless of the situation. A point he was determined to make. "In anger, you might pull your hand back further, to gain more power, you might twist your body and not turn it as gracefully as you just did- the difference here is planning and execution. The reason we practice a weapon is to make balanced movements instinct. This way, you are able to strike and defend from balanced positions- a battle is a frantic thing, and they happen very quickly. A fact I've just learned not too long ago. As you train, remember that these moves are meant to replace what short-sighted plans we make when we are in distress. When we are mad, we only see our target, and lose focus of ourselves. Keeping emotions in check allows us to see ourselves just as you did when you talked yourself through that slap. You were aware of everything, not just that your hand was going to connect with my face. The staff is no different. Does that make sense?"

Taking a second to listen if she had any questions, Asan took in a deep breath and examined the staff she chose once more. It would be fast and dangerous, something that wobbled in her hands if her strikes were not balanced. It was a good training tool, and once mastered, it would be as sinuous as a snake. Each of her forms would be able to transform with her improvisation, the staff would not be restricted as Hama'ghoba was. He nearly envied her for that.

Asan was already thinking about how he could defend against something as agile as the staff she'd chosen, something that with great force could curve and change trajectory. Something that whipped along in the air, that if blocked wrong could still bend and do damage. It was a fine puzzle he meant to learn more about as she learned more about her weapon.

[Jenn]

Katrie

She opened her mouth to say something, to maybe ask Asan a question, but all coherent thought fled as the knot of emotions that was Dax stampeded to the forefront of her awareness. He was awake. Katrie counted, one, two... and then her guts twisted in sympathy as she felt the Tairen Gaidin lose whatever contents were in his sour stomach, hot needles piercing into the space behind her eyes. Light, he was hung over again. How many times did this make? She didn't know; she'd stopped counting once he'd hit a dozen. The worst part was, she couldn't even blame him. Not really.

Dark eyes closed as she took several deep breaths through her nose, fighting down the waves of nausea. Light, Dax... Katrie could pinpoint exactly where he was, her hands aching with Dax's fractured bones and bruised, bloody knuckles. Along the edges of her awareness where he tried to retreat to, she could feel the jagged edges of his cruelty and viciousness cutting into her sense of self, two things she had learned about during his brutal attempts during the night hours to escape from her into oblivion. She would have gladly let him... would have welcomed it, in fact... Only oblivion never came. And all Dax did was bring her along with him into whatever darkness and pain he inflicted upon himself. And me. He hurts me too. It was the worst kind of agony, and he knew it. Sometimes, he even delighted in it.

She gave the a desperate shove at the bond and felt his blistering rage peel away at her sanity. The Cairhienin Accepted bowed her head and made no further attempt at distance. She forced herself upright and managed to smile a little at Asan.

“What you say makes sense. I have to practice these enough times so that when I am overcome by emotion or,” - Light, but the thought of her in an actual fight was difficult to imagine - “battle, my body will know what to do even if my mind isn't clear.”

Katrie felt an odd little bubble curiosity tickle at her, Dax clearly aware that she wasn't in the Tower proper. Go away, peacock. It was an unfair thought; he had more right to be here in the Yards than she did, but she couldn't face him. Not here. Not out in the open like this. She turned her focus on to the dark-skinned man in front of her, refusing to let herself be distracted again.

“I...” she shrugged self-consciously. “Is there something I'm supposed to be doing now? If it was in something you said earlier, then I'm afraid it wasn't obvious enough for me to catch.”

[Percy]

"You are doing well. Distracted, yes.. but distractions may happen on the field of battle. Now, we are going to dance, you and I. Hold your hands out in front of you, and follow my steps." He pointedly did not tell her the style of dance, nor did he give her any inclination as to where he would start. Instead of those words, he presented himself directly in front of her, warm brown eyes focused on her own. "A battle, is a very dangerous dance, full of grace and subtle movement. The more well versed you are in the dance, the better suited you are to survive." He without warning darted his right foot forward which would, if she was not fast enough, contact her left foot. "Keep your eyes on mine, Katrie.. we can't be rude to our partners." The darting step was fast, but not outside of her ability.

Regardless of whether his "attack" was successful or not, he would follow it up by taking another step forward, closing the distance between the to to uncomfortable levels. Would she evade? Would she remain and endure the slight pain he would give her feet?