Friendship is full of bumps and bruises [Tagging Mordred]

[rogueinladysclothing]

The nice part about being friends with someone who's equally bad at it as you are, is that the friend doesn't ask questions when you suggest strange things.

Like using each other for weapons practice.

After an hour of shooting rocks at a tree while Mordred read over his orders again, Amelia pushes herself to her feet and holsters her slingshot. They've been waiting for a messenger to arrive, but with midday long since past, it's beginning to look like the new orders her companion was meant to receive aren't coming today.

"Come on," she says softly, trying to lessen her disturbance of the quiet of the woods they're in. "We've been sitting for too long today. I need to practice or I'm going to lose my finesse." With that vague statement settling in, she draws her rapier and gauche, nodding to the open, flat space next to their makeshift camp. "Draw your weapon and fight me."

This is a terrible idea, but somehow that doesn't occur to her in her boredom.

Comments

The sick is gone but the work remains. Curses! XD

[rogueinladysclothing]

Ahh, oops. That is certainly an unexpected swing that gets a grunt out of Amelia as she struggles to raise her blades in time to meet it. Being caught off guard is something she should be more aware of with him, given his nature and how quickly things can spiral in either direction, but somehow that doesn't fully register in her mind. Instead, as she holds them in place for a moment in this battle of strength, she laughs.

"Yes. Yes! Like that!"

Taking a step back and away, she jumps to the side when Mordred inevitably has to follow the momentum of his weight being thrown about in this way. She turns quickly to follow him and brings her rapier down and across his body in a long slash from his left shoulder to his right hip. An easy move to parry, but it's only the beginning of what should be an interesting match.

small favours :')

[cadcamlan]

The laugh registers somewhere in the base of his mind. The laugh, after all, is a piece of why she's so easy to consider what he's come to understand 'friend' means.

He isn't generally the sort of man to parry. It isn't care for himself that brings his arms up into a high septime to parry the slashing. Even without heavy armour, it's never a question of protecting himself from the inevitable hurts and damage.

What's the good of being invulnerable if he's always trying to keep himself alive?

So it isn't to defend himself that he throws up his sword. It's to bring a good angle to his blade for a sharp thrust down, point aimed squarely for Amelia's belly.

Indeed. <3

[rogueinladysclothing]

It's so odd to fight someone who cares so little about their own physical well being. She could catch him unarmed and he wouldn't defend himself like he should. Were it anyone else, she might feel pity or remorse, but with him? It's a habit that she's become accustom to and doesn't question anymore. He didn't seem to care about being hurt, so she won't worry if she does manage to connect a blow.

Not that she's trying for that, of course.

The thrust down toward her midesction is caught with her gausche as she turns her body away from the move. Flashing him a smirk, she bends her knees to move down and forces his blade upward with her short blade, turning to the left and under their raised hands as she does so. As she comes back around she reaches out with the rapier in her right hand. The movement releases the pressure she was holding on his blade, which makes the end of it connect with the strands of her hairpin. A light, musical sound rings out, one that completely contradicts the sound of clashing steel.

It's a dance, the way she moves about the battlefield. Graceful and controlled, even if each movement is decided only seconds before its executed. It makes her a sight to behold - and one for her enemies to fear.

[cadcamlan]

He needs to get rid of that gauche. It really is an unnecessarily irritating wrinkle to his usual style--if what he does can be called a style.

The soft sound on his lips is the huffing frustration of a wild dog more than anything else. His weight is thrown into arching their crossed blades down again, shoulder angling to slam against hers.

[rogueinladysclothing]

His sudden closeness makes Amelia an easy target, as being close to anyone, even in the heat of battle, makes her uncomfortable. The check to her shoulder causes her to stumble back and fall to the ground as the momentary shock begins to wear off. That's a little too close for her tastes, which means she needs to start paying more attention to what he's doing in anticipation of his next movements.

As he advances on her again, she pulls her blades close and tumbles to one side, rolling to her feet with ease. She readies her blades for whatever blow he tries to land next before turning the gauche over in her hands and trying to thrust the pommel into Mordred's stomach. It won't wound him, but if she can knock the air from his lungs, she can make it a more interesting fight.