towerofanimus | 002. ☾ Divisions

Entry tags:

002. ☾ Divisions

Characters: Diarmuid and Cecil
Setting: Floor 39, the gym.
Format: Prose.
Summary: The knights get better acquainted while reacting to the "PSA" passed around by Amberly and Commissar Cain.
Warnings: Diarmuid's blood tears, violence amongst new friends, anger management problems. Yup.

Cecil didn't know anything about the Imperium or who Commissar Ciaphas Cain was, but she got the impression from the flyers hung up around the Tower that they were not exactly the most friendly type, let alone the most forgiving. She supposed the... reservations whoever had put them up made sense to have; was it not an off-worlder who had plotted to take the Blue Planet by force from humans, dwarves, and eidolons alike? She could only guess that that meant these people also had suffered at the hands of "xenos", or what Cecil presumed meant non-humans, before, and she understood that. She did not blame them for that.

Still... it struck her as unwise to create more division among the residents of the Tower, given that everyone was trapped here, regardless of race or species. Wasn't it better to make peace with their differences and band together against the dangers than cause more strife and warring amongst themselves? The paladin thought so.

It didn't help her feel any better that she was stigmatized twice over in this matter. Half Lunarian and a magic-user, she was probably the last person this Commissar Ciaphas Cain and whatever Imperium followers he had present wanted to hear from, even if she meant them no harm. Cecil sighed and let the flyer flutter away from her as she watched it. There was a whole mess of them in any place that was safe, and it made her feel like she had nowhere to go for a reprieve from the oppressive atmosphere of the Tower.

Considering that her last attempt at training had led to an unexpected meeting, the lady knight decided to try again. This time, she chose a more practical space for her purpose and she wasn't disappointed when she came to the gymnasium floor. She didn't understand how one was supposed to use most of the machines that were set up, but it didn't stop her from inspecting them, albeit at a small distance, just in case.

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"It will not be the first time I have faced an opponent whose strength seemed to outmatch mine," Cecil replies. She tries not to judge him on account of his warning, but it sounds too much like those she's heard from male rivals in the past who underestimated her because of her sex for her to not feel some sting at his words. She appreciates the concern, but feels it wholly unnecessary.

"I made you a promise that I would aid you whenever, however I could. You would not stop a fellow knight from fulfilling his duty, would you? I am not asking you to hold back, for neither will I. My magic will half any damage done to our flesh. If it does fail, I will heal us."

"Of course not!" Diarmuid answers quickly, more anger in the words than he would have liked. He pauses and takes a deep breath, holding a hand out to her for a moment, only to draw it back when he sees the blood smeared on it.

He winces. What a sorry messed up excuse for a man he is.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. Nor did I mean to insult you and I get the feeling I have," Diarmuid straightens and summons his spear to his hand before motioning toward an open area behind them and away from the machines. He smiles faintly, "You can take it our of my hide while we are sparring. How is that?"

Honestly, he really hadn't meant to upset her. The warning is one he would have given anyone he might have fought in this condition, male or female. A warrior's sex means little to him. After all, he knows of quite a few stunning female warriors and no small number of men who name themselves knights and are really only cowards.

His blood father had been one such man.

Edited 2013-03-16 06:49 (UTC)

Cecil gives him a nod, but it's absent-minded as her eyes follow the length of the spear and she feels her heart ache for home suddenly. Diarmuid is a specialist of lances and his current anger, despite it not being his intention to direct it at her, brings to mind recent memories of clashing with her best friend, Kain. She would give anything to have the luxury of defending herself from Kain again, if only because she could be assured then that the other woman knight was still alive.

"It's not your fault. I did not think it was your intention," she explains, her eyes returning to Diarmuid's face. His eyes... She wonders if it hurts. "But fair enough. Now attack me."

He nods, but doesn't attack just yet taking a moment to wipe at his eyes one last time before darting passed her and into the open area behind them. One there, he settles into a fighting stance, spear at ready in front of him.

"Over here, Lady Captain! I tend to travel when I fight and I would not have our spar interrupted by the machines getting in our way," it's very slight, but the corner of his mouth turns up in a bit of a smile. There is still plenty of anger around him, but there is also something else beginning to push its way through that anger.

Excitement.

The paladin whirls around and prepares herself for a quick strike. She can immediately tell that she's not going to win this through superior speed. She may be smaller than he is, but he outmatches her in speed easily. Most of her isn't surprised; the dragoons were always incredibly fast warriors in Baron.

Thankfully, her strength is her endurance and she knows she can take a few hits without wearing down easily.

"I believe I failed to mention the last time we met that my best friend growing up was the daughter of a famous knight in my country," she answers. "He commanded the Dragoon Order, elite lancers."

The look of excitement in his eyes grows, "Excellent! All the more sad that I no longer have both of my spears so that I could truly face you at full strength. No matter, I will merely have to do my best with what I still have."

Diarmuid straightens out of his stance to bow to her and then falls back into it. He is only there for a moment, though, before disappearing into a blur. At first, it seems he is merely attacking her head on, but the attack is a fake out, as a few steps short of her position, he suddenly spins off to the side in an attempt to get behind her.

"Both spears?"

It works. Cecil isn't quick enough to catch the ruse in the split second it would take for her to react accordingly before it happens, and she realizes it too late to turn and deflect his spear with her sword. Instead, she lifts her shield to defend from any attack, planning to counter if her parry is successful.

Diarmuid doesn't risk his spear on the shield, knowing those who are good with them can disarm just as easily with the shield as a weapon. Instead, he continues to move around her, attempting to get to her other side fast enough to launch a strike at any openings her previous sudden attempt to block might have left.

As he moves, he laughs, "Yes both spears! I duel-wield them, Lady Captain. Did your friend do that? I duel-wield swords as well. It is just a shame I lost one spear in the war, and it was not returned to me when I came here."

The white knight holds off on returning the banter in favor of focusing on following her opponent as he moves like wind across the open floor. Cecil does eventually turn, leaving her back wide open. She knows it's a mistake, but she won't attack him without sufficient provocation and he seems enough of a tactician that he won't attack her without knowing he can land a hit.

"No, but we both were trained with all manner of blades— knives, axes, greatswords..." She pauses briefly again, then adds, "'Cecil' alone will suffice."

"Cecil it is then. You will have to forgive me if I slip, though. I have been told I can be over-polite to almost frustrating levels sometimes," a small smiles crosses his face as he falls back a few steps away from her. Diarmuid could go for her back with it being such an open target, but it seems dishonorable to take such an action during honorable combat, especially when they aren't fighting to the death. If he'd had both of his spears, Diarmuid would just be attacking her head on--one spear to attack and one to defend--but since he only has one, he plays things just a little safer.

Not that the sudden leap into the air and the downward strike at her head that follows seems all that much safer considering it's a move she might be familiar with from training with her friend, but Diarmuid tries it anyway. Every fighter fights differently and he is no exception to that rule. To assume his attack will follow through the same way as her friend's might have would be a bad idea.

"Of course."

Normally, Cecil would roll away, dodge and counterattack, knowing the dragoons hit hard and fast, but the cool-down period required for them to return to an offensive/defensive stance leaves them wide open for several seconds. However, since she isn't completely certain what Diarmuid will do when he doesn't take her bait exactly as she had hoped he would, she stands her ground and raises her shield again, bracing her strength firmly when the spear connects. She puts all her weight behind it, pushing off the ground herself with her legs, and attempts to throw him to the ground as gravity takes its toll in the clash of an unstoppable force ricocheting off an immoveable object.

Diarmuid rolls with the momentum of their clash knowing better than to try and stop such force. While his strength as a servant probably would allow him to, it would leave him unbalanced and unable to attack the way he would like to. Instead, he pushes away from her in the direction they are already moving. For just a moment, his spear vanishes from his hand, dismissed to leave them both free for use. He back flips away to gain a little distance, only to wheel around and come back at her only seconds later, spear back in hand.

She should still have her shield and weapon raised from blocking his blow since his movements before only took a fraction of a second, and he hopes she will remain tied up in that block just long enough he can get his spear in under her out of position protective wall.

Fortunately for the Lancer, his estimation is right; Cecil is too busy correcting her footing to move again. Still, it wouldn't be a big handicap for her if she wasn't also distracted by what she can only explain as strange and unexpected magic when Diarmuid's weapon disappears for a moment. She saw it happen once before, but she's still caught off guard, not having anticipated that he would use the skill during their skirmish.

Diarmuid is about to come in to land the blow under her defenses, when he realizes her distraction isn't just because of his quick actions. Not wanting to end their fight because of something other than skill, he veers off course at the last moment, spinning away from her and stopping a few feet way.

"What's wrong?" He looks around the room, trying to see what might have caught her attention and is confused when he sees nothing. "Something has pulled your attention from the fight..."

That jolts her out of her thoughts and she quickly shakes her head. "No," she assures the other knight, "It's nothing. 'Sorry."

She is still privately wondering, but instead of interrupting the flow of battle even further, the paladin discards her shield in favor of increasing her speed and maneuverability. Tightly she grips the hilt of the Mythgraven Blade and takes a deep breath, then smiles across the floor at Diarmuid.

"I see you are feeling better. Let us finish this, friend."

He nods dropping back into a ready stance, "And then you can ask your question, yes?"

Without waiting for an answer, Diarmuid dashes into action, probably little more than a blur in her eyes. He doesn't try for any fancy maneuvering, though. With her shield gone, he instead is aiming for her blade wanting to hear the clash of metal--to feel the vibrations of the weapons meeting move through his spear.

If the clash provides an opening he will go for it. If not, he will just circle around again. For that is an important part of battle, after all. Trying again and again until one inevitably succeeds.

Cecil grasps her sword with both hands when Diarmuid rushes her, expecting that she will need the additional balance and strength in order to keep her weapon. She swings in an arc to meet his spear head on, the blade singing in the wind as its sharp edge cuts through the air so cleanly. The clang of charmed steel on holy mythril is loud and echoing in the gymnasium and Cecil feel the reverberations of the strike tremble down her weapon. Instead of deflecting and moving again to strike, the paladin applies the force of her strength behind her sword, hoping to break his defenses and unarm him.

Cecil will find it not so easy to disarm one who is so used to disarming techniques himself. Instead of getting into a battle of strength with her, he resists her push just a a moment and then lets all resistance fade in an instant hoping to throw her off balance.

Diarmuid rolls with the released force shifting his spear's aim to the side long enough to try and get it up and around her sword. There are advantages to having such a long weapon and he knows every one of them.

The paladin's reflex serve her well and she stops her sword before she loses her footing. It's almost a second too late again, but she deflects the spear with the flat of her blade before it hits her torso, knocking it away. She pivots and spins fast to gain momentum, swinging again for Diarmuid's bicep as she springs towards him.

It never fails to impress and bring joy to Diarmuid when he is fighting someone who isn't a servant but can still keep up with him even if he isn't going at full power--which he's not at the moment. After all, why would he want this fight to end so quickly?

The fact that he can think clearly enough to hold back and actually enjoy the fight is also a sure sign that he is calming down.

To avoid her swing, Diarmuid simply drops down under it. Okay, so maybe not so simply. The drop is more of a slide to bring him in under her sword. His aim is to tangle up her legs at the same time driving his spear upward try and land a blow.

It is not in Cecil's nature to be an aggressive fighter any longer. Paladins defend, protect, but still, even she is not taking many risks, taking the opportunity to sense out her opponent's style and techniques rather than to try and land any damaging blows. It is comforting to see that Diarmuid is more in control of himself now and that he is no longer enraged as he was before. She's glad she's been able to help.

He attacks again and Cecil dodges, spinning away herself to come at him from his side. Block, counter; parry, deflect, dodge. She remembers this rhythm all too well and it has been far too long since she's had the privilege to find happiness in the slash and burn of battle. She's grateful for it. Though Diarmuid doesn't realize it now, he's helped her as well.

It's easy to get lost in the dance of battle. It's why Diarmuid had known he needed to find someone or something to fight so that he could push away all that negative emotion he had been feeling and just focus on what he knows so well. As their weapons meet again and again in that familiar rhythm, a light starts to glow in Diarmuid's eyes.

He's pretty sure he can see a similar light in Cecil's eyes. It makes him grin widely.

Lancer spins away from Cecil and takes to the air again. It's a move similar to a move he made earlier in the fight, but this time she doesn't have her shield to so easily block his spear. And there is another difference. He's being more aggressive this time. If she uses her sword to deflect his spear he will let it go--after all, it takes only a thought to bring it back to him--and his freed hands are going for her throat.

She's tempted, but with increased force comes other dangers and she's not extraordinarily confident in her ability to parry such a powerful attack this time. Cecil also decides on an unusual tactic, where normally she wouldn't dare do such a thing during a friendly spar. Still, though, she sees Diarmuid smile and because she feels a little lighthearted too now, she can't quite resist being playful.

Cecil concentrates to the best of her ability and at the point where it would be best for her to bring up her sword were she to block, she doesn't— instead, she lets go of the sword's hilt with her left hand, side-steps, and uses lightning-fast reflexes to grab the spear beneath its point, giving it a hard pull in an attempt to drag Diarmuid forward towards her to shorten the distance that she has to stretch her sword arm across just to tap him with the flat edge of her weapon.

It's a gutsy move even for one so skilled. And as such, it's a move Diarmuid can really appreciate. In fact, instead of unsummoing his spear or just letting it go and dodging, he lets her draw him in and tag him with her blade.

Some things just deserve reward, after all. And it's been a good fight.

He doesn't let her get away completely, though. Since they are so close, he leans in and drops a very light kiss on her nose. Diarmuid doesn't stay long just in case he's misjudged her good mood. It would be a shame if she decided to turn the business end of her blade on him after all.

Still, he's grinning like a fool when he lands on a few feet from her and bows signaling that their bout is at an end.

Good mood or no, Cecil is shocked and embarrassed by the kiss. She flushes darkly, but manages to think straight enough to sheath her sword and return the bow, albeit hers is much shorter and more rigid due to her embarrassment. The last time someone made her feel like this in the Tower, it was also a handsome man with a spear. Given that Diarmuid's teasing was more forward than Lancer's, however, she is even less sure of how to respond. Diarmuid has been so proper, this was one of the last things she expected of him.

"...Better?" she asks softly, returning to her shield from the floor.

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