shelley_winters | (no subject)

(no subject)

Tiger in the Long Grass becomes Swallow in Flight.

Shelley readjusts her grip in the hilt of her practise sword, fingers already a little sore. It's been a very long time since she did - well, anything that counts as exercise. She was never strong, but it's a little worrying how hard this is. Earlier that week she had tried, and come over dizzy, but for now, although her breathing is a little too fast and her arms are starting to hurt, she feels all right.

Leaf on the Wind.

No, not right - it shakes and feels wrong, but as she tries again, it does the same. A small noise of discontent, and she moves on. She can look it up later.

Parting the Veil.

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Stonily, buying time, Shelley moves through the next sequence. After a moment, she settles on a half-truth, hoping it is believable.

"Natael. At the bar."

A small smile from Ishamael as he took another step back. His thin form silhouetted by the setting sun in the rose garden. The scent of roses lingered in the crisp autumn air as he issued a challenge

"How about we have ourselves a friendly spar then, Lady Shelley?"

Shelley eyes him, still holding the blade up warily. She has no real desire to be beaten with a blunt stick, which seems the most likely outcome.

"...I'll lose."

Ishamael shrugged as he watched her stance keenly with another wry smile. Providing some incentive to her might sweeten the offer.

"I am hardly keen on bruising your flesh, so I will not strike you with my weapon... though, you are welcome to inflict harm upon me should you see the opportunity. Besides, winning and losing is hardly the point of sparring."

Shelley eyes him, still worried. Elan and weapons are not exactly a comforting combination. Not at all.

But the thought of hitting him is tempting.

"...All right. For a bit."

Ishamael smiled as he took one more step backwards and stood with feet shoulder-width apart, stretching the muscles in his neck, and rolling his shoulders.

"Excellent."

Holding out his hand, a staff of black fire formed from nothing in his hand. A small smile. The dark staff seemed to absorb the dull light of the early evening.

"Shall we begin, Lady Shelley?"

Shelley swallows, anxiety rolling over her as he stretches.

No, concentrate. She raises the practise sword again, trying to relax into the stance. Her arms already ache slightly from the morning's exercise. She knows how weak she is, why did she agree...

Standing calmly, and utterly at ease, Ishamael gestured towards her with one hand, a smug grin on his face.

"Come, Lady Shelley."

The flash of anger is enough to make her move, sword darting lower than a traditional opening attack, trying for deception rather than strength.

He'll always win for strength.

With a quick, darting movement, Ishamael easily side-stepped the blade and swung his staff down on to the sword.

"Too slow."

Shelley doesn't bother replying, and flicks the sword upwards, sliding along the staff to strike at his hand.

It might be against the rules. She doesn't really care.

Ishamael released the staff, but kicked upwards at the other end, sending the staff spinning into the air. Standing still for a moment, he smiles and retorts

"Clever girl."

Catching the staff with one hand over his head, he was wide-open, and still smiling.

Shelley wishes he would shut up.

She's suspicious, but can't pass it up, swinging from the side at his midsection.

Falling backwards, Ishamael landed on his back on the grass and swung his staff with one hand at the back of her knees.

The smile had yet to leave his face.

She doesn't scream, but only by clenching her jaws hard even as she stumbles and falls to her knees, dropping the practise sword awkwardly and throwing out a hand to try and catch herself.

Jumping to his feet, Ishamael opened his hand and the staff vanished. Reaching out a hand to help her up, he spoke softly.

"...I thought you would dodge that, Lady Shelley. My apologies."

Of course he did.

Shelley reaches for the sword again instead of taking his hand, jumping to her feet on her own, and turning back to stand ready, face set.

The black staff reappeared in his hand as he raised an eyebrow. His voice was vaguely amused.

"Very well, then."

In an identical manner, he gestured with one hand in that relaxed pose. He had not come out too badly, and his strategy had not changed.

She tries differently this time, moving forwards slowly before lashing out fast, and higher than before. She has more a of a feel for the balance needed than before, feet spread carefully, eyes watchful.

Quick. She was certainly that, but he was faster, and while she was not incredibly poor with the sword, he was far more skilled. A quick flick of his wrist as he struck her blade at an angle with his staff to throw it upwards. She was small and had fewer openings as such. He would simply have to make a few.

Fun.

Shelley dodges back, fingers stinging, trying not to trip over her own feet. A frown crosses her face as she brings the blunt blade down across her body at a defensive angle.

It's hard, but good to have something real to do.

With both hands firmly on the staff, Ishamael struck upwards with a swinging motion as if the staff were an oar. There was a simple subtle pleasure in such activity.

She parries, just, both forearms aching at the force of the blow. But her wrists stay straight, and she readjusts her grip, moving sideways.

Turning the staff, he stabbed forward with it as if it were a spear. Let her taste what his abilities were. He was hardly an athlete, but neither was she.

Shelley dodges hard to one side, even as she flinches at the hard stabbing motion, just managing to deflect it enough to miss her - though one hand loses its grip on the handle in the process, and she stumbles back to gain space, breathing faster.