Who: Juliette & Pyr What: Pyr is suddenly awkward. Juliette is eternally clueless Where: Ashwyrm Hall grounds When: Today! Rating: Tame Status: Complete!
Even with a far more intensive schedule than she had previously possessed, Juliette was still the sort to be early to every appointment. She was surprised, therefore, to find Pyr already in the training yard of Ashwyrm Hall, alternating between jogging in place and quick, jerky stretches which from her perspective seemed unlikely to do much good.
She approached curiously, wondering if this was somehow related to the odd behavior he had exhibited on the network. They had never had a spar where she had not waited, be it for a few minutes or a dozen. “Good afternoon,” she greeted, noting that he whirled to face her as though startled. “I hope you didn’t wait long?” Purely courtesy, seeing as she was early, but something she offered as thoughtlessly as the greeting.
Pyr's first thought was she looks pretty, and it was at that moment he knew he was doomed.
"Hi," he said, trying for casual, and waved in greeting.
He had to act normal so she wouldn't think anything was off (telling her about his recent epiphany was out of the question). The only problem with that strategy was he couldn't remember how to do normal. How had he acted around her up until that moment? He wished he'd paid more attention to his own words and behaviour so he'd be able to replicate them now, but since he hadn't, there was nothing to do but give it his best shot.
He forced himself to stop fidgeting and said, "So, uh, what's it like being class?"
If he seemed a bit… odd, she was too polite to mention it. Obviously something was on his mind, but she assumed she’d hear all about it soon enough (didn’t he overshare everything eventually, after all?). For now, it seemed easier to simply answer his question. “Busy,” she said after a moment. “Less so now that classes for squires are back on schedule and I have no part in them. And now that the clinics are not quite so desperately in need of volunteers.” Another thoughtful moment passed before she added, “It is an interesting challenge to choose my own training regime. I wonder how many mistakes I’ve made?”
He smiled and waved her words away. "I'm sure you'll be fine. You'd still train even if you didn't have to. You'll keep getting better."
Wasn't that certainty one of the reasons he knew he couldn't take it easy if he wanted to keep up? That she was stronger than him he knew, but he was curious to know how much, how far he had left to go before he caught up.
Normally he may have asked about her training regime, the sorts of things she occupied her time with now; but he was too restless. "Want to start?"
“Certainly, we can begin,” she replied. His confidence in her, always seemingly unwavering, was flattering, if sometimes a bit bewildering, too. She didn’t really know what to say to it -- she had always been terrible at taking compliments, being uncertain whether they were meant sincerely. All things considered, it seemed better to focus instead on the spar that was to come.
“Hand to hand or weapons?” she asked, the question now habitual -- she had grown more accustomed now to sparring with weapons, as the list of those willing to challenge her had grown considerably once she was no longer a squire. She had sparred knights, berserkers, dragoons, on one (very painful) occasion a samurai.
“Hand to hand,” he said at once. “I’ve been practicing with weapons all the time lately, I’m tired of it.”
He offered no more overture before he took a step back and settled into stance with only a brief nod to signal he was ready.
She nodded her assent, wasting no words before she settled back, too, muscles still warm and loose from the light jog she’d engaged in to get here. A moment passed, signifying readiness, before she flowed into the first series of attacks, more forceful than something she might have opened with not so very long ago. Her recent bouts had been, by and large, against people half a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier, so it was momentarily challenging not to engage in the typical compensation tactics she’d come to rely on. And though it had been close to several months now since their last spar, they had fought each other often enough that it wasn’t so hard to adjust back, though his answers to her attacks were not quite what she expected, either. He had not been stagnant in the time between spars, it seemed.
Yet even as he threw everything he had into the match, he seemed to be one step behind at all times. He should have expected it, a nagging little voice whispered in the back of his mind. Juliette was class, and he was not--how was he supposed to win?
Still he didn't give up, even as he continued to lose ground--not as much as he may have without the training Jareth had been putting him through, but enough to know it was a matter of time until she knocked him down. He gritted his teeth and tried to turn the tables on her, but his concentration was slipping, and when he raised his arm to block an incoming kick, he was a half-instant too late.
Pain blossomed along his side, and he winced, but did not fall.
She noted the wince, though she had no time to dwell on it. All the strength training, the instructions of how to put even her relatively minimal weight behind a blow, seemed to have paid off to at least some extent. Then again, his blows -- one kick that connected with her hip especially -- were stronger, too.
But she could tell, not very long into the match, that she had the advantage.
She wasn’t certain whether it was the increased intensity of her training regimen, or simply what appeared to be slightly wavering focus on his part, but she was pushing him back steadily. Although she was keeping an eye out for tricks -- she hadn’t forgotten his propensity for them -- it seemed as though this time, standard guild sparring rules might be sufficient for victory.
Any other day, she may have been right to expect a trick, some underhanded attempt to wrestle back initiative--but there were already too many thoughts swirling around in Pyr's head to allow for planning. All that thinking was the reason he was going to lose, he knew; but telling himself not to think was thinking, too.
It was probably a crazy idea, in retrospect. She had barely managed to get it to work one time in five, though she’d been trying it daily since she’d first experimented with chi manipulation under Councilor Liu’s tutelage. But she was winning, and feeling very proud of herself (and perhaps, unbecomingly, a little boastful) and wouldn’t it be amazing if --
She took the chance, taking the moment after a series of attacks, before he could fully recover and take the advantage, to take a rather hurried breath, reach and --
The stream of light that flew from her hands was only slightly brighter now than the first she had produced, barely solid. But somehow, as she pushed, it came, to her elation and his obvious shock, to hit him square in the solar plexus.
It didn't hurt. The pain that Pyr had reflexively braced for did not come; Juliette's attack, as it turned out, looked a lot more badass than it felt.
But he had spent a moment too long being shocked by it and, as she moved in to follow up, he knew he wouldn't be able to block her next hit in time.
The distraction was presently all it would serve for, but that was service enough -- in his ensuing bewilderment, she delivered a solid kick that sent him sprawling back onto the ground. Her foot landed on his chest -- not a painful push, but firm, to ensure he stayed down. She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. Usually, she was only smug when she was angry, but she had to admit, her perpetual drive to use what she had (however weak) to her advantage had served her well this afternoon. “Yield?” she asked, although it was obvious that the bout was over.
He looked up at her towering over him and tried to quench the thought of she's so pretty when she's being smug, then threw his hands up (both literally and metaphorically). "I yield," he said.
The moment she stepped back, he realised what would happen next and reacted instinctively: he hopped up and was back on his feet before she could hold out a hand to help him out. She let her hand drop again, and Pyr couldn't figure out if he was relieved or horribly disappointed.
"Good match," he said awkwardly.
She withdrew her hand, seeing as it was not wanted, and gave him another curious look. What was going on with him? “Good match,” she echoed. After a pause, she offered, “Would you like a second match? We have the time.” The fight had not taken so very long -- and who knew when she might have an opportunity to spar with him again?
His train of thought mirrored hers, and he opened his mouth to accept--but he suspected, before they could begin, that a second match would go as the first had. He wouldn't be able to focus, but the last thing he wanted was to lose because of that and have her think he was wasting her time. This was the longest he'd been around her since she had made class; if she decided she didn't want to spar anymore, he wouldn't even get to see her like this.
"Sorry," he said. "I want to spar, but I'm kind of having a hard time focusing today." He shrugged, as though it was nothing important--he'd rather not be asked to explain. "But you could talk to me about what you've been doing lately. I want to hear," he hesitated, "what it's like being class."
“All right,” she said. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why, exactly, but… there were plenty of things that could cause distraction and worry these days. It was hard to blame him, even if she was a little bit disappointed. She supposed she should simply count the match in her favor and answer his question.
“It is…” a bit lonely, she did not finish, choosing instead to go with, “different. There is no set schedule. I choose my own training regimen now, as well as what jobs to take of those the guild offers. People who did not wish to take time before are now willing to spar with me.” She did not wince as she admitted, “I spend a great deal of time practicing my Cure because of this.”
She was quiet as she walked to one of the benches along the side of the building, sat. The truth was, everything had changed recently, not just her progression into class -- how many of the differences in her life could be better traced to other events entirely? “It was… odd being called to fight instead of told to stay back, protected,” she said at last. “I did what I could, but recent events were a harsh lesson in how much I still must learn.” She had done well only because there had always been someone around to protect and support her. It could not remain that way indefinitely, though she was reasonable enough to understand that this would be her truth for some time yet.
Pyr shook his head. “I don’t think even the people who’ve been class for years and years were ready for what happened, though. It’s not that you don’t train enough.” But he understood what she meant—that knowledge that he was powerless when it mattered was one of the reasons he had resumed his training with increased vigor.
He wondered what to say next, if there was anything he could say that could maybe cheer her up. He would have sat there listening to her, but she was not the sort to go on and on about herself, and it was often Pyr who directed the conversation. This time, because he had no idea where to direct it, he turned and fished out the bag of cookies he always had with him. Half the cookies inside were white chocolate.
“Here,” he said, opening the bag and offering it to her. “You like these, right?”
She looked at him curiously -- what was his obsession with ensuring she ate more sweets? -- but said, “Yes. Thank you.” She reached into the bag and took a cookie, beginning to nibble on it in the slow way she knew he hated. Silence between them was strange -- usually, he had too much to say, not too little. After a few moments, she added, “And your training? It continues to go well, I hope?” Another pause, then, “You’re stronger than you were.”
He fought back against the happy feeling in his gut―Juliette was still stronger, he reminded himself, he still had a long way to go to catch up―but it was in vain. “I’m training a lot too. Jareth just keeps adding miles to my run.” He pulled a face—practically a requirement by now―but lately he had found he did not mind the running so much. Certainly, he would rather sleep in or go hang out with Sky, but he knew it was necessary, and he saw himself progress thanks to the harsh training regime.
He would not be able to fight giant earth-shaking monsters any time soon, but if he kept getting better, he could improve his odds against less fearsome opponents. Lately, he had begun to notice that beating his fellow squires during the hand-to-hand lessons was becoming easier and easier, and he did not feel nearly as exhausted after a full day of classes as he once had.
"I don't mind running," she told him. Once, it had been a rare way to get out of the Demiel estate with Boris, on occasion an opportunity to see Lord Amell and Zelda; it had become a habit sometime before she had moved, so she did it now without thinking about it. "The benefits are certainly numerous."
He opened his mouth, as if to say something; then, seeming to think better of it, closed it again.
She lapsed into silence for a few moments then, focusing on her cookie and wondering just why he was behaving so oddly. She considered again whether she ought to ask,but honesty had not served her well lately; until he offered, she would not.
Instead, the bland small talk she fell back to when she didn't know what to say: "Your family is well?"
He could not help being taken aback at the question—was she reverting to the old polite small talk he’d been trying to wean her off for months? But he saw how at a loss she seemed, and he did not know what to say to her. The problem was clear to him. She was awkward by nature, and he was a total idiot.
In the end, he chose not to call her on it.
“They’re okay,” he said. “I think Peony’s guild is doing a little better now, and Sky’s looking for a new job. The place he used to work at got destroyed in the fight.”
He groped around in his mind for a way to proceed from here, and followed the connection from Sky like pulling a thread. “How is A-Alys?” He suppressed a wince—in his haste to keep the conversation going, he had almost said Audrey.
"She is... busy," Juliette said carefully. In fact, recently, 'family' dinners had become nigh unbearable. She had a notion that the Countess and Lord Norwood were not particularly fond of each other, and Alys was caught in the middle. As for Juliette herself, the desire to disappear was all but overwhelming whenever the four of them found themselves in the same room.
But her sister's marriage was, she firmly believed, none of her business. She therefore voiced none of these concerns, saying instead, "She has been very involved in restoration efforts, and of course there is the estate as well."
“That’s nice,” Pyr said.
It was a testament to his predicament that he could think of nothing else to say. He had been nibbling on a cookie while listening to the sound of her voice, and her words had washed over him and left no trace of meaning behind.
“If things are going well, then that’s good,” he tried, a feeble attempt to strive towards sentences that were longer, if not more interesting. “It’s time for things to go well for a while, right?”
“Yes,” she said, “that would certainly be… nice.” A weak word, but thoughts of all the disasters they had seen had her feeling almost nervous to voice positivity.
Who knew what could go wrong next?
Another awkward silence ensued, and she found her cookie and sole distraction completely gone. “I… suppose you have training,” she said. “I should probably go, too. There are a few things I’d like to get to before dinner.” Which would hopefully not involve the animals this time, nor end quite so catastrophically as Sunday dinner had. (Faram, maybe she should claim to be indisposed and ask for her meal to be brought to her room? The thought had serious appeal.)
Where before he had been concentrating his focus on his surroundings, and the cookie in his hands, now his head whipped to her as she made this announcement, and before he could help himself, he blurted out, “I still have some time before training, actually.” You don’t have to go were the next words about to come out of his mouth, but he steered himself away from them. They were replaced with, “But I guess I’ll go for a jog or something. You should get to those things you need to do before dinner.”
After all, it was his fault she was leaving, for being an absolute idiot who failed at mimicking normalcy. And even if she stayed, he wasn’t fooling himself that he could still fix the act. His mood began to plummet. He would have to go for a jog, since he’d already said it, at least until she was out of sight. And when she was, he would spend the rest of the day trying to figure out how to pretend nothing was up, next time he saw her.
“All right,” she said. “Enjoy your jog. We should spar again sometime soon.” She didn’t offer an exact date, though -- who knew what could happen next week?
“Sure,” he said at once. “Whenever you’ve got time. Just message me on the network or something.”
As she gathered her things and headed for the interior of the guildhall, she couldn’t help the nagging feeling that something was wrong.
But for the life of her, she couldn’t fathom what it might be.