Beau (rivalen) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-06-02 23:14:00 |
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Not all training between fighters was accomplished inside the guildhalls. For this particular morning, two samurai had decided to travel outside the confines of city and down along the quiet nearby coastline. Unlike the year before, there had been no great disturbances from the sea, nor any great and terrible serpents to contend with, and so training along this area was not to be considered quite as dangerous any longer (at least, no more than anywhere else of late). The outline of Gillian’s hovercar sat in the distance, a quick and reliable method of transport and a glimmer in the distance behind the pair as they moved along the empty beach. It was early morning, and the light of the sun reflected warmly off the water in deep golden hues, the great expanse of the sky unmarred by any hint of storm clouds. The weather had warmed considerably, and by mid-day, the cool comfort now imposed would give in to an afternoon humidity that would hint of hotter summer days yet to come. Gillian had taken the weather as a good sign of luck, and found some manner of amusement in training with Rivalen Beau again--just as they had once, years ago. The sun shone brightly across bared steel as the two drew their familiar weapons and engaged each other in combat. During the destruction of half the city, his precious blade had been damaged and so after a few weeks of waiting he finally had it back and was eager to test it. The mental curved lightly, weight perfectly balanced as he held his stance against Gillian. “You know I wonder if we’ll get cooler days, or it will stay hot until the end of summer.” Rivalen’s tone was conversational, as if they were sitting down on the sand and not with their swords pointed at one another. He turned, stepping into Gillian’s space and brought his sword to met hers; he never suffered from a disquiet mind, never had regrets or attachments of the sort. His reactions were the result of learning what was expected, nothing but hollow pretence and yet he looked to his former mentor with some sort of fondness. He looked to his sister with expectations. He had looked to his mother with something. As far as he was concerned, no mage was worth forgiving — what did it matter who was truly responsible? The Guild itself ought to have been able to prevent what happened with Vivian. They had not and so now they deserved to be removed from Emillion. “Season’s not been bad so far,” Gillian noted just as casually, and her blade slid up to counter his strike, her katana slicing through the air in a quick, fluid motion. There was no more natural of a feat than swordplay, and when it came to this particular dance, she herself had been the one to teach Rivalen his moves. Only her usual cool confidence was put on display then, a mirror to Rivalen’s own, as they moved their feet across the sand and left behind a swath of complex footwork in their wake. She watched him with interest however, assessing how greatly his skills had progressed since last they fought. “And for business as well,” she mentioned. For the near-constant fear of danger had the citizens of Emillion most desirous of reliable sellswords and hired protection, after all--and there were few great competitors to the Black Lions’ reputation. Gillian could be relieved at that much at least, even while other details remained murky and far less than fortunate. Rivalen had been a meticulous student once Gillian had reigned him in sufficiently, the derisive tone he used with most women he knew not to use on his former mentor. Even now, when he could (grudgingly) acknowledge that she would be able to beat him with a few well placed blows. “Except the cold weather from a few days ago. Scared a few more nobles into leaving I think, this will become a ghost town before long.” His footing was firm, he moved his weight back before launching at her again, weight behind the diagonal arc his katana traced. “Violence is good business.” “Didn’t find yourself caught up in that excitement, I’d wager?” Everyone had heard about the recent business in the outlands by now, and with how violent and unpredictable the current times had proven to be, hardly anyone might feign surprise for it. Gillian herself hadn’t found herself on that particular battlefield, and it was just as well--for if she had, likely as not she wouldn’t have proven as effective here, as blade struck blade and sparks flinted into the morning air. Gillian glided out of the way once again, her back to the sun and the sea. Birds from above circled and hovered high in the sky, watching the pair with some aloof curiosity perhaps, their distant calls the only disturbance to the samurai’s conversation, save for the gentle susurration of the tide. “Other duties to attend,” she guessed off-handedly, on the topic of nobles as they were. Which were, in Rivalen’s humble opinion, advocators of duties that were not only boring but inadequate to the times. There was no power in those meaningless gestures. She moved and he would’ve stumbled in his younger days, instead he dug his heels in and turned - moving to meet her sword before continuing their pleasant conversation by the sea. “No, I did not for a change find myself ordered to go out there like a lamb to slaughter.” He was no lamb, but he resented being ordered to defend a city when he cared nothing for it. “Pointless to fight the inevitable demise of this Faramforsaken city. My lordship has decided this city is doomed and intends to leave with all haste.” Gillian was impressed by Rivalen’s improvement with his footwork and found herself with a slight bemused grin. As for his words, she hardly found reason to argue--someone certainly had it in for Emillion, whether Faram or some other irrational power. That those with the money and means and great desire to flee for the promise of better fortunes had begun to do so, well, she was not so surprised. Let the nobles waste their gil and lives as they will, she thought, and only one particular detail served to catch her own interest. “That right, is it?” She moved in for her own attack this time, a quick and complicated ribbon of movement, a gesture by which to measure his defense and by no means an attempt to disarm Rivalen (as yet). Gillian wasn’t finished with this duel so soon. “And what about his retainers?” Defense had never been his strength, offence is the best defense which had been his motto since his early years in the guild. Her attack was met, and he shuffled back allowing Gillian to gain ground. “I believe he would prefer to get new, local ones where he is headed.” Uprooting an entire household was expensive, only those deemed absolutely vital were kept in employment. Rivalen did not fit such parameters (the acknowledgement of that leaving a bitter taste in his mouth). “Leaves you at a sudden inconvenience,” Gillian noted, gaining ground and allowing herself to show a slightly wolfish grin as she pressed her advanced further. Her next move was natural, already long in the planning and consideration, and a topic they had broached before. The commander of the Black Lions was, in fact, persistent when it came to some particular matters. “If you’re wanting other work,” she said, her katana moving sharp in his direction, “I might be able to find a job or two easily enough.” Rivalen had a brief open window to parry her sharp blow, feet firmly planted in the sand as he got ready to push back (defensive moves were never his best, a fact his mentor knew well). “Always trying to lure me back.” He had at one time figured that the Black Lions was not a company you ever truly left, like gravity, it kept drawing you back into its orbit (but that was perhaps best attributed to Gillian herself and not the company overall). “Yeah, I could do with a few jobs, since I’m technically homeless thanks to shitty circumstances and useless mages.” “Right then,” Gillian said with a smirk, fending off another skilled blow and pushing her way through Rivalen’s familiar defenses. She enjoyed this duel of theirs, she realized, and felt at once renewed by their time spent here. Confidence gained by his admission, she would find a way now to finish this fight and score for herself, perhaps, another victory (though she had already claimed the victory which mattered the most). “I’ll pen you in for a meeting at the offices,” she offered, businesslike as ever as their swords cut brilliant strokes through the summer air, the two samurai claiming the beach as their own. |