Welcome to Gaia! ::

He'd been summoned down to the training fields by explicit request, and the satisfaction of being required for the doling out of knowledge was enough to very nearly mollify his irritation at being dragged out into the torrential rain. He'd swapped his Deus coat for his civilian one, because the thought of scrubbing mud stains out of the pristine white yet again was more than he could currently stomach, and he was absently spinning Fionnghal around one finger as he trudged through the sheet of water blanketing the grounds, the light of her runes cutting through the rain and reflecting in rippled circles off the ground.

He wasn't sure who he'd be instructing, but the image of some fresh-faced recruit soon to be face-down in the mud with Taym's knee in his back was exactly the kind of mental picture he would find therapeutic in his current vicious mindset. Maybe he could bloody their nose before the shield dampers kicked in.

He took up station next to the training dummies and awaited his unfortunate opponent, completely unfazed by the storm. He'd spent a long time walking in the rain, and even if this rain was rather more violent than he was accustomed to, it wasn't entirely strange.

No. No no no. No.

His vicious mood went fully sour as he realized who it was that was trying to get his attention, and he made it obvious that he did not yet understand the situation: "******** off and die, Bertrand, I'm waiting for someone."

He gnawed on the inside of his cheek, infuriated and faintly embarrassed, and he gave Fionnghal another little spin around his finger before he caught her, hand flexing around the hilt.

"If you wanted to spend the evening under me--because that's where you're going to end up--you could have just asked." But he was dropping into a stance that suggested he was going to take her up on it regardless, and he was already solid mud to the knee and didn't care. "You made a ******** mistake," he added, "if you think I'm in a mood to take it easy."

"Then ******** fight," he suggested, with a whip-quick snap of his arm to weave Fiona's blade in the trident's spikes and shove them aside, to make a lunge at her. The wet ground was treacherous; his leverage was bad: the blade barely connected with her shield. "You've got the advantage," he added, indicating Thaw's length with a vicious jab of his elbow. "Use it."

HP: 50 I think I'm not even sure lemme check
DMG: 2
CHG: 1/3

A knife with an edged blade opened up a world of possibilities, but Fiona's instinct and Taym's was still, for better or worse, to stab: every time he did he was vaguely and unavoidably inundated with the image of a stag, with careless power, tossing its antlered head into the chest of an enemy, a thought which felt like his but which he knew was the weapon's.

The knife bit deep into Maebe's ribs, hard, sunk to the hilt before he yanked it free, willing himself to stay close to her, to rob her of the advantage of her range despite the sick feeling that rose up as it always did at the satisfaction of violence. It felt good. He didn't want it to feel good. "You tell me," he suggested, twisting the clean blade towards her. "Hasn't anyone taught you this s**t yet?"

HP: 47
DMG: 7
CHG: 2/3

Every time, every time: the same ******** cycle. Come down to the fields, find yourself in a fight that's supposed to be at least nominally friendly, let the rage come of its own volition on the heels of the violence. He couldn't separate the one from the other. He'd met Kostya this way and the fact that they'd somehow shaped a friendship out of it baffled him even now: he had nothing but hatred when there was a weapon in his hand. He hated them for making him hurt them, even for the purposes of so-called instruction, because there was no purpose for him with the knife in his hand: there was only violence.

Fueled by it and by a rising fury at her inability to take the situation seriously, he grabbed her instead by the hair, knocking the hood back, and he yanked her head back against his shoulder and raised the knife to impotently slash at the curve of her exposed throat, the knife digging deep.

"Why is this job such a ******** joke to you?" he demanded with a jerk of her head, and he had to raise his voice above the noise of the rain against her coat but he would have yelled it anyway. "******** focus."

HP: 47
DMG: 9... /covers eyes
CHG: 3/3

There was another voice in her head, screaming at her to focus. She sucked in a quick and shallow breath as her head was yanked back, and stared up coldly at him, even as he slit her neck. The pain was piercing, and she narrowed her eyes as the rush of adrenaline did not come this time. It was too soon, too quick, and too precise. She wanted to spit in his face from sheer disappointment.

"I'm TRYING." She cried out, subtly moving Thaw over until his prongs were under Taym's ribs. "I don't WANT to die, okay? I'm just not - "

Thaw was shoved with all of the force she could muster, right through Taym. She tried to impale him enough to pick him up off the ground, but eventually just shoved him off like hay. She'd interrupted her own speech, but she waited until he was off of her before finishing what she was saying.

"I'm not wired like you. But I'm still trying."

She checked her nails for chips.

HP: 22
Damage: 9
Charge: 2/3

"Ahh!" The sounds that escaped her were too telling, and Thaw had retreated to simply growling in dismay instead of trying to help. She stumbled again, and lifted the weapon up, jabbing it as hard as she could - but Taym was quick to dodge his body just enough to keep her from doing more than scratching against his side. It was frustrating as hell - and she didn't know how to get any better at it. The rain was in her eyes, her entire body felt cold and damp and dirty, and the only thing he was telling her was to hit him again. Do it again, Maebe. Do what again? All she'd done was get mad at him.

Was that it? Was she just not mad enough at him? That seemed unlikely.

"Can you just.. listen - how do I stop you from shanking me?" The memories of that electric dagger started to prickle at her skin, filling her voice with desperate impatience.

HP: 15
Damage: 1
Charge: 3/3