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Halden pulled Tanngrisnir close to the curb, killing the rumbling engine and kicking out its stand to park. The large Harley suited the equally large man astride it, who took a glance around to make sure he was away from any nosy pedestrians. Satisfied that he had a modicum of privacy, he gripped the stone etching of a hammer that he wore on a chain about his neck and focused. There was a rush of power as he called upon his wonder, and in his place now stood Vígríðr, Page of Jupiter.

This was one of the reasons he left the running of the restaurant to Ned come sunset. A peaceful dinner then it was often a ride into town to fulfill his duties to protect the weak from Chaos. Or just fight Chaos in general. He preferred the latter, less to worry about when there weren't innocent bystanders involved.

The man was just preparing to plot a patrol path when something tingled at the edge of his senses. A power signature? It didn't seem malevolent, but he didn't often come across others when wandering the city. It was nearby, and... upward? Vígríðr scanned the rooftops before he found the probable source: what appeared to be a White Moon senshi. An ally after all.

Kneeling, the page gathered his strength and pushed away from the ground in an impressive leap. Definitely a perk of the power gained from his wonder, the knight-in-training rather enjoyed his magnified strength and physical abilities. No need for stairs when you could simply jump small buildings.

He landed heavily on the opposite end of the space from the woman, rolling his shoulders and roughly brushing a rogue lock of blonde hair behind his ear.

"Hail, friend," Vígríðr called, lifting a hand in greeting. "You seem perplexed, lost, or both. How might I help?"

Vígríðr gave an appreciative laugh at the senshi's mild self-deprecation, nodding and smiling warmly.

"Nothing quite so dramatic, dear woman. But aye, you speak of the battle against Chaos and the treacherous Lyndin, do you not? Where we took the field to stop their new weapon and the heavens were rent asunder, tearing a comet from the firmament."

The man lifted a palm skyward, his jovial expression sobering.

"Nay, I remain unsure as to our victory that night. The realm shook as we met our foes upon the field, but such darkness I have never felt clutching at my breast as when that infernal contraption began overloading."

The page looked thoughtful then, clenching his open hand into a tight fist and lowering his gaze to Vela.

"You were there, then? Both at the battle and the Moon after? I welcome you back into the light as you step from beneath the boughs of shadow, friend. I am Vígríðr, Page of Jupiter. And I am loathe to admit that I merely found more disappointment up there. The Code is... not a friendly piece of whatever it is, that is for certain."

He stepped forward, boots crunching on the small bits of detritus upon the rooftop.

"I imagine the transition was not easy, you have my respect. The princess, Ganymede, she cleansed you?"

Vígríðr nodded grimly.

"Aye, it's heartening to know that others view their time on the Moon as an unpleasant experience. It should have been a visit filled with wonders, not sullied by the prepubescent sniping of a lonely sheet of paper... rock... thing."

The page shook his head.

"It matters not. The fight goes on, and we still stand to meet it."

The man's serious expression warmed a bit.

"So! The Senshi of Bonfires. That sounds exciting. Are we talking celebratory bonfires or making the enemy into a bonfire? Because I know which one I'd choose, given the choice."

Vígríðr chortled heartily at the thought.

Vígríðr stroked his beard whilst listening to the senshi explain her powers, though he still didn't quite understand. She danced, but it sounded like she had used it to attack the consoles in the prior battle. So she danced fire at people? That was still pretty metal, considering most White Moon senshi he met tended to just cast support spells on their fellows. If there wasn't a single offensive person among them, they couldn't really do much except endure more punches from the enemy. At least Vela seemed different in that regard.

"Hah!" the page boomed, giving a sparkling toothy grin. "So it is a fiery attack after all. Your foes must fear the searing embrace of your magic. I take it then that you do not need my help in subduing any potential fools who might think to harm innocents on our watch?"

The tall man crossed his arms, waiting expectantly but patiently. It wasn't like he was going to force his assistance on anyone, especially when no danger currently lurked.

Vígríðr watched Vela explain about how she wanted to be stronger, that magic wasn't enough. She slowly sobered herself into a melancholy, mentioning that not everyone had walked away from the battle that had detonated the comet. It had been a tough contest, to be sure. The waves of Chaos, destruction rampant...

The page clapped a reassuring hand on Vela's shoulder, giving a small shake.

"Remember them well, but do not grieve them overlong. They fell in battle, fighting for what they believed in. A cause worthy of their own lives. There can be no greater calling, they joined their ancestors in honor."

The blonde man gave a last squeeze before releasing his grip.

"But yes, we speak now of you! Magic is a potent tool, but there is no weapon so trustworthy as your own fists. What did you have in mind? I could teach you what I know, have you heard of Glima?"

Vígríðr looked thoughtful.

"How best to describe it. 'Tis the combat style of my ancestors. Ah!"

He snapped a finger in realization.

"Pro wrestling, you know of it yes? With the overly oiled top-heavy men in spandex? It is somewhat like that, only useful and not ridiculous. I speak specifically of Lausatök, loose grip Glima. It is for self-defense, utilizing throws and technique to supplement strength."

The man nodded sagely.

"Being mighty is important, but knowing how best to apply your might is just as useful. All the strength in the world will not avail you if employed improperly."

The squire smiled warmly at Vela.

"It is such that one of any stature and strength can use it and prevail if they are clever enough. And, my friend, I do believe you clever. Would you like to learn?"

"Precisely!" Vígríðr thundered in a pleased tone. "Many foes will become overconfident, drunk on their own power. And that," he pointed a finger upward to accentuate his point, tapping it lightly through the air, "that is when you make them regret their folly."

Spreading his feet into a wide, sturdy stance, the page dropped his hips and spread his arms. True to his word, he did look a bit like a wrestler preparing to grapple.

"Now then, I garner from your words that you doubt you will be able to topple larger or stronger opponents. This may be true, but only if they are aware of their own center of gravity. An ill-balanced mountain can be unmade by the tiniest breeze, if the breeze knows what she's doing."

Vígríðr grinned.

"Now what you'll want is a reactionary style if you can't overpower. Go for the hips and waist, they control movement and balance."

Gripping his own hips to demonstrate, the blonde man gave a twist and tug motion downward toward the ground.

"Do that while they're charging and they'll be at your feet before they know what happened. Just make sure to dodge their bullish charge first, then turn their eagerness against them. Goad them if need be, make a tantalizing target so they cannot resist but rush you. Then victory is yours."

He straightened, waving an encouraging hand.

"Come, you try. First enrage your foe, cloud his thinking."