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Over a hundred? That wasn't a promising sort of number, at least not when he could count the potential allies he'd met on one hand. Let alone that he was not much above legal draft age. Historically, he was willing to bet the feeling was mutual to the poor sots that got to go to Normandy. Only they were in a foriegn country and had boot camp. He got to stay home and so far it was sink, find a floaty tossed by a passing swimmer, or figure out how to doggie paddle lamely.

And while he watched very, very closely as she demonstrated, boy did he have a lame punch when he tried. It didn't matter which kind. There was also the problem that his thumbs were inside his rolled fingers, which was a good way to break your own digits when punching. "This feels really awkward."

"You've been doing this for four years? How can it even last that long?"

"Ah...." Thraen gave a succinct nod, looking at switching his hands after worrying his fingers once. Trying again was the work of a moment- less awkward technically, though certainly not any shade of natural to him. Practice, indeed.

"Dead?...********* didn't mention that...what makes you think so? Is there no line of succession? It IS a monarchy, right? Someone has to hold the crown, then."

None of that sounds particularly promising at all, but I can't tell if the disappointment is with Maia or this....'chibi moon'. What do you mean you 'assume' she holds the crown? Its a monarchy. Dissent of leadership just means there's more than one rightful claimant vying, not that there's a gap with everyone milling around and not even a steward. Either someone is the heir or they aren't. Maybe the answer would be better found going straight to the source- this chibi moon, and asking her about the state of the political sailor environment. Or one of these...other royals. Either way, it didn't appear any of them had Maia's allegiance. The trouble with nobles, really, in the feudal system- a monarch could never be entirely sure to have their support. The business between Stephen and Maud came to the front of his mind, particularly.

But they weren't having a civil war within themselves, from all parties as he'd heard. The problem was with the Negaverse. The problem about fighting. He should be kicking. Thraen focused on her second and third demonstration kicks, and set his jaw. Speaking to his own prospects, "Can he walk and chew gum...."

The good news, as he tried, was that he didn't fall on his a**. The bad news was that the likelihood of him actually connecting or doing damage if he did was dismal. " 'One day' that hasn't come in already four years? It doesn't sound likely. So who calls the shots? The cats? How do we know how to fight our enemy?"

Thraen squared his feet back to the ground, instead of lamely attempting to kick and keep his balance at the same time. The answer to his own sarcasm seemed to be 'just barely' , so he was glad he wasn't actively jawing on gum.

"Please. Trial by fire seems like it might be the only hopeful way for me to start convincing this bag of bones to take this seriously. " His muscle sjust felt tight and tired and uncooperative. ""Two hit to win', you'd said?"

He didn't have high hopes for his chances in this, but he wanted badly to learn. "Don't go easy. The burnt hand teaches best, and this'll give me as good an idea as I can safely get of what's coming."

The classroom was a place where many cultural conventions were abandoned in favor of the one necessary duality- that of mentor and student. She was the learned teacher, whether she was a beautiful girl, wearing frilly clothes, or looking like she was about as far from a soldier as a strawberry was different from a avocado.

He adopted the stance she had shown him, took a deep, readying breath to clear nervousness and tried to maneuver around. He shifted from the face on angle- the point of stances and defenses seemed to follow that from the face on a persons reaction would be fastest, and their defense the best. Military histories always talked about flanking, so certainly it could be applied to one-on-one combat? If he could even hit.

It would be an insult to her teaching not to try his best, so he did, trying first to get to her side to punch, aiming for her shoulder. It was something that wouldn't be crippling if it did hit, and not startling or meanspirited in a spar as aiming for a nose or cheek.

She was surprisingly quick and deft on those ridiculous shoes she had to wear as part of her uniform. He hoped it was necessity that had spurred the skill, and not that she went around day in and day out wearing similar by choice of fashion. It did terrible things to the calf muscles to-

No, that was being distracted.

The natural 'training' next would be to go for a kick. ' Look ma, I learned this first and this second' sort of deal, and he wasn't going to buy into that at his age. He was better with punching and they weren't at a good angle to try kicking for his relative unskilled aim. He went for a short, quick jab at her forearms- hurting the blocking appendage might open up a more favorable target.

He almost felt elated at the compliment, excepting his reason chided him- it's too early for high hopes. Its a start. It's all new and all a beginning.


And sure enough, the next thing he knew he was down on knees and wondering exactly how he'd gotten there before his brain put the sting behind his knees together with the sting of the pavement against the front of the same joint. "That's one of two, right?"

"Do we pick up from here, or reset to stance?"

He did 'dodge' the punch at his core, but only in the loose sense of jumping like a startled, Halloween cat and landing a foot back. His 'counterattack' was limited, having made distance and a strange angle, and being a little shaken to suddenly, and in a real (even if controlled) sense having a person trying to attack him for the first time in his life- this was no youma or mirrorwraith. She was trying to help him, but facing something like himself instead of being helped by them was vastly different. Different then creepy monsters devouring energy.

He tried a kick, finally, but completely misjudged her direction, angle or velocity and it went wide perforce.