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"It's a similar concept," he allowed for the softball analogy. "You want to face a little bit more head-on than you would at the plate, and your feet won't be parallel -- you're looking for movement and balance, so any time they're exactly parallel, it's too easy to knock you over. Here, bring your back foot in a little." He felt guilty working on footwork when she had an injury, but there was, frankly, nowhere else worth starting. All a person's arms had to do was hit things -- the legs had to do way more important, more nuanced work. And good footwork could take months to master.

He moved into his stance again, bouncy. "So you see how I can weave like this, I've got some float in my stance? That's weight distribution. When you fight, your knees should always, always be bent, because that means you're always ready for -- " He ducked an invisible kick to the head. " -- Vertical movement. And you want to keep your weight distributed evenly between your front foot and your back foot. Your back heel should always, always be off the ground. If I've got all my weight already back here -- " Quartz put his weight to his back foot, then mimed a dodge backwards, and the awkward stumble to recover. "Then when you hit me, I've got nowhere to fall back to, 'cause I'm already back there. You see a guy propping his weight on his back foot, you can just shove him and you've got him on his a**." He smirked. "Once a man's on the ground, you go ahead and kick the s**t out of him -- he's ********." He resumed his stance. "But you don't want to be the one on the ground. Someone throws a punch at you, you want to have your feet ready to hop back and out of the way." He demonstrated this, too -- a light, fluttery dodge, a few hopping steps.

"The stance is a little unnatural, so if you're doing it right, it'll feel weird for a while. It can take six weeks or more to really master good footwork. But it's your most important skill, so don't give up on it. If you think you've got the idea, you can throw another punch at me," he suggested.

Resuming his own attention on her fists, he answered her question. "Dionysia. I can remember, combined, about three hours before my conversion -- name included. You asked before if they made me give the old one up. I could've kept it, actually -- been Lieutenant Dionysia of the Negaverse. But I don't serve the Negaverse willingly, and I'm not interested in attaching any of this s**t to that name."

Right hand incoming. Quartz didn't try to dodge this time, but let her come. With his hands in place, it was only a slight, quick shift to bring the forward left up in a block, letting the blow strike off his forearm instead. He reached out with his other hand to try and tap his fingers against her face, to see what she'd do.

There wasn't time to catch her, or Quartz wasn't fast enough. It happened so quickly -- and then Astrophyllite was on the ground, reaching for her injured ankle, full of dismay. He made it to his knees beside her as soon as he could, only barely managing to restrain the instinct to gather her in his arms and rock her back and forth and sing quietly till the pain passed.

That would've been too much vulnerability, and too much affection for a stranger. It was a silly instinct, and he bit it back. "Shhh, it's alright, Strawberry Shortcake," he said, offering her a smile meant to cajole one in return. "You're doing just fine. It's a lot to learn, and fighting's tough with just one foot, huh? It doesn't matter whether you've got it here yet," Quartz tapped her hands with his fingertips, "as long as you're storing it all away up here." He tweaked her nose. "You've got a good memory? You'll practice?"

Quartz nodded. Evidently she went to some kind of boarding school -- which meant either unusual wealth or some kind of remedial program. He was fairly certain he could guess which, poor kid. She didn't seem like the kind of person who had a lot of people looking out for her.

"No problem, I understand. Listen, don't forget -- get yourself signed up for some self-defense classes. And don't listen to anyone who ever tells you you're not allowed to hit someone in the groin. You're allowed to hit anyone in the groin, it's a secret weapon."

He frowned at her struggles on her turned ankle. "You'll be okay to get back?"