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His blow sent her reeling, and this time, she didn't bother to stay on her feet. She knew it was over.

She landed on the ground more or less sitting, one leg below her, the other sprawled out, her hands out to steady her. The glaive hit the ground below her hand for only a moment before Sherry desummoned her weapon.

Armagnac raged. Sherry knew she'd hear about it later.

The life trainee looked up at Jake, clearly grumpy. She was more upset with herself than with him. "It looks like I'll have to. Congratulations, you almost broke my shield."

Picking herself up, she smiled at him. "I concede round one to you."

She was going to be sore for day or two, that was for sure.

Battle over, and she'd lost. Lost to the new kid. After losing at Jenga. Armagnac was already asking her how in the name of Jack it was possible. Sherry just didn't have a good answer, so she was doing her best to ignore the wyrm.

Jake was harder to ignore. Since he was standing there right in front of her and all.

"I'm sure I could have--," she should have. "I'm not holding--," except maybe she was. She didn't have time to come up with a good reason for her failure though. Now she was just staring at him.

What the hell did that question even mean?

"What? No. Why would I--?" Did that warmth on her face mean she was turning red? Yes. Did she hope he wouldn't notice? Totally. Was it possible that some part of her brain was taking this entirely the wrong way? Most certainly.

"Of course I don't think that. I'm just having an off day, or something," she was also looking at the ground. "Why would you even ask that?"

"I certainly didn't set out to lose. I promise you that," she looked him right in the eye. It wasn't a lie. Not in the least. "I don't-- ow."

She made a face at him for the forehead flick. The spar was over, silly. Why was he--

"My mind's not in the gutter! What does that have to do with anything?" Sherry really only knew of one gutter a mind could be in. And no, Jake, her mind wasn't there. Or at least it hadn't been. Now maybe, but--

Crap. Something hit Sherry like a ton of bricks. Was it possible she was some how attracted to this jerk? No. No way. No way at all.

"Really. What does that have to do with anything? And are you telling me you walked into this spar expecting to lose?" Subject change. She was going for it. Lamely, but still.

Armagnac was grumbling. Sherry wasn't sure what, but she got the angry loud and clear.

For a moment, Sherry didn't respond. She didn't even know how to. His words hurt, more than she could have thought. There was a tumble of emotion and thought, and she tried in vain to smooth everything out. In the end, she settled on one emotion. A safe emotion.

That a**. That complete, utter, total, jerkfacey asshat. Sherry was now rather angry, and storming down the path after him before she realized it.

"And what the ******** does that mean?" She yelled as she caught up to him. She stepped in front of him, grabbed his coat with both hands and pulled him close. "If you think, for even one second that I am worthless as a hunter, then why even bother sparring with me?

"I'm doing the best I can with what I've got. So, I had an off day. You telling me you never had one? Seriously. Tell me. Why even bother talking to me if I am so bloody ******** worthless?"

One hand let go of his coat, and pointed at her face. "And this s**t. This is because someone thought I'd look great with black everywhere."

She grabbed his coat again, and somehow she got even closer to him. She had quit yelling by now, but there was anger and hurt in her voice. "Is 'loser' really what you think of me, Jake? Am I the one not good enough for you?"

Sherry knew words could hurt. But she always forgot just how much. It had been so very long since any had hurt just this much. And he just stood there and said it. Like, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"It was me." She said, her voice even and rather void of emotion as she answered his question. She had her reasons. They'd already been over that, hadn't they? Was he still trying to tell her it was some kind of mistake?

Her gaze turned cold as she looked him in the eye to continue.

"And I have died." It clearly wasn't real death, but she'd made her peace with the world more than once. "And it hurts, and it drives home the fact that I am terrible at this."

Her hands had balled up into fists by now. She didn't know if she wanted to cry, or hit him. Both seemed like marvelous ideas. Which, with her state of mind, meant they were probably lousy ideas.

"Then why not kill me? You could have, just now. Why didn't you? I don't need your pity. Oh, wait. I'm sorry. You probably don't pity. You are some kind of heartless m-" She stopped. It wasn't even out of her mouth and she regretted it. He didn't deserve that.

<********!" Her fist went up and came down oh his chest, just below his shoulder. It was a hit full of frustration and anger. "You stupid, arrogant a*****e. Are you trying to make me hate you?"

Armagnac grumbled. She was seething with rage, anger and hate. With hints of other things thrown in.

Sherry was, more or less, doing the same. Even though now was probably not the best time. She'd almost forgotten her fear shield was all but down; forgotten the pain of the fight they'd just had. It just hurt so much less than everything else right now. Why did talking with Jake make her heart hurt?

"I was going to say that. Exactly. A heartless monster. But you know what?" she grabbed his coat again, and leaned in so close their foreheads almost touched. "I don't think you are. I think you want to be. I think you want everyone to think that's what you are.

"Why is it so bloody important that I hate you?" She wanted to continue. Ask him if it was worth tearing her heart out to do it. But she was afraid of the answer he'd give.

Jake wasn't the only one with a weapon in his head again. And therefore, not the only one who had their defenses back up.


She stared for a moment, turning his words over again. What did it matter if he wanted everyone to hate him? What was it to her? Had she been flattering herself into thinking she was different?

Maybe. Yes.

"You are an idiot. A big, stubborn idiot," she punctuated the words with another hit. "Yes. Yes I want to know why you want to be a monster. Because it doesn't make any sense to me.

"And maybe I was flattering myself. I guess my stupid self didn't quite realize how worthless you thought I was."

Her hands, they were shaking. Rage was making them shake. Rage at herself, at him, and then herself again. She wanted to hit him, but she didn't know if it was to hurt him or her. He didn't deserve her rage. Her left hand still clutched at his coat, while her right sat as a balled up fist on his chest. Still shaking she opened it, trying not to hit him. No, no. This rage. This rage wasn't directed at him. The shaking hand squeezed his shoulder, then for a fleeting second brushed the back of his neck. It finally clutched at his vest. If she had something to hold onto, hitting him was less likely.

"I'm sorry, Jake. Sorry that I'm not good enough to be your friend. And sorry that you think you need to be a monster."