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It shouldn't hurt. If he didn't have use for plain company or talking that was fine, he didn't know her and he didn't know himself. It wasn't personal, he didn't even have the means to make it personal.

It shouldn't hurt.

Checking her phone one last time, she pocketed it and greeted Jordan with a tight smile. Her own clothes were just a small pair of running shorts and a smaller, stretched out girl scouts tshirt, an obvious remnant of a much younger America and more along the lines of pajamas than anything.

She offered Jordan a tight grin, "It's just supposed to be temporary. That's what he said."

She took a deep breath and then another and summoned Stryker. Eyeing Jordan's hammer, America's grin turned wry. "Still makes a big ******** impression." It had during her first division meeting and it did now.

"He's looking good," Jordan nodded toward Stryker, and grinned at her comment about Ferros. "Reactions from new trainees are the best, that never gets old."

Fast, and the thought was half Ferros's and half Jordan's. He brought Ferros up and around, swatting at America as she jumped back; the weapon made solid contact, but not hard, more of a test, a quick exchange of inquiries. Ready? We are.

HP: 59/60
Dmg: 5
Charge: 1/3

"Kinda interesting," Jordan mused. "There's this look the hatchlings have that lasts for four-five months on average, while they're still settling into the bond. Awkward in themselves, even if they're not clumsy. I think suddenly having somebody else in your head reminds you that you're living in a body and makes you extra aware of what you're doing with it." His guarded pacing was interrupted by Stryker slamming into him; he oofed and let the winged ball knock him back a step, recovering with a quick sidestep and a loose turn that brought Ferros around in a sideways arc back toward America. The distance was slightly misjudged, and they only scored a glancing, grazing hit.

"I'm kind of curious as to what he looks like now. You've seen Ferros. Still not an indoors weapon, even in a golem," he laughed.

HP: 52/60
Dmg: 1
Charge: 2/3

A ranged weapon like hers was difficult to defend against, even though Stryker was tethered by his chain and relatively short-ranged compared to a weapon like Roar or Mina. Ferros's mass meant that he couldn't be whipped around or up as rapidly as a smaller weapon. The bond made him feel no heavier than a normal sledgehammer to Jordan, but it couldn't negate the effects of the hammer's bulk. Stryker darted past their guard in a golden blur, and Jordan was knocked back several steps.

He'd been about to say something lighthearted about America's comments inflating Ferros's ego, but what she said about Fiona made the smile drop off his face, the corners of his mouth pulling down and his brows wrinkling slightly in an expression that spoke of worry and of faintly wary concern. Something wrong with a weapon was a serious matter. Even a relatively small problem like an unhappy or too-hungry weapon could affect their bonded human. A hostile or malicious weapon was worse; a damaged or deranged weapon was a different kind of worse, and a broken weapon worst of all. They knew what happened to hunters whose weapons broke, and it wasn't something they liked to think about. But America had said something wrong, which probably meant something less dire than ... that.

"I've seen a damaged weapon before ... Do you know if she's talking to him at all?" Jordan dropped his shoulder back, swung Ferros back like an angled pendulum, took three long strides forward, and threw their weight and the momentum of the swing and the movement into a rapid, powerful sidewise arc that slammed into America's side.

HP: 43/60
Dmg: 14
Charge: 3/3

"Sounds like. I mean, I don't know her, but they seem like -- " Jordan dodged away from the fireball, inhaling sharply. They hadn't actually met anyone else who had a fire charge the way they did; Ferros silently approved of the flames streaking past them. "They seemed pretty close," Jordan finished.

He darted after America. She was faster than he was, but he and Ferros had a considerable amount of reach. A little closer than they thought they needed to be, and Jordan planted his feet and swung hard, letting Ferros's handle slip through his hands almost to the end before he firmed his grip for a proper strike. "If she's not helping him stay sane," he called, "is she sane right now?"

HP: 43/60
Dmg: 10
Charge: 3/3

"If he's lost memories, maybe she has, too," Jordan theorized, moving back a few slow steps and flexing his fingers; they stung where Stryker had smacked hard into his hands. "Or the discrepancy might explain why what she's saying isn't helping much. Hard to say. He woke up and there was something wrong with her, it happened during the process and not after? I assume she was asleep with him while -- " he stopped, eyebrows jumping. "Was she asleep? What would happen to a weapon who remained conscious while their hunter was podded?"

No, Ferros sad forcefully, the word accompanied by a shudder of revulsion, a silent clatter as though the dragon had shaken himself all over. He didn't want to even consider it, the concept registering in his mind as a ragged and gaping void, pain and absence. The steady pulsing heat of the charge he held made the thought more immediate, turning it the dull red of metal heated to malleability.

Jordan caught his breath and shook his head, steering their train of thought away from the idea. They couldn't think about it now; it was a distraction, a raw ache, and they were fighting, and Ferros was charged. With no warning, they lunged toward America, bending low and bringing Ferros up and back and sweeping the weapon in a wide angled arc that swept the grass as they moved, singed the grass as Ferros burst into flame with a soft whump of displaced air, and swung up hard and fast toward America as they pushed up out of the half-crouch they'd dipped into.

HP: 38/60
Dmg: 16
Charge: 3/3