[Milliways]

[2goodarms]

[From here.]

If he were back on the train, he'd go to his bunk, shove the curtain closed, and stay there for as long as possible until the swirl of emotions died down. After that first month, Curtis always figured it was better to isolate himself than risk lashing out at the rest of the tail.

Too bad he's not on the train anymore.

As Edgar heads back out to the stables -- giving Curtis space like most people did when he got angry, and fuck if that doesn't feel like winning his way through a tantrum, too, god -- and he and Dejah head up to the gym, Curtis gets to work wiggling open the jar of salve. He can't quite get the proper leverage with just one hand, even with the jar pressed between his stump and his side; gritting his teeth, he labors on with grim determination.

Comments

[dejah_thoris]

She bends to rest her forehead against his temple. "All right." She doesn't feel the need to press him for more information. This is a story that will come in its own time and in its own way. She touches his cheek again, pulls his eyes up to meet hers.

"I know who you are, Curtis Everett."

[2goodarms]

Maybe it's a good thing Curtis didn't see Mars first. Maybe he should wait to take the Voice of Barsoom until after he tells her everything. There's some appeal in not having to put that first month into words, but -- it doesn't sound like the telepathy works like that.

And until then, when he thinks -- like he does now -- No, you don't, he'll get a little privacy with the thought. That's even more appealing.

He closes his eyes, letting his forehead touch hers without a word.

[dejah_thoris]

She can feel the weight of whatever this burden he carries bearing him down, with every breath. She can feel how much of his rage is directed inward, can sense that he is fighting a battle that he cannot win alone.

But she knows him well enough to know, he has to come to that same conclusion before she or Edgar or anyone else can even begin to help him.

She wishes he could talk to John. John would be able to get this out of him, she thinks, and not for the first time. John would understand even better than she could. He lived it firsthand.

But he can't. All he has is her and Edgar. And Edgar's got other matters to attend to right now. She bumps her nose against Curtis's. "Come on. The mat's waiting."

[2goodarms]

Five minutes later, they're getting themselves situated in the gym. It's pretty empty today -- only a few other people, all of them focused on either weightlifting or the treadmills, leaving the mat completely clear for Curtis and Dejah.

As usual, he's stripped down to his undershirt and started wrapping his hand. (Maybe it's not strictly necessary today, but Curtis never minds the extra practice.) By now, he's getting pretty good at doing it one-handed, the wrap anchored between his teeth, his wrist bending in the quick, complex arcs needed to twist the cloth into its proper place.

[dejah_thoris]

Dejah's changed into the sleeveless leather bodice and short skirt that she works out in. Curtis will remember the soft leather wraps she uses in lieu of tape. She takes a few minutes to stretch out before stepping to the weapons rack.

"Swords or staffs today? Or do you just want to grapple?"

[2goodarms]

"Staffs first?" he says, muffled a bit by the wrap in his teeth. He spits it out to finish rigging it between his fingers. "Maybe grapple later."

Even with the rage finally corralled, Curtis doesn't wholly trust himself: it'd be too easy to slip back if he's trying to punch another person.

[dejah_thoris]

She nods and selects her own staff, along with one she thinks will suit him.

"Here. We can start one quarter speed." She rolls the staff over the back of her hand and spins it behind her back.

[2goodarms]

Curtis catches the staff she tosses his way, his eyebrows lifting. He tests the weight: lighter than an axe, definitely longer, a little harder to coax into a full orbit when he gives it an experimental spin. He's been improvising weapons for over half his life, though. He'll make it work.

"You lead, I'll follow," he says.

And once he's got the hang of it, he'll stop following.

[dejah_thoris]

She circles away from him, her body language shifting. Her normal ramrod straight posture melts into something fluid, almost feline in nature. Each footfall is precise, each glance, calculated.

She starts simply. Just a basic series of attacks. She'll even start on his good side. Her smile indicates, she has no intention of going easy on him.

[2goodarms]

He's...okay, the shift in posture is pretty distracting for a couple seconds. His gaze starts to trace a line down her body before he shakes himself out of it, placing one foot behind himself, pivoting to always keep her in sight.

Curtis still fights like he's in a room a quarter of the mat's size. When he meets each strike of her staff, he moves swift and sure, but never too far from where he planted his feet. Elegance isn't his thing. Combined with Dejah's grace, he's like a snake snapping out at a charmer.

[dejah_thoris]

That lingering glance doesn't go unnoticed, but she's not to be distracted. Not yet, at least. She slips passed his guard, sweeps his staff aside, and bumps his chest with her staff.

"You are not a tree. You're allowed to move." She pushes him off balance to illustrate.

[2goodarms]

Curtis stumbles back a step, but catches himself almost immediately on legs long used to compensating for sudden jolts and bumps. Using the shift in weight to load his back leg, he springs forward, jabbing his staff toward Dejah's shoulder.

[dejah_thoris]

She parries, deftly stepping in and to one side, a feral grin stealing onto her lips. The blow was serious, so she takes it up a notch, sweeping low and aiming for the back of his knees.

[2goodarms]

Shit --

Curtis leaps over the staff. He lands with a thud, pivots out of the small space he'd been occupying, and lets the staff follow through its natural arc toward Dejah's side.

He's starting to grin, too, nearly as fierce as her.

[dejah_thoris]

She takes the hit but flows with it, a fluid forward roll that has her on her feet again in no time. She bounces on the balls of her feet and circles away from him again.

(That smile....)

This time, she lifts her chin, inviting his attack.

[2goodarms]

He falls back just enough to assess the situation; he keeps spinning the staff, growing more comfortable with the way it moves in his hand.

Don't root yourself like a tree. Keep moving. Go forward.

He can do that.

Curtis charges. At the last second, he feints to the side, aiming for Dejah's legs.

[dejah_thoris]

She reads the feint and blocks the blow, parrying it with one end of the staff and aiming the other end at his ribs. She'll pull the blow if she gets through, but she's moving at full speed now. There's a flush of color in her cheeks and they're beginning to fall into a rhythm.

[2goodarms]

He blocks the hit, but just barely: the staff knocks into his lower torso before he can twist to avoid it. It's not a bad blow, but it's enough to send Curtis out of range so he can reconsider his strategy.

One, two, three -- he whips the staff into three quick strikes, trying for speed instead of strength.

[dejah_thoris]

One, two, three, she parries each blow without thinking, subtly drawing her arms in to reduce her range, circling backwards, enticing him to move into her space.

Dance with me.

[2goodarms]

Compared to a knife, or even an axe, a staff feels like a long-range weapon. It feels utterly natural to sink into her space, drawing on the confinement of the train as he keeps swinging, keeps dodging. The fight turns into snapshots of motion: a blur to be parried, an opening to be sought, Curtis meeting Dejah strike for strike.

[dejah_thoris]

Another few blows and she has him right where she wants him. A brush parry sheds the force of his blow and she's inside his reach. With one end still locked up in the block, she lets the staff slip through her fingers a foot, and plants it hard on the ground behind his right foot.

In a heartbeat, she's nose to nose with him. Her hand splays on his chest and she snaps her teeth in a gesture of play ferocity, before shoving him back. Hard.

[2goodarms]

There's getting knocked off-balance by a quick blow, and then there's getting knocked off-balance by a hard shove.

Curtis stumbles back, can't catch himself in time, and goes sprawling. He manages to curve his back and roll into the fall rather than thumping straight onto his ass -- which unintentionally turns into a backward somersault, Curtis on his hand and knees as the staff rolls a foot away.



...That was kind of hot.

He looks up, laughing, "Aw, come on!" before grabbing his staff and surging back to his feet.

[dejah_thoris]

She's grinning like a tiger, breathing hard, looking at him like he's the most delectable thing she's ever laid eyes on.

She barely lets him get his staff before she returns the flurry of strikes, alternating quadrants and angles of attacks, stepping into him, making him work for every inch of his staff.

No time to think, no time to plan, no time to do anything but respond.

[2goodarms]

At this speed, when everything blurs into action and reaction, his mind quiets a little. It stops protesting wait, and think, and lets him move without second-guessing. If only every fight could be that smooth. If only the stakes never got higher than a sparring match.

He slips on that thought, his next swing hitching.

Shut up and fucking enjoy it, he snaps at himself, and pushes forward.

[dejah_thoris]

He falters, and she takes the opening, locking him up staff to staff. She bends at the waist, spins her own body through a barrel roll that somehow ends up with his chest resting across her back. A moment later, his feet are over his head and he's flying through the air.