Shall We Dance? [Attn: Nani]

[Brad]

Lucien Mantear

The whine of steel slicing through air was a sound to which Lucien had long ago grown accustomed, having heard it often in his youth and formative years. The subtle glint of light from the blade, the feel of the leather on his palms, the keen edge fresh from a whetstone, the balance of a custom-forged weight. The ease of the basic forms was a welcome reprieve to the Dedicated, an escape from the trepiditious reality of the world around him. Hama Valon defiled, its radiant squares and shining walls rent like rotted cloth. Black, towering spires of undulating smog heralded the continued burning of parts of the city; still smouldering through the sheer force of the devastation visited upon them. A pivot on his heel, and droplets of sweat flew from his brow, his eyes cold within the void. The faces of the dead haunted him, accusing, like a chorus of persecution damning him for his lack of presence during the attack.

So strong, Lord Mantear, they taunted in the imagined tones of slain children, and yet when we needed it, where was your power? A flare of self-loathing sparked through the void, rippling along the surface like a flash of crimson lightning, before dispersing back into his subconscious. He centred himself, focusing purely on the blade in his hands. Lightning of the Three Prongs flowed into The Creeper Embraces the Oak, shifting to Black Pebbles on Snow rapidly, his breath exhaled through the strike, which shifted with a movement of weight into Arc of the Moon. Lucien's body was coiled, his muscles tensed, and his movements not as fluid as they could have been. Arc of the Moon morphed into The Hawk Surveys the Plain, and from there to The Courtier tips his Fan, fluidly transitioning to Cutting the Wind, without a fumble despite the awkwardness of the initial positioning.

His movements were calculated for relief, for unburdening himself. He gave himself to the forms; The Falcon Stoops into a passable The Dandelion in the Wind, following towards a Lizard in the Thornbrush. The form flow was continued by The River Undercuts the Bank, and slid forth towards a pivot-turn, rapidly moving into The Wood Grouse Dances, then into The Red Hawk Takes a Dove, and concluding his movements with River of Light. Sweat coated him as he stood, locked in the final movement of the form, his bare chest heaving for air. He had stripped, of course--naked to the waist, with fitting breeches offering him his decency, and good boots to assure his footing. Immersed in the void, it was someone else's well-worked body, someone else's heaving lungs. He was fighting not just air, but his own guilt; fencing with his sense of obligation and an overwhelming burden of perceived failure.

Lucien knew, logically, that he had no way of knowing the Seanchan would attack. He had no way of comprehending the magnitude of the invaders' desire to see the Grey Tower and its union of men and women crushed. The reality was that he had been following a family duty that he had sworn to long before he had learned to channel. He had been doing his proper task and attending the High Seat of Mantear, in the event of an unexpected death. He was obligated. He was bound to it. Then why do I feel as if I'm making excuses? The void wavered as the thought crossed the darkness, threatening to fracture his Oneness. The flame worked to absorb the emotion that ravaged him, yet even then it was difficult. How was it that he could receive praise for his potential, yet fail so miserably?

It isn't my fault. He insisted, still locked in the completion stance of River of Light. It was beyond my control. The words were spoken insistently, and even in the coldness of the void he registered them, thought them, and the feeling of them washed over him. He felt the weight of his strength, then, like a physical thing. A mantle of power and responsibility that he knew was the truth of his reality, yet which he tried fervently to deny. What help could he have been? An immense one. The hard truth was that he could have made a difference. Whether or not he knew he had no way of preventing the attack, the tortured consideration that his presence would have saved dozens more lives needled him. He was one of the strongest in the Tower. In the world. He had power at his fingertips to change the landscape of any battle within which he participated, yet he had been gone.

He had been gone, and people had died.

His eyes fell to his sheathe, and he engaged in a Folding the Fan, the blade slicing air as he set it home at his hip, hand squeezing the leather on the hilt for a moment. "Forgive me," he said aloud, pale blue eyes turning to the sky, turning to the smog that polluted the blue above. "Forgive me." The words repeated, softer, a release of burden--an admittance of wrong-doing. He should have learned to Travel with greater skill. He should have spent more time working on rapid transportation. Had he not been delayed, perhaps the battle may have gone differently. Perhaps many things might have been different. Perhaps.

[Nani]

Nani Hatherton

Nani had woken, mind blissfully clear, and yet she had not slept well. Her dreams had been haunted by the events that had happened just recently. Her hands had a small shake to them, and she could not stop them. She knew that it would likely help her to find solace in training, but her body lay there in her bed, staring at her fancloak. They had done everything they had possibly been able to, to save the people of Hama Valon, but it hadn't been enough. She had heard tales of the Accepted Angelique running around without her sleeves as she had used them for bandages, but she had managed to keep up her healing weaves for hours. Other stories reached her ears, tales of Dax, and the other warders she had joined on the scouting party. Training was still out for the day, so she wasn't to put the boys through their paces. But she needed some semblance of normalcy. Dressed in green pants that hugged her legs, and a shirt with no sleeves, her hips held one set of fans, while another were outlined under her pants. The last set were in her boots, that came up to her knees. Her hands were encased in fingerless leather gloves, and her body was set.

And as such, she moved out into the morning where the sun was just cresting over the walls, and she slowly moved through her forms for fans, and stretched into the morning sun, breathing deep, and exhaling as she moved. She was feeling steadier on her feet now, but she felt the need for a run, and started jogging around the Yards, before veering off to the obstacle course. There she ran her body through the course. First the uneven bars, that zigzaged for about ten meters. Lithe she walked across them, and from there, she rolled off those and onto her feet dashing for the hanging bars, which she gripped tight and swung her body across. Hand over hand, she made her way across and landed on her feet at the end. Dashing to the side, she scaled the wall there, using the rope to scale the wall. Once over the top, she rolled and was quick to move onto the next part which she dove into, or more so, underneath. Under that lattice and through the dust. A few more obstacles, and she completed it, her chest heaving as she looked around. The Yards were nearly empty, with merely a few taking the empty yards as a boon. Others were trying to cope with what had happened, and the horrors they had witnessed.

Nani heard the whine of steel through the air, and moved over inspect the sound. It was with great enjoyment, and...pleasure that she found a lone dedicated going through his sword forms. His clothing was off to the side, his jacket and pin hanging over a bench. Drawing a black silk fan, she leaned against a tree in the shade and slowly fanned herself, careful not to cut her face with her points. Her warriors eyes watched the man go through his forms with critical eyes. Her brother would have been disappointed in the boy, but she couldn't help but feel impressed, and rather...intrigued by what he was doing. She kept a careful eye on his form, and then saw that he was naked from the waist up. Her lips curled up into a smile, and she fanned herself a little harder. It had been a long time since she had any romantic or physical interactions, and her body was reacting involuntarily.

"Forgive me." He said aloud as he sheathed his sword. Nani stepped forward, and closed her fan with a snap. "If a man must apologize for looking like that, and working on excellent sword forms, then I'm not sure what my brother has been doing with his life." Nani said with a grin. Her face shone with a soft sheen of sweat, and she tossed the fan around catching it skillfully and expertly. "However, practising against air can not be serviceable, perhaps you'd care for a partner instead." She offered, and tried not to think of their failure the days past. If only she had been faster, stronger, more agile. Nani shook herself free from her self doubts, and faced the Dedicated with a sure heart and hand.

[Brad]

Lucien Mantear

Lucien turned at the sound of a voice, pale blue eyes reflecting the streams of late morning sunlight like pools of light. The angle was perfect, sending a small halo of radiance via the golden strands of his hair, hanging down towards his eyes, and uncombed. His right hand released the hilt of his sword, his left coming to rest on the pommel as he settled his focus on the new arrival. "If a man must apologise for looking like that, and working on excellent sword forms," she said in an amused tone, "then I'm not sure what my brother has been doing with his life." Lucien released the void, and one dark eyebrow quirked at her words, before he took them in stride; a polite smile locking itself into place on his features. The woman was clearly a Warder, and more than that, she was beautiful. Manners, Lucien. He reminded himself silently.

"My apology was more a matter of... speaking to the tower, I suppose." He answered her in a deep, masculine baritone. There was a slight lilt there as well, as if hinting at a musical talent. "And thank you, kindly, for the compliment." He gestured to his perspiration-laced torso, and moved towards the nearby bench, retrieving a white towel to wipe himself off with. Still watching her, he noted the dexterity and expertise with which she handled the fan, sky-kissed eyes following the movements with interest. So, that's Nani Hatherton. She is as beautiful as rumours say. Recently unbonded, too, apparently. Having released the void, he was able to convey warmth with his smile as she offered to spar, considering the chance seriously. It was also a trifle more difficult not to notice her curves, despite her blatant musculature and athleticism. The woman had a generous helping of breast, and hips that would make any man look twice. Carefully, he focused on her eyes unerringly.

"A sparring partner, Miss Hatherton?" He responded as if contemplating it, despite already knowing he was going to accept. It was an excellent opportunity to practice, and besides which, it would let him insert an attachment to the woman that could serve to create an opening for a potentially beneficial relationship in future. When he was raised, he would need Warders. Picking up his canteen, he brought it to his lips, tilting back his head and taking a long drink from the cool liquid within. Can't appear too eager. A woman like that does not respond well to submissive or desperate men. Lowering his head again, he screwed the canteen lid back on, turning his body towards her properly, though his eyes had never left hers. Intense eyes, for a Dedicated. A leader's eyes. "I think I shall accept your offer, Miss Hatherton," he said with a slight nod and warm smile. "Would you join me?" He gestured to the makeshift training ground.

It wasn't a matter of pure calculation that drove him to accept, of course--Nani Hatherton was well-known for her unique and deadly form of fighting, and if he could hold his own against her, perhaps impress her with his swordplay, then it was very likely he would gain her respect. Naturally, an Asha'man had more powerful tools than merely a blade, but the ability to use one with grace and skill was sharply undervalued amongst some men of the path, and as a future Green, he would need all the skills he could master for combat. Grand Strategy, Strategy, and Tactics he already had a head for--as well as logistics and administration, though that to a lesser extent. Swordplay, however, had never factored too strongly in his education; and he was determined to rectify the loss. Perhaps if I can push myself, grow myself, I can become stronger. More dangerous. I can make a dent in the Shadow that will be felt centuries after my death. A smile lit his lips, and he bowed to Nani formally. "It is an honour, Miss Hatherton. Lord Lucien Mantear, Dedicated, at your service." Proper introductions were made. He was ready.

[Nani]

Nani Hatherton

When he explained his apology as it was speaking to the Tower, she knew that he was there for the same reason she was. To deal with their failure to the Tower from the past couple days. His visage looked rather angelic, and she found it rather pleasing. However, she smiled at his acceptance for her compliment. Her eyebrow rose in wariness. He knew who she was. Something she should be used to, as her exotic weaponry was something talked about, but the fact that he called her Miss Hatherton instead of Nani Gaidar or Hatherton Gaidar made her curious where he came from. She rather wished he didn't call her that as it made her feel like a maid, something she hadn't been for a very long time.

And now he was rather teasing her with that drink from his canteen. She watched his pale blue eyes calculate if he could take her on, and she knew that she wouldn't stand a chance if he used the Power against her. As soon he accepted her offer for a spar, she smirked and removed the tips from her fans. She always kept them armed, and only disarmed them when sparring or training the young ones. Her feet carried her to the center of the training yard facing him, and she smiled back at him. "I'm glad you would accept that offer Dedicated. After all, we all have apologies to make don't we?" She said, in that sentence showing him that she too had regrets for being unable to protect Hama Valon.

She faced him, black silk fans held in her hands, closed. The Gaidar bowed back to him, and slide her right foot out and slide her body down in her Misery stance. Both fans opened, and she covered her lower face with one, and her chest with the other. It entered her mind that she was sparring with a Lord, but she would refuse to call him such. After all, here she out ranked him. She was the Gaidar, he the Dedicated. "Well then Dedicated Lucien. It is your move. And if you call me Miss Hatherton again, I might just hurt you. You have my permission to call me Nani Gaidar or Hatherton Gaidar. I haven't been a miss for a very very long time." She said, as she waited for his move. She would dodge any attack that first came at her, allowing him to try and hit her, before she went on the offensive.

[Brad]

Lucien Mantear

At Nani's insistence, the Dedicated made note to refer to her as Nani Gaidar or Hatherton Gaidar. It was a matter of testing her tolerance, the lack of use of proper title. He found himself smiling, considering the other implication. She'd not called him Lord Mantear, she'd called him Dedicated Lucien--and made mention of not being a Miss in some time. That meant, of course, that she was of common birth; and that she would not acknowledge his social elevation regardless of extenuating factors. He was in the Tower; that meant he was no more and more less than the pins on his collar, and the recognition he earned in that capacity. Well, such was fine with him. It was a fair, moderated, and more assured means of measuring his capability and worth.

He watched her as she prowled forwards, moving with a gliding stride, like a panther readying herself for a hunt. The razor tip were removed from her fan, and she shifted into what he assumed to be a combat stance, gazing at him from behind one of her strange devices. Wary of the unknown fighting style, and knowing she was renowned for being terrifying with them, Lucien smoothly slipped into the void, pouring his emotion into the flame and drawing his blade a heartbeat later. The Oneness consumed him; drawing him into the sword, into the land, into the air. It drew him into Nani, into her body, her weapons, her attire--the glistening beads of perspiration on her neck and arms, the spark of intent in her eyes, and the corded muscle of her limbs. He was joined to the birds in the sky, and the ants underfoot--to every piece of the world around them.

His exertions were forgotten; someone else's weariness, someone else's worries. His eyes turned unblinking, and he moved forwards rapidly, entering into The Swallow Rides the Air and drawing his blade, shifting it seamlessly into The Leaf Floating on the Breeze, and starting with The Wood Grouse Dances, feinting and striking at her in rapid succession, short and sharp, without fully sacrificing his guard--attempting to probe her for a weakness, to find a means to breach her defenses. If not that, then at least to feel her out, to understand her combat style and its inherent strengths and weaknesses. He'd never truly paid much attention to the unique forms of battle practised other than the sword, spear and bow--something he'd need to correct, if he truly wished to aspire to leadership of the Battle Ajah.

Everything about Nani Hatherton was elegant; from the stance of her body and fans to the fall of her dark hair and the smile on her lips. She was both beautiful and dangerous in an addictive combination. It was not so hard for Lucien to consider the reality of her being his Warder, if he managed to win the woman over in the days to come. Besides which, a woman of her repute as his Warder would only make finding more that much easier. It was said that Greens often took multiple Warders as lovers, and while he had little interest in such with a man--no interest, in truth--he would neither approach a female Warder with the intent of a romantic companionship, not without due cause. After all, his interests were the fight against the Shadow and the good of mankind, not whom he could bring to his bed. No matter how beautiful they are. He mused between strikes, watching the beautifully sweat-glistening Nani Hatherton.

[Nani]

Nani Hatherton

Because her style required emotions, she didn't go into the Void like most other Warders, instead relying on her emotions to guide her. Because of her years of training with this weapon, and fighting style, her reaction times were solid, and quick enough to destroy even the hardest of opponents. But her violet eyes never left Lucien's as she watched him draw his sword and advance towards her, his guard floating in front of her. Behind her fans, she smirked. It was a good strategy, she would give him that much. After all, testing the waters was something that was always a solid plan. She dodged around, her eyes flitting to his sword and over his body to keep an eye on muscle movement. That was the greatest indicator of movement, and she was trying to put forward a good showing here.

His movements were precise, and she leaned away from his thrusts, closed her fans and parried back before sliding them open again, and then giving a few dancing steps away from him, and closing both fans, threw them at him to cause a distraction before she drew her next two, purple silk backed, and dashed forward in the cover of him dealing with the fans that she threw at him, and launched her own offensive. Jumping up into the air, she spun to the right, left arm held high and loose with a grip on her fans before she slashed at him from his upper right shoulder to his lower left hip. If he blocked her with his sword, she would land in a crouch in front of him, sweeping her leg out to take him down. She fought dirty, but that was all part of her fighting style. If he stepped back away from her to avoid the attack, then she would land in a crouch and dash forward, to vault off his chest to knock him on his ass and put distance between them again. He would have the barest chance to grab her ankle, but he would have that chance to stop her vault.