If It Hits, It Slits [[open!]]

[Chris]

Nathaniel Carridus It was a cool day at the Grey Tower, though Nate was hard pressed to find a day that was truly unsettling with its heat. It was hard to compare to Mayene, where snow was a myth and shirts were cumbersome. Nate had witnessed snow for himself as a Soldier, but he didn't much care for it. It was cold and wet and not pleasant to be in when shirtless, so what was the point of it? He stayed inside as much as possible.

Despite the coolness of the day, Nate was going to work up a sweat in the yards. As a Drin he hadn't been all that fussed about learning other weapons, but like a good Grey Tower trainee he could appreciate the need to defend oneself with more than just the power. So yes, he worked with Saidin, but he was here to hone his body and keep up with his training, something he had not neglected since learning he could channel.

He had to be in peak physical condition in order to properly trounce his brother.

First up there was the cardio exercises. Callisthenics and weight work, stuff to keep him from going round like some of the Browns and Whites. It didn't take long for the coat to come off, and the top few buttons of his shirt were divested of soon after. The burly Dedicated worked through the routine with the skill and practice of someone who did this often, and it was with a smile on his face that he finished up. This was the part where he grabbed some water and threw it over his head so the cool liquid could cling his shirt to his muscled body, and shook his head so water would spray from him dramatically before he picked his things up and moved on.

"Oi fatso, you finally done?" asked one of the other Dedicated in the area. Cameron was given the sword pin at around the same time as Nate, and the two of them had trained in the same classes enough to know one another quite well. Well enough to get away with implying terrible things about the other person's mother and her supposed sexual promiscuity, anyway.

A very off-colour remark threatened to make itself known but Nate resisted, grinning at the wiry Andoran instead. "I sure am. You need a spotter?"

"No, I'm good," Cameron said, "but I need someone who sucks with the sword to fight with me so I instantly thought of you. You up for it, or are you too musclebound to touch your toes now?"

Nate rolled his eyes good naturedly, "I'm flattered," he said. "Sure, why not? I've been working my ass off so I'm kind of tired, should be a suitable handicap right?" He went over to his coat and took his longsword, strapping the weapon to his belt so he could unsheath it properly. "Are we doing that thing where we say what form we're using, or are we making the reader read what we actually do instead?"

Cameron, who was already preparing with Cat Falls Down a Well, said "let's go for the latter."

The two found some space, squared off a small arena to spar in, and that was that. Nate went in first, setting the pace as he did in fact shift from form to form. He moved lightly on his feet, leftover training from his time using a staff, but each attack he made was easily parried by the superior Cameron. Not one to be deterred, Nate made up for it with enthusiasm. Round The Houses became Twisting Grass... oh Light I'm mentioning sword forms, sorry. Nate span around the taller but thinner opponent, making the man turn or be threatened with a cut to his side. Nate never could get into that soft spot but by being on the offensive, he didn't have to risk being attacked himself.

The Drin could have probably held their own against Nate or Cameron, but this wasn't about them. They had their own lessons to attend to, and were far too busy to think about the two Dedicated, one sweaty and aggressive, the other more stoic and defensive.

The counterattack happened quickly. Nate had given him plenty of chances to retaliate but only when the precise moment came, that peak opportunity arose, did Cameron make his move. Nate's sword was batted aside by his own, rapier-like even though it was a longsword as well, and with a neat cut, he sliced across Nate's chest, deep enough to draw blood.

"Er, I yield," Nate said quickly, seeing his shirt turning red and oozing outwards ominously. "Ouch. Erm... ouch. Bloody ashes Cameron, most people would have just pointed the tip of the sword my way! Ow!"

"I'm sorry man, I didn't think it would cut you quite that much..."

"What do you mean? It's a bloody sword!" Nate growled, sheathing his weapon and going to grab his coat. He moved stiffly, biting his lip to keep from making too many indignant noises. Bloody Cameon, ruining his flaming shirt. What did he think was going to happen, swords are sharp. Drin training 101, you didn't need to be a blademaster to know that pointy things could cut kind of deeply! It was a precise movement as well, he'd known what he was doing and Nate was sure of it. No, maybe he didn't mean to cut him so much, but it wasn't a fumble or a fault. Light burn it all.

Nate sat down on the bench he'd been using to lift some weights, tugging off the tattered shirt because it was hardly staying on now it had been torn across the middle and besides, the blood wasn't exactly flattering. He used it as a rag, holding it to the score that went diagonally across his chest. Cameron received a grumble and a glower, but other than that he sat and tended to his wound. He'd go get it Healed when the bleeding slowed.

[Locke]

Alric Aurella

The bitter cold returned with a vengeance as Alric finished his dance with Folding the Fan. As usual, he trained without a shirt, though today it felt less liberating and more like a punishment. Floating in the Void, he was sure he could endure anything. If not, he’d learn how to. Even if that it was colder out here than a jaded lover. He’d seen some snow while living in Cairhien, but it was nothing compared to this mountain hellhole. Nor did it arrive so bloody early. He crunched through the churned slush of the Warder Yards to the water barrel. After breaking the thin sheet of ice, he dipped himself a cup. He sorely wished it was hot chocolate, or spiced apple cider, or better yet mulled wine. Maybe he’d go inside after some calisthenics or weight training. Looking up at the grey sky and big clumps of falling snow, Alric wondered if it would be best to just cancel Affie’s reading lesson for the day. Their usual spot in the woods would be miserable. They could always just find a hot fire to work in front of.

He began his run around the perimeter of the Yards, pushing himself to complete it, despite the cold. For no particular reason he angled himself towards the sound of clashing steel. Maybe two Gaidin were sparing. Even then, most Gaidin he’d seen preferred to use wooden lathes to avoid unnecessary accidents. He heard a yelp and the sounds of fighting stop. He picked up his pace, somebody was hurt. Sliding around the corner in a spray of snow, he saw two men sitting on an exercise bench, swords abandoned in the snow. He thought he recognized one of them. It was bloody Scruffs, and judging from the ripped shirt and rag pressed to his chest, he was bleeding as well.

Looking between the two men, Alric said flatly, “Whose bloody idea was it to spar with live blades? The Master of Training doesn’t even do that.” Kneeling before the larger man, another Mayener if he remembered correctly, he said, “Here let me take a look at that.” Alric lifted the rag and prodded at the wound. “Hey,” he said to the other man, “You sliced up your friend, the least you can do is grab some water. We’re going to try to clean this up.” As he talked, he reached down and put gripped the hilt of one of the swords. Seizing hold of the raging torrent of Saidin wove simple threads of air to keep the wound closed. “If you don’t want to wait for a healer, we could always cauterize it right here. Then you’d have some nice scars to show off,” he said raising his left arm, revealing a rather ugly scar along his outer forearm. He was mostly joking about cauterizing the wound, but it was something he’d never tried before, naturally he wanted to try it. He’d attempt to heal it, if he’d ever seen the weaves preformed. He’d probably flub the attempt anyway.

[Austin]

When Casey spotted Dedicated Nathaniel Carridus through the crowds, the trees, the general chaos of life in the Grey Tower, she did a double-take.

She was trudging wearily back from another meeting with Dax, crunching through the snow still wiping the sweat off her hot forehead with her sleeve, when her wary glance caught on Nate. Her heartbeat skipped, and not because of his chiselled jawline and impressive muscles. She actually turned around and walked backward to stare at him, heedless of the slush that threatened to send her flying.

Even when Nate sat down it was obvious he was much taller than her, and built as well—his muscles glistened from the exertion of the fight. He looked a little rough around the edges in that way girls usually liked, with stubble they’d probably like to run their palms over. Drops of water still trailed down his muscled chest. Even his hazel eyes twinkled, or had done before the other fool had cut him.

Casey almost put her face in her palm.

Her little sister was an idiot.

Her first impulse was to stalk over there and slam him into the wall with her forearm across his throat. But there was no way that ended well for her, even before yet another shirtless stranger zeroed in on her target and his friend. All three of them were twice her size and probably ten times better with the One Power. And meek little novices did not start fights. Casey Frey was an empty-headed little twit, a serving girl with ideas above her station. Nothing more.

So Casey tousled her dark curls with her fingers, tugged her novice whites until they revealed another inch or two of her cleavage, and put on her biggest smile as she headed over to the three men. She managed to angle into their conversation just as the new one suggested cauterising the injured one, which made her blink, but didn’t put her off her stride.

“Oh, my. Dedicated Nate, isn’t it? You’re getting blood all over your nice billowy white shirt.” Casey covered her mouth with one hand in feigned horror. Pah. She’d had worse from her boss back in the Masks. “What a mess! Your poor shirt is ruined, and I’m sure you’ll drip all over the floors in the Tower. It’s so hard to scrub blood out of flagstones.”

How under the Light was she supposed to get Nate alone? Why were there so many half-dressed, muscular, good-looking men around here anyway? She dipped a curtsey to the three men. The other two had probably kissed her little sister too. Fortunately, Casey managed not to give them the hard stare they all deserved. “Forgive me, sirs. I’m Casey. I’m sure you must all be very busy Dedicating and stuff. Let me help Nate to the infirmary. If he faints, I promise I’ll scream for help.” She took that opportunity to slowly look Nate over, as if she really just wanted an excuse to put her hands all over his bare, muscled chest and arms. That might get his attention. Then she held out a hand expectantly to help him up from his bench and steer him to the infirmary.

Wherever that was.

[Chris]

As Cameron dithered and Nate sat grumbling, they soon had company.

The first visitor was a fellow Nate recognised as Alric, a fellow Mayener in spite of the dark cast to his skin and hair. You sort of picked up on the names of fellow trainees even when you weren't the same rank any more, but then they had also been in the Infirmary at the same time and the Dedicated had seen a lot more of the man than he necessarily cared to...

"Do you always boss Dedicated around like you're an Asha'man?" he grumped at the Soldier, though there was no real malice to his tone, just an impatience that came from being skewered. He did have a moment where he felt a bit of a flush in his cheeks because, well, perhaps they should have used sparring weapons instead, but he was allowed to carry a weapon with him and it was something he'd sort of gotten used to as a Drin. You were going to get hit, and it was going to hurt. Maybe I'm just being too soft. He wasn't going to explain himself to a Soldier of all people though, he had a bit too much pride to acknowledge any sort of mistake to people when he didn't have to.

Cameron scuttled away and soon came back with some water, setting the bucket down next to Nate as Alric started to channel, closing the wound. It would do for now. Nate used a cleaner part of his shirt to dunk in the water and wipe at his chest, which looked worse than it actually was at this point. "What? I am not cauterising my chest! It's just a flesh wound. Nothing major. I'm not about to die, it just hurts, and I'll get it Healed the proper way. We're not in the field, I don't see the point in getting some scars just because I couldn't be bothered to walk."

They had another visitor, but unlike with the male trainees Nate didn't know who this Novice was. From where he was sitting he was at the perfect height to get a good look at the young woman and her, well, hello there. A toothy grin crossed his face and brought that twinkle back to his eyes as he gave her a bow of his head. "Your concern for my shirt is touching, but I fear it's beyond saving now." He was still supposed to be cleaning his chest, but seeing the Novice in all her, erm, glory, he was a little distracted. "I shouldn't be bleeding so much now so I will be fine, though you are kind of showing an interest." It was all very polite, but the look in his eyes - and where said eyes were pointing more often than not - was not quite so gentlemanly. She was a pleasant distraction from the cut across his chest, who could blame him? Besides, recently it seemed like he was always too busy for any extracurricular activities so why pass up a tasty opportunity to enjoy a view when it was so kindly presented to him?

At the offer to help him to the Infirmary Nate was going to shrug her off and insist he could go himself, but the Novice - Casey - gave him one of those looks, the sort that said she was enjoying what she saw, and the Mayener felt his grin broaden. He was on his feet before she could do more than offer her hand, towering over the relatively short Novice. "How can I refuse an offer like that?" he asked, giving the other two men a grin. Cameron gave a thumbs up, as if he read his friend's mind. "Can one of you guys grab my coat? If I faint I'll need it to rest my head on." He didn't think that he was going to pass out any time soon, but maybe there would be some screaming in Casey's future... just not the unpleasant kind. She must have been enraptured by their valiant battle and taken an interest in the injured party before getting closer and realising just how magnificent he was.

[Locke]

Alric

He hadn’t really intended to cauterize the wound. Scruffs’ discomfort was actually rather amusing. Not the injury of course, but sometimes it was fun to tweak someone’s nose for them. He would get man to the infirmary and he wouldn’t have to worry about a scar. Not that there was anything wrong with a scar or two, Alric had several himself. He opened his mouth to make another questionably witty remark when he heard the snow crunching behind him. He turned to see a Novice approaching. Judging by the amount of tanned bosom she had exposed, Alric assumed she must have been freezing. Alric himself was beginning to shiver as heat from his run began to dissipate. Miserable northern cold, he couldn’t help but to think.

The girl quickly approached and bent over Scruffs, Dedicated Nate apparently, in a way that showed off her already well displayed bosom to great effect. Then she began to coo over the man in an airy manner some men found attractive, for reasons he’d never understand. Alric had always preferred a woman with some sort of wits, it didn’t have to be formal education, but vapid and buxom just didn’t appeal to him. Then again, she wasn’t trying to appeal to him, she was trying to flatter Nate. Good on him, Alric thought, even though Casey’s accent was beginning to make him feel uncomfortable. If memory served him correctly, that was rural Tear he heard on her tongue. He’d heard enough of that accent during the war, even if hers seemed especially pronounced. Maybe she thought her “golly mes” and “oh dears” in that airy tone would draw the man’s interest. Suppressing a groan, he noticed that her efforts seemed to be working.

Maybe it was nothing, maybe she did just want into his bed. That clearly wasn’t “nothing” though. The memory of being trapped by Cassie Majere was much too fresh. Alric picked up Nate’s coat and and sword and followed, still holding the weave of air to staunch the man’s bleeding. He’d need to learn to tie off weaves. Cassie’s ability to had surprised him. He’d hoped she would be too inexperienced to and he’d have been able to use his greater physical strength to escape. Initially, he tried to keep back a little, to give them space. If this girl Casey didn’t have any ill designs on the man, he didn’t want to intrude, but if she did, he wasn’t going to leave his fellow Mayener to suffer. He couldn’t help but remember Paks’ warning to stay away from the Novices. He’d originally taken it to mean that spending time with them could get him into trouble with the Mistress of Novice or Master of Soldiers, but he was starting to think she meant that Novices themselves were the trouble.