10745/Asgard Ahoy: Friendly Clash

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Asgard Ahoy: Friendly Clash
Date of Scene: 15 January 2020
Location: Asgard
Synopsis: Sif helps train Caitlin in the art of the blade.
Cast of Characters: Fairchild, Sif




Fairchild has posed:
Steel blades clatter against shields in the middle of the barracks training yard for Asgard's Royal Guard. The combatants are a blur of motion and the blows come so fast and ringing that they're almost a constant bell, a hurricane of wind chimes.

Then a slip, and two sharp *whaps* of steel against flesh.

"Ow! Hit, hit!" The larger of the two opponents backpedals and holds their blade aloft, surrendering the points to the attacker. Removing the helmet reveals a grimace on Caitlin's face, more irritation than real pain. One would need a mightier weapon that a blunt practice sword to even break her skin. Her hair's done in a tight warrior's braid and pinned below her neck so her helmet fits more comfortably.

"You cheated," she accuses Sif, and waggles the point of her sword at her. "I'm not sure *how*," she adds, a beat later. "I think my sword is malfunctioning. Can I get a new sword? This one's defective, it can't seem to *parry*." She wriggles it in the air and scowls theatrically at the uncooperative blade.

The blade remains unhelpfully mute.

Sif has posed:
"Of course, Lady Caitlin, you are welcome to pick any weapon from the armory. It will not save you from your inability to duck, however, or to step to one side rather than risk your ribs against my own speed."

Sif allows herself a mild smile as she stands in a relaxed poise. Her own sword hangs easily at her side and her buckler taps nonchalantly at the leather armor guarding her thighs. She tilts her head towards the wall of weaponry. "Go on, choose another weapon. I shall keep the sword. It is an old friend of mine."

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin eyes the sword. "I'll give it another try. Maybe it'll shape up and won't end up at the smelter," she says, and threatens the training tool with another glare.

The helmet's replaced on her nogging and grass-green eyes focus on Sif, narrowing in concentration.

To the two women, of course, the duel is proceeding at a quick but comfortable speed. Caitlin's a shockingly fast learner, with unmatched strength and phenomenal reflexes to match. She certainly won her share of arm wrestling contests in the first few days.

On the pitch, she fights like Diana, because that's precisely from whom she learned to duel at first. It's a fast and light style meant to be used more for a group of lightly-armored women fighting in harmony with one another. Were two or three Amazon shoulder to shoulder, it'd be nearly unstoppable.

Shifting to Asgardian tactics is an altogether different experience. Caitlin grips her sword tight and hesitates a half-step before moving through the first attack form again. Done properly, the defender should be able to do nothing but work through the parries of the prescribed defense.

Sif has posed:
They've drawn a small crowd out of curiosity. Caitlin's fighting techniques are rarely seen within the confines of Asgard itself and rarer yet in the vast history of Asgard's armied might. Sif is hard-pressed to defend against them now and then due to competing mechanics of use -- she has noticed that her friend is benevolent in her strikes at this point, especially after Caitlin sacrifices what could have been an injurious swing to the thigh for a buckler's slam to the shoulder instead.

Granted, it sends the Vanir Princess off-balance, but not for long. She turns the stumble into something more of a dancing leap to one side and springs from her landing point to slam her own buckler into Caitlin. It's parried by the sword rather than the shield and Sif brings the flat of her sword around to swat the young woman across the thigh -- SMACK.

"Your sword is your weapon, Lady Caitlin, use it as such!" Sif grunts as she then dances away, her own braid trailing behind her as she twirls in place to take up a defensive stance.

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin yelps and hops on one foot. "Ow! Fine! I got it!" she huffs, breaking. It takes her a second to find her feet and resettle. A quick token salute is made with the blade, and then Caitlin closes contact with Sif once again.

She does quite well through the initial strokes, but once again as the opening comes, Caitlin instead breaks her attack and switches hands. The same opening is apparent to Sif, as if Cait hasn't learned her lesson.

Or then again she might-- Caitlin swings her blade low, catches Sif's riposte on the pommel, and swings the blades between their knees. The motion continues in a pirouette; with her shield hand she grabs the back of Sif's armor, just behind her neck, and goes for a classic grappling takedown across her knee.

Classic, but extremely effective.

Sif has posed:
Sif is certain to remind her 'ducklings' (read: Einherjar recruits) of their shortcomings when sparring against her and, as such, the opening is to be taken advantage of because the lesson was not learned the first time. However, the sudden shift of use in sword and buckler has the Vanir Princess making a choked squeak of surprise!

The strong length of Caitlin's own thigh provides a pivot point for a counter-shift in weight. The dark-haired Aesir attempts to utilize the momentum of the grappling takedown against her opponent. Abandoning both buckler and sword to clattering loss, she grips at protruding points of Caitlin's armor and instead rolls through the grapple. It's an attempt to toss Caitlin away from her and across the sparring field rather than be trapped!

Fairchild has posed:
Outmanuvered! Caitlin's unceremoniously depoisted a few yards away, but bounces through a roll and comes up on her feet as smoothly as an acrobat.

"I knew I should have gone for that armbar!" she squeals with delight. "I had you! I totally had you!" she crows. Caitlin grins fiercely at Sif from the split in her helmet.

"C'mon, enough with the swords! Let's roll a bit," she whinges. "I'm better on the ground than I am on my feet anyway." It's not entirely inaccurate, either. Caitlin's profciency as a grappler far exceeds her budding competence with a sword.

Sif has posed:
By the time Caitlin rises to her feet, her sparring partner has found at least her sword and is on her toes as well; the buckler lies lost and out of immediate reach. It is not an unfamiliar state to be in and the comfort of wielding sword alone should be immediately visibly apparent as Sif settles into her fighting stance with a small smile.

"I believe you begged your lesson as the art of swordsmanship, not the art of rolling about." A dark eyebrow arches in tease. There are a few chortles from the sidelines, quiet but there nonetheless.

"Pick up your sword and //actually// attempt to touch me with it, Lady Caitlin. You will not break my skin and any bruise will be earned. Come now," and she taptaps the turf of the sparring field with the point of her own sword in the direction of Caitlin's lost blade.

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin grimaces at the admonition, and picks the sword up. The tip wavers, then falls a little.

"...I don't like blood," she finally admits. Her head hangs a little. "I mean, a lot of it. Little bits don't bug me. Bit I've seen people get shot and stuff. Broken bones-- those aren't a big deal. That happens a lot. But someone one ground-- I mean, that blood's supposed to be *in* someone. Not outside of them."

Her features are a little pale and she looks embarassed and contrite. "I can grapple someone all day until they decide to be compliant. But stabbing somene just... just doesn't sit right."

Sif has posed:
Sif straightens up out of her readied stance into the familiar carriage of sword hanging at her side, fist at her hip. She thins her lips before she frowns gently in Caitlin's direction.

"Then with your skills, you need not focus upon the sword, Lady Caitlin. You did not fib earlier -- your prowess with grappling is to be lauded. Whomever taught you was masterful in this. If you still wish, however, to learn to wield such a weapon, it is true: you must accept that to strike is to strike true. A sword's edge does not forgive. Now, the flat of the sword? It is no less kind in the strength of your hands." She pauses to walk over and stoop for her buckler. It returns to her forearm with comfortable ease of tightened beltings.

"The edge does not forgive and yes, there is a finality to it. I do not condone unnecessary war, but if my people must be safe through bloodshed, I will not turn. That is the difference between yourself and I...and it is perfectly acceptable." Her hand alights softly on Caitlin's shoulder. "There is nothing to be ashamed of, Lady Caitlin. We all have strengths and weaknesses to compliment one another, to intertwine in the braiding of the skein of reality itself around us." Leaning in, she adds conspiratorially, "I have a decided weakness against any man with terrible body odor. Imagine attempting to grapple such a being." Grimace.

Fairchild has posed:
"You... are into sweaty, gross guys?" Caitlin peers at Sif, vastly misunderstanding her intent. "I mean, if that works for you, y'know. No judgement." She shrugs sympathetically at Sif. "All the guys I know are either not interested or gross."

Caitlin collects her gear and sighs expressively. "Thanks for being patient with me. It's a Catholic thing," Caitlin clarifies. She's explained her theology to Sif before. "One of our Ten commandments. 'Thou shalt not kill'."

"It's really easy not to kill somsone if you just break their collarbone," she supplies helpfully. "Talk about taking the fight out of someone. Crack, pop, six weeks in a sling at a minimum. And-- I mean, Thor. He uses a hammer, right? That's not gonna make someone bleed out if he hits them with it."

Sif has posed:
"...no, Lady Caitlin, not the Midgardian slang of the word. As in, I find it deeply disturbing," Sif clairifies very nearly flatly. Amusement sparkles in her eyes, however, as she watches her comrade go to collect her erstwhile gear.

The Vanir Princess steps to the young woman's side and again, frowns gently at her. "I do find it confusing, your theology, but it is not my place to cast judgement. You are not incorrect in your assessment as to the collar bone. It is a delicate structure within the body. However, do bear in mind that Lord Thor does his due damage with his Mjolnir. Though you may not see any blood unless he makes contact with the skull, very few bones withstand the impact of his swings. I have seen him collapse the rib cages of many a foolish foe who stood against him. His hammer is no less forgiving than my own sword."

Fairchild has posed:
\

"Good luck with Catholicism; people have entire doctoral degrees dedicated to Biblical liturgy," Caitlin remarks helpfully. "That's a minimum of six years of focused study on it."

"I'll-- I'll be OK. I can do this," Caitin assures Sif. She readies her gear once more. "I know it's not rational," she concedes. "But I try really super hard not to do fatal damage to anyone I fight with. Broken bones-- those'll heal. But cutting someone's limbs up really... I don't know. Freaks me out. I guess I should get better about it," she acknowledges, lamely. But that sword rises again in a ready position. "I'll get through it. I really will. Again?"

Sif has posed:
"Of course. Again." Sif gives her friend a small if encouraging smile. There are even a few hails from the sidelines where soldiers have paused to watch. No one wolf-whistles, but that's because the Vanir Princess does not tolerate such a breach of decorum on her training grounds.

Pacing back the necessary steps to grant them fair space, she then turns and assumes the balanced stance she's known since her own youth those thousand plus years ago. "If you do not get past it, again, it is not a tragedy. However, you will at least known how to properly bypass a guard. You may make good use of a large branch some day in this manner," she reminds Caitlin before she breaks into blurred motion again, her armor ringing and sword shimmering like a fallen star. Let no one say the Princess of Vanaheim shirks from a good bout!

Fairchild has posed:
Playing the defender comes more easily to Caitlin. She makes good use of both hands, blocking with shield and riposting with the blade. Still a grimace crosses her face at the idea.

"What if a sword's all I've got?" she challnges Sif as their blades clash. "Or a gun? I can't just--" she grunts through two parries and slashes her blade with a surprisingly adept riposte at Sif. "I can't just say 'Oh I've got moral issues'. If the team's counting on me, and I can't get those good hits in, then what good am I?"

Sif has posed:
"Then you be particular with your weaponry." Sif twists her sword to unlock their momentarily bound state and shoves hard at Caitlin with the buckler to earn some distance for her next attack. It sweeps in at an upward angle and is parried by the young woman's buckler, the impact resounding.

"I have heard the -- kneecap is particularly -- weak to a bullet -- if you can break the being's skin." She bares teeth and the swords ring again in a collision. "Or use the flat of your blade to -- knock your enemy unconscious -- you've a brain behind that pretty face, my friend, come -- use it!" The Aesir laughs in delight at the banter amidst the clash of bucklers yet again. "But first, you must get within your foe's guard!"

Sif goes for a killing blow now at the outside of Caitlin's bicep with a strength that would have hewn off a limb; but it's the flat of the blade that aims to land.

Fairchild has posed:
It's simultanously Cait's greatest strength and greatest weakness: the diversity of her training. Sometimes it shows up and penalizes her attempts to develop newfound skills. But then again, when pressed into full combat as Sif is, the best of it comes forward in a brilliant and somewhat unorthodox fighting style.

Instead of using her immense strength to parry the blow, Caitlin shifts her weight to the side with a surprising celerity. The blow falls short of her bicep by mere inches. She bulls forward into Sif with her toes churning up dirt for purchase, and gets a shoulder under Sif's breastplate as if going to throw her. At the last second Caitlin checks the motion once Sif's feet are off the ground, and spins and brings her blade up in a surprise reverse grip aimed at Sif's neck!

Sif has posed:
Only a neck-straining pull-back of her head avoids the shockingly creative upswing of the practice sword! Sif still feels the air of it pass by her chin before she takes the tumble to her back. The armor isn't as kind to such a rotation, but she rotates to travel over her own shoulder before rising up into a dust-covered crouch.

Caitlin gets a feral grin. "Well done, my lady. Lesser foes would have met their end at your sword's edge." She then straightens and takes a moment to brush her forearm at loose hair tickling her temple, where it's gone freed from the braided control. "I daresay you've enough of an idea of how to wield the blade for now. I cannot tarry much longer, unfortunately. I cannot be late for my evening plans." Now her smile is far more soft, more than a little odd on a face grimed with dirt.