1113/A Lesson in War

A Lesson in War
Date of Scene:	23 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	319, Feral, Ares

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Sebastian (319) has posed:
    As the night wore on the few candles that had been lit guttered lower, small tendrils of wax drifting down their holders, ending in faint pools of warmth that slowly grew cold. The smells from inside that kitchen were vibrant and inviting, and were one watching from without they would at times hear the drift of laughter and warm conversation shared between two beings who were circling each other at the same time as they were eyeing one another.
    There was a lovely tension, toyed with, indulged in, enjoyed. But it ended as the moon rose high above that small home. As the hours passed the subtle feeling of energy in potentia rose in the air, making the low hanging clouds seem to offer a haze of the strange to the lands around them.
    Once the last of the dishes were tended to, and once they each had taken a few moments perhaps to change, she would find him there on that broad porch that looks out onto that wooded land behind his own, the small trail leading off into it and wending to who knows where.
    At a glance she might sense something subtly different to him. He had been a fine host, jovial, flirtatious. He had enjoyed cooking for her, teasing her. But now the way he leans against the railing with his arms upon the edge and his eyes distanced... he seems a touch contemplative. Yet there is something akin to the watchful predator, gauging its territory, scenting the air.
    And then when he looks to her, his eyes hood faintly.

Feral has posed:
    In savouring the luxurious dinner, John's guest has been... admittedly crass. Mannered enough to be friendly, the feral woman's appetites for food, drink, and gamely conversation belong to an older, revelrous time and deeper company than a man she's only just met in the past few days. Wearing his clothes and drinking his wine, the wild side of a predator at ease took her unhurried time in enjoying the long, sumptuous, and wandering meal.
    John might have also learned a few very creative words in Russian.
    
    With eating behind her and the warm glow of good liquor fading from her face, Vanya's bare feet pad quietly out onto the porch behind him - her presence betrayed by the creaking timbers more than the quiet pats of calloused soles meeting wood. She's still in borrowed clothes that hang long on her much shorter frame and after spending so long in her presence, the small touches of nature have become more noticeable - or perhaps just sprouted. The mild pointedness to her toenails, a subtle backwards angling of her ears and downward point of her nose. A face that's just a little too strong, brows a little too wild at the edges, and of course her eyes the inhuman colour of molten bronze. As the beast steps out to join the warrior in the night air, her nostrils flare just faintly and the bronze tone begins to bleed into burnished orange.
    "Nice place, Ivan," she tosses with subdued cheer. Even this wild woman isn't boisterous at every turn, but the host with his back to his domain - and hers - deserves a comment.

Ares has posed:
    Furrowed brow given, the tall man turns his head slowly to look at the home behind him. It's almost as if he was just then considering it for what it is, reflecting. Rarely has he had a place he labelled as 'home', usually it is naught more than a bivouac... a camp of some sort. But no this... is perhaps a home. He chuffs as he looks away, deep baritone voice giving a small grunt.
    "It is, is it not?" He answers and then pushes himself upright from the bannister. She'll see that he has changed, for truly she does deserve the seriousness in which he regards the possibility of testing himself against her. He turns to her, a loose hooded sweat shirt resting upon his shoulders but unbound, leaving the bronze of his flesh visible and the contoured lines of taut musculature clear at the glance. The sleeves are partially rolled up, his forearms and hand free with rope-like veins racing up along the flesh. That, and a pair of dark grey sweat pants are worn. And that is all. Bare of foot, empty of hand, he looks to her with those dark brown eyes.
    "Vanya," He says with a tone of formality, "Will you test yourself against me, raise your hand for true and leave naught of yourself unspent in your pursuit of this victory?"

Feral has posed:
    Vanya smirks in her ever-gamely fashion and sets a hand on her hip, weight lazily sinking into her back leg. "You're asking me to kill you," she notes. Her eyes turn down as she raises her other hand and flexes her fingers, looking at the claws that grow on a whim from her nails - a reminder that they're there - before returning them to their almost-human sheaths and gazing back at her host. "After a nice dinner too. Is that your idea of training?"
    With the were-woman's lazy posture and her oversized clothes, the wide neck of her shirt hangs down towards her shoulder, exposing the fresh bandages from her latest victory.

Ares has posed:
    "No," His lip curls a bit but he starts to step off the porch and sets foot onto that path that leads off towards the dark. "I'm asking you to do your best, babushka." He gestures to the side as he walks, as if dismissing the darkness from them as he moves. "Because to do otherwise is a dishonor to you and me."
    He turns around, beginning to walk backwards with a calm though jovial look to him. "For really, this is the first step." He looks her over, gauging this shape-shifting being who derives so much from the consumption of another being. "To teach you it is important to know what you are capable of."
    There's a pause as he turns away and continues down the path, stepping past that small white gazebo that marks the path into that wooded area. "If you would prefer, however. We could perhaps play at first. You could hold your form as best you can and I can offer a few tips you might not be aware of."

Feral has posed:
    Vanya follows at the warrior's back, stepping down the shaped and hammered wood of the staircase and onto cool grass and dirt - away from the house, and towards nature. In even the first steps, the were-woman's posture straightens and softens, and her toes dig comfortably into the earth. They're entering her domain.
    A breeze runs through the trees and pushes the Russian's mane of hair back from her face as a weak ray of light casts its shining reflection in one of her eyes. "That sounds like a fun challenge," the animal purrs. "Just don't lecture me too much - I might tear out your throat."

Ares has posed:
    "Vanya," The tall silhouette of the man is there in front of her, limned by the faint glow of the moon above them. His head turns to the side slightly and she will see the smile there, as well as a subtle curl of his lip that... might not seem entirely a smile. It might seem in part a baring of that canine at the first hint of a low growling challenge as he murmurs, "If you don't try to at least once tonight, then I will have failed."
    Yet it only takes them a few minutes to walk along the path, the soft earth cool upon bare feet and slipping between toes when one seeks purchase. There is the scent of the pine needles on the wind, and the hint of the sea distant on the air. Just a tang of salt that is barely scented, perhaps a portent of an evening's rainfall to wash away all the dust from the air.
    But once they have walked far enough, when they reach a clearing that's a slight hillock that stands subtly taller than the rest of the land around them, it serves as a suitable shrine to what will past between them, and witnessed only by the moon high above.
    Again he faces her, eyes meeting hers, narrowing as he turns his hips slightly... just enough to face her side on as he says. "When you are ready."

Feral has posed:
    The beast gives no answer as they continue walking, there's nothing more for words to add. As they get further into the forest the subtle changes of adrenaline begin to show in the were-woman's features - the alertness coming to her eyes, the rolling of a shoulder and stretching of small joints as they walk, the little crackle that betrays small ligaments and tendons being prepared. Wounded perhaps but full of fuel and full of focus, with all her errant emotions and distractions sated and discarded back at the house.
    Vanya tugs the drawstring of his shorts and pulls on the warrior's shirt, freeing herself of his trappings and leaving them discarded on the ground. Her own clothes are still in the house but the wild woman has brought a fur coat that quickly spreads to envelop more than just her core spaces. Then it begins to change as the werewolf that cowed Rover summons more for John than just her playthings. Grey fur turns to camouflaged stripes of orange and black, claws larger and sharper than any wolf's extend menacingly from long, powerful fingertips, and the bestial woman hunches into something altogether more primal.
    Her muscles bulge and flex beneath a coat of fur as Vanya sinks into a razor-edged crouch more reminiscent of a sumo or a crouched tiger than any boxer's stance, and a long, sinewy tail sways in the moonlight behind her. Just glimpsed in the silvery light, brown, chitinous plates fill the gaps beneath her chest and chin, and an unnatural thickness gives her collar the look of a cloak worn open across her back - like the red emblems of Laconia.
    
    "I'll ask what you are after we finish our fight," Vanya dismisses, her voice distorted into a rattling growl that belongs to no other creature on Earth. Fangs too large for her jaw run halfway down the were-woman's chin.
    
    There's a moment's pause, a chance to find breath in suffocating stillness, then the predator of predators explodes from her spot, punishing the soft earth with deep wells as she leaps at the warrior and shows him her claws. An alarming thrust of blades comes straight for his head, followed quickly by another to his waist.

Ares has posed:
    And as he had moved she had seen small tell tale marks of the wild to him, hints of something more, something of the other. It could have been the way the shadows seemed longer, deeper around them even as they stand there out on the field that has been chosen for their battle. It could be in the way the line of his jaws seems to include a subtle curl of fang. Not the nightmare maw of her own when she is in the writhing fit of conflict, just two that seem so terribly sharp that they would gleam even with a bare hint of light.
    But what marks him as a creature both akin and alien to her, it is the way his eyes glow a crimson, dark as spilled blood and heavy with portent.
    While her body writhes and ripples, muscles clenching, tensing, enlarging. He reaches up a powerful arm and tears the sweatshirt from his chest and hurls it away to the side. His own arms seem to have multiple taut cords of iron surging beneath flesh. He extends his hands forwards, fingers clenched as if to grasp and cling even as he settles into a side-on stance that would remind her of the North of China.
    He somehow seems larger now, manifest in who he is, what he is. She may not recognize the myths that cling to him, the tales of old. But she can see as his thighs seem to bulge, splitting the lines of his sweat pants and causing them to hang to his waist like a long loin cloth that is still unable to contain the power of his physique. No no name is clear to her for who he is, no paltry label is capable of being applied. For when she looks on him she will /see/ that he is War in its entirety, in the raw abandon between two beings. In the bloodshed and the carnage. He embodies everything she seeks in herself at times. And perhaps, in her, he has found a herald.
    There is silence between them, such raw potential of violence, of power in the air.
    And then they are moving. Rushing towards each other, coming together in a wild crashing abandon. But is she, the predator of predators, is she the one who roars, who howls at the moon? No. Not at first. For it is his roar that is torn from his chest, that shakes the trees around them as he catches those claws and turns to /thrust/ his shoulder and his back into her chest to try and /smash/ her away, then leaps to grant her no reprieve.

Feral has posed:
    War's iron shoulder strikes the wall of Hannibal's most fearsome cavalry, an unbreakable core hewn from toppled mammoths the likes that struck fear in all of Rome. Human bones bend and spring. Vanya's body just stops as their beings meet in a thunderous crash that for a moment outshines even the warrior's war-cry.
    She gives ground, barely, knocked from the Earth and skidding backwards as a cough is wrenched from her depths, but the predator's body only digs itself into a trench and answers his roar with one of her own. It's a tiger's growl, the tree-piercing shout of a bear, the howl of a wolf pack, and a sheer, blood-infused boom of spirit as her limbs rise up to meet him, offering spears to the unwary and a python's grip behind them. It took one strike and restraint has fled from their battlefield.

Ares has posed:
    And so close, so terribly close she can see the utter wildness in the smile that's given to her. It's as if he was exulting in this moment, being tested by this creature who has been set upon the earth for the one same purpose as he was. To stand while others fall, to succeed where others fail.
    They come together again, her clawed arm swirling up and being caught for a brief moment even as her other strike is checked. For a moment they are both so close together, she can feel the ripple of the other's flesh, the surging of monumentally powerful muscles that swell and strain against her.
    But that moment is brief as he drops to a knee sharply, trying to instead of throw, to twist and let her surge over, past. Letting them clear each other as he steps back and regains his stance, ready for her again, challenging her with that same damnable smile.

Feral has posed:
    It's a heady rush and it's all too much for Vanya to pass up. Her moves are fast, powerful, terrifying in a prehistoric way to human eyes, but lacking the warrior's refinement or the composure that scored her witty strikes on the werewolf. The weight of two men fly over Ares' back and skids, rolls, then grinds to a halt with bits of the landscape victim to biting claws.
    Vanya's mouth is open wide, ferally, but on a face that's no longer quite human there's no missing the pulled-back cheeks and curled edges - or the shine in her eyes that's alien to hatred or dark intent. Chuffing hot air that flings saliva into the dirt at her side, the shape-shifter rises from the ground to her full height and takes a dangerous breath. It's dangerous because it's calm. It's dangerous because it's deep. It's dangerous because when it's over, human intellect is staring back with eagle-eyed focus and cat-eyed obsession at the martial inferno arrayed against her.
    Vanya rushes in again and twists as she's just outside arm's reach, flinging out her claws as she falls into a sudden crouch, tearing the earth and whirling at the warrior's legs like a bladed top.

Ares has posed:
    "There is a reason man rules the world, Vanya." His voice is still that deep baritone, but it has an infernal aspect to it, as if it were echoing off chambers far below, and each word offers a view of his own maw. She is a thing else entire, all edges and strength and armor. But he hesitates not at all in facing her. She presses back in, daring in low, then dropping to a crouch. She'll feel her claws catch and tear and rend for a moment, that subtle feedback of skin parting under the pressure of her claws even as she'll feel his hand on her shoulder /pressing/ down in the same moment that he _leaps_.
    There is a spatter of blood in the air, some striking her skin as if a great artist had dabbled her with the ichor of life. But then a foot will crash towards the small of her back as he passes in that split second of a moment, landing in a tumble and then gaining his feet with one smooth roll. Yet as he comes up she will see the blood trickle down his leg faintly. "A reason why nature has been subjugated."

Feral has posed:
    There's a spine hiding beneath the fur and nestled in a broad valley. That at last yields, if only a little before it drags the rest of the were-woman with it. Vanya comes back up and whips around in a wild-eyed crouch. Her mouth closes in a true smile just long enough to fling the warrior's lifeblood from her hand.
    "As if Man's not just another animal," she retorts, coming in again. This time the beast stays high and narrow, feints one way, then lashes out to the other with a clawed kick at the lightly bleeding leg. Her arms stay ready this time, just high enough that she trusts her speed to form a guard when needed. Not a boxer, something more archaic - a glimpse of original kara-te.

Ares has posed:
    The evidence of her exquisite mind controlling such a deadly amalgamation, that is what has always drawn him to her. The flesh she chooses to wear, the face, the features, all of that is secondary. What has always attracted him to her was this desire. This control. The use of the empty hand, her clawed kick lashing out in a perfect and precise execution of form... it speaks of such a marriage of the wild and primal with the rational.
    And he answers her in kind, for the victory? The ultimate end of this conflict. He does not seek that. He seeks the journey that she shares with him now. He seeks to learn of her, and the small secrets she grants him with each movement.
    Her leg connects with a rock hard clenched bicep and forearm as he accepts it to the side, stepping in as she draws the leg back. But his movement is not as rapid now, as if they are speaking a language that is uttered between them in flesh and motion.
    She'll feel the warmth of his body as suddenly he is there against her, his hands grasping the carapace and flesh at the sides of her chest. She'll have a glimpse of the movement before it's executed. Something she has seen in dojos across the world assuredly.
    With that grip firm he tries to drawww her along over his hip, then bring her down to the ground with a heavy throw if he succeeds.

Feral has posed:
    Vanya's head makes a half-turn as she peers at him out the corner of her eye and the tail at her back is instantly out for balance. It's a speed she's unaccustomed to, a pace that's unfamiliar. Despite the search in cages and pits all across the coast, it's just a little too rare to find someone to match the ever-mutable woman in tactics, speed, and strength...
    
    But by Hades she's ready to sharpen that edge!
    
    With her mind clearer, moving the beast now is like lifting a Buddha statue, but Vanya's fur-covered stone tips grudgingly to the warrior's better leverage and she slams into the ground. Her body's already tensed and ready for the impact and there's only the briefest satisfaction of a flinch in her eyes as she hits, chin tucked and arms flung out. What limbs can draw in to present a razor defence as Vanya turtles up and lashes from her low position to clear new space.

Ares has posed:
    With his dark silhouette blocking out the light from the moon, suddenly she's cast into darkness. Between them in that moment it is all sensation, heat, flesh, and muscle as he follows her down. She'll feel his hip slam into her side as he tries to build leverage with legs scissored partially. One strong arm tries to encircle her arm on his side, while the other reaches to try and crush her arm against her side with his own, pressing down into the ground and bringing his chest against hers.
    The answer to kara-te can often be judo, and osae komi waza can be used to immobilize an enemy. But it is as if their dialogue continued. For what is the answer to such pressure body to body, what is the answer to the use of judo...
    It is assuredly an answer she will give him with all the strength she can muster.

Feral has posed:
    Without the moon, light leaves her eyes. There's no reflection in her pupils, just a predator in the dark.
    
    Vanya struggles and thrashes with raw strength as war incarnate comes crushing down upon her. The grip on her arms declaws her of her first weapons but even in a losing battle of leverage, nature has plenty more. The were-woman's encircled arm distends and looses from the anchor of her shoulder as it stretches and softens, depriving Ares of his control point even while its fur mats and the limb slithers up his back. Soft flesh press and bind to his skin like two wet pieces of glass and a fully formed tentacle slips over his shoulder and tries to snake around the warrior's neck.

Ares has posed:
    For a moment he hunkers down, pressing his chest against hers, the thudding of their hearts somehow in unison as he growls low, those fangs hovering an inch from her flesh and she can see the wild arrogant gleam in those eyes while he tries to maintain control of her chest and her other arm.
    But then she can feel that limb slide over his back, the iron coils of muscle clenched as he tightens down upon her, the flesh blazingly warm to the touch. She'll feel the limb curl around his throat and abruptly /tightens/. He only has a bare moment to get one hand underneath it, yet with her strength she simply pulls that hand into the flesh of his neck.
    But what is all the more important is that it allows her to peel him from her and away should she so choose, even if her grip might not be able to be maintained.

Feral has posed:
    Throw away *this* catch? The warrior would be so lucky...
    
    Exulting in her momentary reversal, Vanya curls her lips wide apart and meets the growl back, playfully snapping at his face with wolf teeth and viper fangs. It's a hot splash of expensive wine, garlic, roasted eggplants - a memento of their dinner a short time ago, now a whole world ago.

    Pinned under his weight, their bodies crushed together in a wrestle for control, the predator of predators digs herself into the earth and channels all her might into the arm of pure boneless muscle, flinging the warrior off her with a roar of exertion.
    
    Pushing herself back to her feet, Vanya's hulking menagerie of beasts expands back to its proper size and the wild woman lets out a crazed, gleeful laugh. Her long, dangling tentacle reforms into a thick, mammalian limb, and the were-woman's body cycles through a private show for her audience in the dark.
    
    Fur becomes scales, then grey flesh, and the beast's arms even sprout quills in a momentary glimpse at her other capabilities. What settles back in are the tiger stripes that define Vanya's favoured form; a predatory cat on the surface, master of the nocturnal woods they're in.
    
    This time, it's not the beast who accepts the next move.

Ares has posed:
    There is a loud /whip-crack/ and then a crash as a tree's trunk is splintered into pieces with the impact of him. And her laughter dances across the small clearing, rising and falling with their shared breaths, only to be joined with his own. It's heard even as he pulls himself to his feet and throws off the fallen branches, dusting off his arms and legs with a sort of ease of movement as he takes his time rising once again.
    He is still that source of darkness, that blaze of eyes as he is his word made manifest. But this is a moment they each seek, the writhing and struggling with another, to seek victory and strength through battle. And it might be all the more disconcerting to see him laugh as he starts towards her. Then again... perhaps she sees nothing more than herself in the way he launches himself at her with such wild abandon.
    n the air he is all whirling movement, leaping with his hips twisting to /snap/ out a slicing shin aimed square at the side of her head that should it miss the second leg will complete the arc, seeking to slash through her powerfully muscled form and knock her to the ground. That leap is accompanied with a loud, "EEYAH!" shouted as he launches into the air, the force of his presence, his persona almost as powerful as the strike leveled at her.

Feral has posed:
    She's supposed to wait and receive the attack, supposed to counter to an advantage, supposed to resist the primal screaming in her blood that those eyes set to boiling.
    
    Wild-hearted Vanya just isn't that patient.
    
    A wide panting smile parts her jaws as she catches sight of the warrior's coming glaive and where he goes high she goes low, spinning towards him and thrusting both hands wrist-deep into the earth to support a leg that shoots up to meet him like magma from a volcano. It's a clash of shin on shin, bone on bone, spirit on spirit, and heaven on earth; the warrior with momentum, the beast with grounding.

Ares has posed:
    The crash of their legs coming together is a powerful thing. At first there's the impact, then a bare moment of silence, followed by a /whuumpf/ of shockwave and a sudden rush of exploding tormented air that slashes past them and causes the grass to lie flat for the bare moment of its passing. It ends with him landing and her recovering, with him but three steps from her with his hands held up and his shoulders turned. His leg is lifted partially, balanced on the ball of his foot as he looks at her and simply tells her...
    "Lovely," She can seem him favoring that leg for now, see him shifting his stance slowly to the side as he circles her and turns the other way, swapping leading fist for the other.

Feral has posed:
    There's no momentum left for a follow-through. Vanya left it all in the kick. It's a subtle thing only learned through visceral experience but before their bodies have time to part, in the last moment when the titan forces rebounded back into them, the were-woman's earth gave just a little - with a small *crack*.
    
    Letting her leg fall back to the grass, the beast digs her arms from the dirt and stands tall again, her tail swishing wide behind her. There's a pause and she lifts her leg, shaking it with a gleeful wince. "Wooh! I felt that one..."
    
    Settling back into a similar posture, the chimeric tiger lets a cat stance relieve her new weak side as her arms go up in a close guard. It's a tight, compact posture, and one that's easy to turn as the warrior makes his way around her.

Ares has posed:
    The pace is a little slower now, just a touch even as there's a faint trickle of blood down the curve of his powerfully muscled leg. His movements are marked by those faint human footprints, while hers have subtle shifts to mark arch and claw. A step brings him closer to her and for a moment he brings the back of his wrist to rest against the back of hers, a classic beginning to those who have learned the ways of the Northern masters.
    It's just a single touch, with the moon behind him and the hammering of their hearts. Each of them can feel the pulse of the other in that small point of contact that somehow seems staggeringly electric between the two of them. And through it all he watches her eyes, his fangs visible in that curve of a smile.
    Slowly they step, still circling each other as the back of his wrist slides slowly over hers. Almost as tender as a supple caress. But a bare moment before he steps in to begin that dance with the short jab that announces it. So often between two skilled fighters it is a dance of hands, strike, counterstrike, learned from hours or years against a training dummy and the living.

Feral has posed:
    The beast is coaxed from her den, roused into slow movement as she begins to circle opposite the warrior - matching each step, mirroring his ready guard, buried for all the world irretrievable in the inferno of his eyes. It's a moment of calm and sedation that Vanya uses to catch her breath, cautiously stealing it with half-tension in her stomach and her ears up and pricked. Through her lush fur coat neither the shape-shifter's breathing nor pulse are quite human anymore; there's a double-rise and double-fall on each pull and release of air and the pulses that stir her fur are faint and rapid. It's one more note in the chimeric melody that makes up the living chronicle of predators and genetic history entwined with the warrior in a mutual circle.
    
    And then he moves - and she moves back. A forearm brushes up to snap the jab aside before diving in like a spear in reply. Vanya's far from a master, she could even be called unpolished, but an effective blade doesn't want for a mirror finish; the were-woman's honed a style that's generally sound and gives her unique physique room to play.

Ares has posed:
    Each footstep leaves a droplet of crimson upon the curving leaves of small grass blades. Each footstep causes the ground to compress ever so subtly beneath them as he had held her hand against his, their eyes on each other and the intensity of the moment was held there between them. Their shared pulse felt in the vascular lines of flesh upon the backs of their hands, obscured as hers may be by those short touches of fur and the pounding of her multiple heartbeats.
    In ages past one would have ascribed this moment to myth, the embodiment of man's violence matched against the raw power of nature. They are kin, yet they are opposed. They are the wild in man that is shared with nature. And each shared movement between them serves in perfect complement to the legends of old.
    And then she breaks the moment, the tap-thap-tap of jab, counter, an jab ending with her committing to striking him, to lashing forward, to tearing and lancing. Each movement she'll feel the curve of his hand between thumb and forefinger catching and pushing each strike away. For a moment he catches her wrists in tandem, twists them up then tries to pull in for a knee lashing towards her jaw, then twisting to the side to clear her towards the ground, his body already spinning smoothly into a gyration to try and bring a low shin across her jawline as if expecting her to hit and recover.

Feral has posed:
    Fleshy, visceral sounds spark between them from the exchange of blows and blocks in a blur of skin and striped fur. The primal creature's claws stab just wide of the warrior's head as he catches and guides them. There's a loud rocky crack as his knee strikes a dense and hardened chin, and Vanya's fanged maw snaps shut.
    She reels for a moment, her eyes are jarred, but the attempted throw finds little purchase as the were-woman's feet dig into the ground and the joints of her arms collapse into limber tentacles. The predator steps with the throw and ducks into a spin, flinging her whip-like arms around to lash their claws at the warrior's supporting leg.

Ares has posed:
    "You view your alterations as a strength," Ares' voice is resonant in the night, strong as the being of the long shadows swirls with her. She'll feel one of her tentacles curl around his wounded calf, the blood of this man before her, this creature with the wild fangs and the gleaming eyes, it drifts over her shifting limb, marking her in the ichor of divinity even as he moves with her, the two drawing close for a moment and suddenly he /slashes/ to the side, his form powerful, his movement like an earthquake as he tries to bring her around and /down/ onto the ground with his knee seeking to dig /hard/ into her side. "They are weakness."
    His eyes hold hers as his dark smile broadens, "That man on that poster at your underground fight. What was it he once said?" She'll feel him close against her, the heat, the sweat, the pure intensity, pressing with that arm as he tries to hold her as she seeks to restrain him. "I fear not the man who has practiced 10000 kicks, I fear the man that has practiced one kick 10000 times?"
    And as he says that his smile grows.

Feral has posed:
    Vanya's form slams into the earth like the footfall of a titan, crushing and shuddering a crater as she's forced into its embrace. The second knee forces a pained cough from the animal as it cracks her natural armour. The were-woman's body is hot and stuffed with an inner pressure that fights back as much as her bones and muscles - she's like a primal boiler that's flirting with its red-line.
    Her limbs shift again as the were-woman writhes, grabbing and clawing at the man to try to gain a purchase and turn the ground battle into her favour. The answer to his biting remark is a loud hissing growl and a brimstone glare from molten-orange eyes that shine with yellow cores in the moonlight.

Ares has posed:
    Those eyes find hers and they hold her gaze, almost mesmerizing as those small pinpricks of crimson match the intensity of her molten-orange eyes. That powerful arm continues to press against her neck but not to cut off her breath, not to rob her of her life or her consciousness. It is to hold her there, to simply hold as one knee shifts to the side. Not pinning her, nor even restraining her movement. And as she shifts underneath him, her claws and talons and blades that flare forth, she is able to draw blood.
    A talon slices along the curve of his chest and she'll /feel/ that catch, that tearing. There's a moment his cheek is torn open and he lifts his chin. But that pressure is steady, and there's an almost monolithic pressure of his arms holding her.
    Then his voice again, that low rumble as he murmurs, "Tell me Vanya, what is it you seek? What is it you strive for with every moment, with every movement, with every victory that you take from your opponents?"

Feral has posed:
    The were-woman pants rapidly as her neck thickens and hardens in the warrior's grip, responding to his hold by growing protective plates around vital arteries. Hot breaths splash against Ares face as the eye of the storm passes across them both; tranquillized by the intensity of the moment, Vanya stares back unwavering and her limbs still, gripping flesh like a vice.
    "What the heck kind of question is that?" she blurts before a grunt of force and a shuddering of earth presages the struggle resumed. Vanya's arms distend in size and shape as she draws more animals into their battle, wrenching herself loose from the hold with a roar before darting around the warrior's side and reversing the pin.
    Her limb binds itself around the godly throat, conforming itself in inhuman ways as scales brush the sides of his neck. A shine of triumph twinkles in the were-woman's eyes as she squeezes - being less gentle than she was allowed.
    "A fight is no place to ask deep questions like that and I don't like to talk big," she derides in an animalistic voice that can't quite find the right vocal chords. It's a distorted, growling and chattering facsimile of the Russian's normal timbre. "But in case you haven't noticed, I'm at the top of the food chain here. And what's the point of strength if you don't use it?"

Ares has posed:
    Even as she reverses the hold and he's /slammed/ onto his back, she'll hear that rich timbre of a barking laugh coming from him, raucous and wild as he shakes his head. She /squeezes/ and twists and she'll feel his hand lift to take hers from his throat and pulls it away with a sharp yank. It's then that he sits up, one of his legs entwining with hers as he pulls her close and /snarls/ against the corner of her cheek, something primal in the tone, something demanding dominance, exerting itself as he tells her levelly with the tatters of civilization barely registering in his voice.
    "You strive for perfection, Vanya. /Perfection/ and to feel your enemies fall at your touch, but not just to die at your hand. But to acknowledge this perfection."
    His hand finds hers, fingers entwining as he says with that low growl even as his blood trails down the side of his face, even as she can /smell/ the heady aroma and taste that coppery tang of his flesh on the brush of air between them. "But you are not at the top of the food chain yet."

Feral has posed:
    The sheer display of power draws a moment of wide-eyed surprise from the predator but not submission. Manipulated but not cowed, their bodies clamp together as Vanya locks herself to the warrior and sets muscle against muscle. Her nostrils flare at the scent and the war god is treated to amalgam of all the great animal fights of Rome; the smells of tiger and elephant, wolf, bear, and human are all tangled in the hot primal mass he's battled for dominance.
    An instinct deep in her marrow bids the shape-shifter to smile back. "I'm d*** close," she retorts. "I think I'm the most dangerous animal here, now I just have to catch all these sumasshedshiye negumany... like you." What punctuates the monster's reply could almost be called a purr.

Ares has posed:
    There's that strong hand under the curve of her jaw, even as she can feel their legs tensed together, entwined, the powerful whipcord musculature of his thigh tensing as he shifts her to the side and now they look at each other eye to eye. Even as she flows from one form to another, uniting them, roiling together with them, he maintains that eye contact and his smile is this warm thing, filled with something akin to admiration and affection.
    The meaty pad of his thumb again drifts slowly over the curve of her lip as he did only a few hours ago when he had offered her that tasty touch of wine-soaked fruit. Only now it's just a slow lingering caress over her curled lip at that purr, then gliding over one of those ivory fangs to lightly prick his skin.
    It's then that perhaps she will taste him, have the first droplet of his blood upon the tip of her tongue even as he tells her quietly, calmly. "What you taste is a man, what makes me more than that is something that is not hidden in that genetic code. It lies in the belief of warriors like you, it lies in the sacrifice of soldiers on mountains of the dead. What made me what I am today was the strength of /man/, Vanya."
    His breath brushes across the fur of her face, and his heart can be felt thundering in his chest so close to her as he murmurs, "Come back to the shape that you held when we met. Come back to the blade that we will hone together. And then, once you have learned all you can from me..."
    His smile is wild, those eyes holding hers as he adds, "Then we will learn all the more together. Will you take this journey with me?"

Feral has posed:
    Vanya smiles back, fanged and feral but with a human intellect resting deep inside her eyes. The pent-up thrill of adrenaline rushing through her is a heady thing to endure in the lapse of calm. Her tongue comes up to catch the blood on her fang - a long, slithering thing that brushes the edge of the warrior's finger before returning to its den. The jack-hammer of her own heart is pounding back on his chest as the were-woman listens and for a moment thinks.
    Slowly, gradually, her form begins to shift back towards what might be called a were-tiger as other embellishments begin to fade away. "Do you think I'm stealing powers?" she presses. "I'm human too, I'm just a *lot* more... every cell you've seen, I've conquered and eaten. I *am* a tiger, and everything else."
    Her head cocks to the side and for a moment, the were-woman displays a truly animal look of genuine confusion. "So why should I limit myself to just human with you?"

Ares has posed:
    "No, Vanya." That hand caresses slowly, ending just behind her cheek as if to scritch her there affectionately like the great cat that she is on so many levels. "I do not think you are stealing these powers. I think you are a warrior with a great many weapons at hand."
    Slowly he rolls her over onto her back and brushes his other hand through her hair, over that pointed ear. There is no violence now, for he has seen what he wished to see, they have each tested the other and she has proven herself the exceptional being he suspected she was. "I am saying let us make you a master of this one, and then we will explore the rest together."
    "But if you feel you are on a better path for true, then I will not hold you to me. You are free to find your path in this world."

Feral has posed:
    A different sort of playful smile spreads across the woman's catish face as she finds herself under the bloodied warrior and she leans herself into the hand in a moment of hedonism. A flash of vigour courses through the were-woman's eyes and Vanya pushes off the ground, rolling herself on top before she replies.
    
    The tiger's eyes glimmer and she can't resist dragging her rough tongue along a red wound. His blood, she wants.
    
    "I do have a long shopping list," she considers in flighty ease, "but a good sparring partner is hard to come by..." Vanya's face emerges from the tiger fur ferally accented and painted with stripes as she smiles in a toothy, fang-flashing fashion. "Understand that I won't keep my claws tucked *all* the time... and da, why not?"

Ares has posed:
    "Good," He shifts his hips beneath her and glides a bare foot along the ground, the dew upon the grass leaving a sheen of moisture wherever they rest upon the ground. He turns his head to the side and she can lap at that ragged tear where she had scored his flesh, the small rivulets of blood that are already dried are there for her to taste upon the firm pectoral muscle, just under the faint fuzz of his chest hair. She can tell that that wound is already closing slowly, healing and knitting together and perhaps denying her of a fresher coppery taste of his blood.
    His lip curls into a wry smile, his fingers digging into the fur along the curve of her neck and then scritching gently as if she were one of those great cats in the zoo that had just been fed by its handler. Only she is ever so much more dangerous. "You are one of my favored, Vanya. Do you know what that means?"

Feral has posed:
    It's not much of a taste but it's enough. Vanya licks her lips as she contents herself with her small trophy and basks in the attention. Her prodigious form rests easily atop the warrior, not sparing him the weight of the many predators coiled inside.
    "More home cooking?" she jokes casually as she crosses her hands atop his chest and lays upon them.

Ares has posed:
    A small snort slips from him and he tells her gently, "It means that we will stand together when challenged. That those who would do you harm will find it means my displeasure." He lifts his arms behind his neck and pillows his head while he lies there looking up at the night sky and seemingly not perturbed by the weight of the large valiant creature upon him. "That we each owe a bond of respect and honor to each other. That your enemies are mine... and unfortunately my enemies will be yours."
    He tilts his head slightly, and he brushes fingers across her cheek. "But for now, let's head back. I'll make your room ready and you can rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day."

Feral has posed:
    "Unfortunately for them. I've been looking for more good fights," Vanya answers with quiet excitement before she pushes herself up and rises off the warrior, looming over him and stealing the moment to survey the fruits of their battle and trace with a less hurried eye the form she met in primal struggle.
    The were-woman smiles approvingly and moves aside before standing to her full height and setting a hand lazily on her hip, flicking her disheveled hair over one shoulder. "What's tomorrow?"

Ares has posed:
    The tall man slides one leg underneaeth him and then brings his form fully upright... and then to his feet as he stands before her. Gone are those long shadows that seemed to cling to him like some cloak, deep and heavy. Gone are those fangs that she had seen, the glow of crimson in his eyes. It leaves but the man before her, albeit a rather tall and well-built man that smiles to her sidelong and then turns and begins to walk back the way they came. "Tomorrow we will begin to hone that blade of your..." He glances over towards her and for a moment his eyes hood appreciatively as he murmurs, "Rather exquisite form, and train you for what it would mean to stand as my herald."
    He gestures absently, "It'll be rather hard, several long workouts, light sparring at first to provide you with some knowledge of the techniques I feel will best aid you, and then in the evening we will come back out here and test each other again." He turns around, walking backwards with his hands on his hips, "Perhaps a day off to heal if you need it, then resume. In a week's time I set you loose upon the world to see what you will find, and then you may return to me when you feel you have more to learn."

Feral has posed:
    Vanya's eyes narrow in appreciation of the gaze and she stands just a little straighter, smiles a little wider, then turns to regather her clothes before following. The were-woman's tail swishes behind her, still garbed in fur if nothing else.
    "That sounds like a little week in paradise," she considers though curiosity again overtakes her expression. "What's a 'herald'?"

Ares has posed:
    As she falls into step with him he'll continue walking along that path away from that old clearing, his gait even and precise, occasionally sliding down the small declination of the hillock and wending his way between trees. He takes a moment to roll one of his shoulders, wincing from where her claw had caught him and a rough twist she had given him at one point, but he rubs at the tissue deeply trying to work out the kinks even as he tells her, "Some time ago it was considered a role of a messenger, but in a time even before then..."
    He looks sidelong at her and lets his eyes linger for a moment, just at the way her silhouette drifts through the night, and the curve of her powerfully defined form. He shakes his head and looks away, smiling to himself as he says, "It was a sort of harbinger, a representative of what is to come. An individual of prominence held in esteem who represents another."

Feral has posed:
    Flinging the gym clothes over her shoulder, the were-woman ambles unhurriedly behind, padded but humanoid feet finding a natural purchase in the ground with every step. The walk back is a good chance for Vanya to catch her breath too and as fur fades away from all but where it's most needed, a sheen of sweat begins to form as her overheated body finally gets a chance to cool off.
    "You really think you're that special?" Vanya asks with mild intrigue as the set of her shoulders and lift of her chin speak to the rest. At least in her mind the warrior has an equal walking behind him.

Ares has posed:
    Still moving with an even stride, "Well, somewhat." He steps around past that old gazebo and reaches the gate in the fence, opening it and holding it for her. Once she's past he closes it behind them and there they are in the yard of that home of his, the back porch light is still on and there's even the faint taste of the dinner they had cooked together still on the wind.
    He starts up the steps to the deck and moves towards the sliding glass door which they had emerged from earlier. He pushes it open and then leans there while he speaks to her, letting her enter. For the most part he does a good job of ignoring her nudity, though there might be a moment when they are both admiring each other, both letting their gazes linger. His smile shifts a touch wry as he looks to her, moistening his lips for a moment with the tip of his tongue as he realizes that the subtle scents between them may have shifted ever so slightly.
    "I am... very old, Vanya. And I have been known by many names. When I say you should be wary of those who consider me their enemy... I speak of beings with much power. My father was the strongest of us, and then it was myself, my half-brother, my other brothers and sisters all."
    He steps closer to her, perhaps closing the sliding glass door behind him and then murmurs, "When I say that you would stand as my herald, it is no small thing. There will be those who seek to do you harm simply because of the warmth I feel for you and the time I spend with you. Thus why we train, not only for the pursuit of that physical perfection... but to be able to defend yourself from those who will seek to do you harm..."
    But then his nostrils flare subtly, the sweat from them, the subtle touch of arousal? His eyes hood for a moment, but then he comes back to the here and now and says simply, "Though... for now... I should see to preparing your room."

Feral has posed:
    It's not hard to see that the wild woman prefers the touch of the night air against her fur and skin. Backtracking through the woods, the tiger-eyed predator seems every ounce at home as she is. As they reach the house and the light of civilization bleaches her moon-touched form in colours and contrast, there's a moment's hesitation, a reticence before she follows the warrior up the wooden stairs.
    "I'm no spring chicken myself, Ivan," she replies, leaning herself against the threshold to stand for a moment beside her host. There's a comfort around him; the same quietly arrogant lack of concern that comes from her station but also the calm of an animal around kin. It might help that after their fight, the were-woman's scent is all over him.
    Vanya smirks a fang back into view, not making any special effort to present herself but letting the warrior gaze where he will. "Separate sleeping rooms or am I going to wake up with you on top of me again?" she teases.

Ares has posed:
    A snort comes from him, "Separate. And I wasn't 'on top' of you last time. You were injured." But then he's stepping past her, taking the turn once past the kitchen and heading to the stairs. "I'll make your bed, guest shower is on the left. Feel free to take some time and recover." He glances over his shoulder as he starts climbing those steps, smiles, but then goes about the business of the evening.