[open] never meant to start a fire
Mar. 19th, 2016 06:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lowtohighIt could have ended a few different ways. Nearly all of them would have been a victory. Only one or two of them would have been this.
Eileen had almost assented to chess, this first go around. She had contemplated the odds of staying in place unchallenged long with an initial foray based solely on mental agility, just as much as she had contemplated wandering across traditional Suit lines toward something like throwing daggers or poker. It had all ultimately fallen away, leaving her with just the one choice.
Her biological father's first challenge had been a knife fight, Tobias told her once.
Scherma fights haven't been particularly vogue in the Clubs since the late 1980s, but it isn't difficult to find a Four willing to take her up on it. (The Threes had all been wary. Most of them were young enough to have had an otherworldly sense about her their entire lives--or to simply be petrified of the concept of the King's daughter Challenging them at all.) Sergiu Somma is of the slightly older guard, after all. He's also more than a head and shoulders above her; already not bad odds for a weapon that relies so much reach.
She doesn't ask for a big crowd. Rachel and Elisha are quietly invited, of course, with the grim sort of determination that's been settling into Eileen's features more firmly every day for the last year. Kevin is asked to be a referee. Her uncles are informed, almost in passing, certainly without any proper intention that they'll actually find the time (or allow her cousins to attend). It's mentioned exactly once without a proper date or information to Ethan and Elani. It's assumed that Julien will appear if he wants to.
It's a delicate dance to tell Leigh and Jake it's happening. There's a stumbling rush with both to explain they don't need to come, and that she'll tell them all about it after; and that this is the way things just have to be.
Eileen still likes to wear her hair fairly long, but it's pulled up tight today in the sort of bun that makes the eyes water slightly. She still likes to wear skirts and pastels, but today her slacks are long and everything's black, apart from the pink ribbon winding her hair so tightly to her head. (Her mother would say the crease in her brow is her father all over, but her mother isn't here to take note of it.)
Somma looks as unconcerned as ever when they take the small pitch. Eileen looks as much like a quiet mask as she has in years.
The points of the stiletto knives are slightly blunted, the ends dipped in rather neon paint to catch where the point would have burrowed into flesh from a proper hit. It's meant to be as calm and civilized as this sort of thing can get--first to five touches, no actual blood.
And of the many ways it could have ended, most of them would have stuck to that ambition.
The first point goes to Somma; a sharp jab at her shoulder where she loses her footing just slightly in balzo. Her own first point follows quickly, blade twisting around abruptly in her hand into a pakal grip for what would have been a deep wound just above Somma's hip. Her next point is imperfect; glancing against the ribs as she barely ducks below his own swing down toward her shoulder. His next follows quickly as he catches her tempo and his blade catches her arm.
And it's just a little too hard, apparently, because the blunted tip doesn't prevent the fact that the lime green streak marking his point is slashed through with a thin line of blood.
A piece of her knows that it could have been fine. A piece of her admits that it could still have been a civilized bout the rest of the way up to five. But something in her (something Spade, people might say; something survivalist, something purely angry) won't let that be the case.
She barely waits for the next whistle before she leaps in, catching a point against Somma's other hip. Her silence gives way to a snarl when he anticipates her next feint and his blade catches her wrist as her own finds his ribs. There's a certain severity to the silence between them as Kevin hesitates, exhales, and finally blasts what seems as if it might be the final whistle.
Of the one or two ways it could have gone wrong, this one feels easier to live with.
Because this one neither of them see coming, even as Eileen evades Somma's first broad slash, even as his wrist catches hers briefly like an odd sort of parry, even as she ducks again to slip past his next offensive strike. Neither of them expect it when they briefly step back into a careful circling; neither of them know it will happen when she makes her dart forward.
It's smooth and elegant as she feints left, drawing a fluid forward strike from him. It's graceful as she leaps nearly even with him, blade twisting again in her hand as she swings it down at his back. And it's brutal and ugly that the way she plunges the knife bounces just wrong off the bone of his hip, snapping the blade slightly and letting the momentum of her strike dig the proper broken edge deep into his side. Instinct takes over the minute she feels the give of flesh, and the sharp twist she gives pulls an anguished shout from Somma's lips.
The whistle sounds distant as she wrenches herself from the pitch. She hears Kevin somewhere distant telling her it's all right now. She senses the damp towel thrust into her hands, fingers moving mechanically to handle the blood she hadn't realized was there.
It isn't such a big thing, in the grand scheme. It's a pretty good scratch, Somma chuckles as he shakes her newly-clean hand (and it's such an odd sensation, two damp and sterile hands briefly clutching together). It's probably not going to kill anyone, a medic reassures as he begins hustling Somma toward the surgery. It isn't death. It isn't a terrible accident. It's just that it is enough to leave an odd taste in her mouth while she wonders why it isn't such a terrible thing that it should have been nothing and now it's stitching up a few organs.
Her feet find Elisha first. There's no help for it. Rachel will be next.
Despite that, there won't be words quite ready when she goes to find Jake. It feels a bit like searching for an apology she isn't sure is necessary and feels fairly certain won't actually come.
Eileen had almost assented to chess, this first go around. She had contemplated the odds of staying in place unchallenged long with an initial foray based solely on mental agility, just as much as she had contemplated wandering across traditional Suit lines toward something like throwing daggers or poker. It had all ultimately fallen away, leaving her with just the one choice.
Her biological father's first challenge had been a knife fight, Tobias told her once.
Scherma fights haven't been particularly vogue in the Clubs since the late 1980s, but it isn't difficult to find a Four willing to take her up on it. (The Threes had all been wary. Most of them were young enough to have had an otherworldly sense about her their entire lives--or to simply be petrified of the concept of the King's daughter Challenging them at all.) Sergiu Somma is of the slightly older guard, after all. He's also more than a head and shoulders above her; already not bad odds for a weapon that relies so much reach.
She doesn't ask for a big crowd. Rachel and Elisha are quietly invited, of course, with the grim sort of determination that's been settling into Eileen's features more firmly every day for the last year. Kevin is asked to be a referee. Her uncles are informed, almost in passing, certainly without any proper intention that they'll actually find the time (or allow her cousins to attend). It's mentioned exactly once without a proper date or information to Ethan and Elani. It's assumed that Julien will appear if he wants to.
It's a delicate dance to tell Leigh and Jake it's happening. There's a stumbling rush with both to explain they don't need to come, and that she'll tell them all about it after; and that this is the way things just have to be.
Eileen still likes to wear her hair fairly long, but it's pulled up tight today in the sort of bun that makes the eyes water slightly. She still likes to wear skirts and pastels, but today her slacks are long and everything's black, apart from the pink ribbon winding her hair so tightly to her head. (Her mother would say the crease in her brow is her father all over, but her mother isn't here to take note of it.)
Somma looks as unconcerned as ever when they take the small pitch. Eileen looks as much like a quiet mask as she has in years.
The points of the stiletto knives are slightly blunted, the ends dipped in rather neon paint to catch where the point would have burrowed into flesh from a proper hit. It's meant to be as calm and civilized as this sort of thing can get--first to five touches, no actual blood.
And of the many ways it could have ended, most of them would have stuck to that ambition.
The first point goes to Somma; a sharp jab at her shoulder where she loses her footing just slightly in balzo. Her own first point follows quickly, blade twisting around abruptly in her hand into a pakal grip for what would have been a deep wound just above Somma's hip. Her next point is imperfect; glancing against the ribs as she barely ducks below his own swing down toward her shoulder. His next follows quickly as he catches her tempo and his blade catches her arm.
And it's just a little too hard, apparently, because the blunted tip doesn't prevent the fact that the lime green streak marking his point is slashed through with a thin line of blood.
A piece of her knows that it could have been fine. A piece of her admits that it could still have been a civilized bout the rest of the way up to five. But something in her (something Spade, people might say; something survivalist, something purely angry) won't let that be the case.
She barely waits for the next whistle before she leaps in, catching a point against Somma's other hip. Her silence gives way to a snarl when he anticipates her next feint and his blade catches her wrist as her own finds his ribs. There's a certain severity to the silence between them as Kevin hesitates, exhales, and finally blasts what seems as if it might be the final whistle.
Of the one or two ways it could have gone wrong, this one feels easier to live with.
Because this one neither of them see coming, even as Eileen evades Somma's first broad slash, even as his wrist catches hers briefly like an odd sort of parry, even as she ducks again to slip past his next offensive strike. Neither of them expect it when they briefly step back into a careful circling; neither of them know it will happen when she makes her dart forward.
It's smooth and elegant as she feints left, drawing a fluid forward strike from him. It's graceful as she leaps nearly even with him, blade twisting again in her hand as she swings it down at his back. And it's brutal and ugly that the way she plunges the knife bounces just wrong off the bone of his hip, snapping the blade slightly and letting the momentum of her strike dig the proper broken edge deep into his side. Instinct takes over the minute she feels the give of flesh, and the sharp twist she gives pulls an anguished shout from Somma's lips.
The whistle sounds distant as she wrenches herself from the pitch. She hears Kevin somewhere distant telling her it's all right now. She senses the damp towel thrust into her hands, fingers moving mechanically to handle the blood she hadn't realized was there.
It isn't such a big thing, in the grand scheme. It's a pretty good scratch, Somma chuckles as he shakes her newly-clean hand (and it's such an odd sensation, two damp and sterile hands briefly clutching together). It's probably not going to kill anyone, a medic reassures as he begins hustling Somma toward the surgery. It isn't death. It isn't a terrible accident. It's just that it is enough to leave an odd taste in her mouth while she wonders why it isn't such a terrible thing that it should have been nothing and now it's stitching up a few organs.
Her feet find Elisha first. There's no help for it. Rachel will be next.
Despite that, there won't be words quite ready when she goes to find Jake. It feels a bit like searching for an apology she isn't sure is necessary and feels fairly certain won't actually come.
Tags:
- + edgar andrew c-r (smolhappiness),
- + elisha kagan (cipherspeak),
- + elliot reynolds (fatherallthechange),
- + ethan (cutslikeaspade),
- + jake myers (wilderhearts),
- + julien (theacethatmatters),
- + justin (alwaysmessedup),
- + rachel caustello (thecutdiamond),
- + zoë fox (headfollowheart),
- challenge,
- log,
- verse: hoc
no subject
Date: 2016-03-22 11:23 am (UTC)But she couldn't help seeing him there in turning from Elisha to Rachel. Her eyes had such a funny trick of finding Jake whenever he was in the room, after all; a very particular focus on keeping her
boyfriend in her sights, half-protective and half self-preservation.Her hair had been pulled down from its bun by the time she drifted properly over to Jake. It helped, being able to fidget slightly with pushing it back behind her ears, getting it tossed back over her shoulder, before her hands had to simply drop into the uncomfortable wringing behind her back that always came with uncertainty. Most people had looked pleased, after all. Most people had at least looked proud in the hard, silent way Clubs so often did.
Jake just looked uneasy.
She meant to thank him for coming first. Really, she did. But something had been disconnected in her brain between the end of the bout and the quick swipe of a cloth to get the blood off her hands that made it difficult to formulate the words.
"It's..."
It's good to see him. It's over now. It's the way things are done here and she's terrified that going a different way will make the road she's on impossible.
Her gaze stayed stuck to the ground near Jake's feet. "...we're-- okay?"
no subject
Date: 2016-03-23 01:47 am (UTC)Jake wasn't entirely sure what that really meant, to be perfectly honest.
Not one given to thoughtful introspection, Jake usually operated on feel, much the same way as his horses. He didn't have Eileen's talent for personal analyzation, he simply trusted his gut and just did what felt right. This... This definitely had him uneasy, and then some.
It had been the blades in her hands, to start; and the flash of horrible realization--could she ever turn them on him one day?--that had widened his eyes and shortened his breath. The rest had only reinforced that silent terror, until his polite expression felt no more than a mask.
He wanted to offer some sort of reassurance; after all, she once again looked like just Eileen, but the words weren't there. All he could do was just stare at her for a breathless minute or so, then lower his gaze to her own shoes and shrug the right shoulder in uncertain hesitance.
no subject
Date: 2016-03-23 11:23 am (UTC)Reading Jake had gotten easier over the years, of course. There was a certain amount of focus needed to do a good job--a high level of attention to the little ticks, shifts, and starts that couldn't be casually glanced at yet. Her mind slightly clouded, it didn't come through with the same general clarity, but the shrug was surely loud enough.
"...can..."
She shouldn't have asked him to come. She should have let him know it was happening and then let it hang without any sense of obligation attached. She should have cut this out carefully and dissected this piece of herself entirely from their friendship.
But that wouldn't have been her. That wouldn't have been her anymore, oddly enough, than this Challenge had been her. There was somewhere in the grey that felt difficult to articulate but important to share all the same.
It took another few heartbeats of not quite being able to look Jake in the face before she could take another stab at words.
"...can we-- talk, though? Maybe... outside?"
Away from this space. Away from the odd oppression of the castle walls. Somewhere green and quiet and less full of the awareness that she had spooked the hell out of one of the people she cared the most about in the Deck.
no subject
Date: 2016-03-24 03:05 am (UTC)Once there, he took a surreptitious breath, feeling just like a jittery pony--all nerves and frettings. But the bright sunshine was warm, the breeze cool, already doing wonders to clear his head and bring things back into a better sort of focus.
Jake turned back to Eileen, the beginnings of one of his half-smiles already starting to appear. "...better?"
no subject
Date: 2016-03-24 11:28 am (UTC)Outside did, of course, help. Outside felt markedly different. It didn't quite erase the furrow in her brow or the stiffness in her spine, but it let some piece of her relax again. The sun still felt like the sun. The gentle breeze still felt cool and pleasant. Jake's smile, crooked and still nascent though it was, still made her heart twist pleasantly.
Still feeling basic, normal things, in the wake of having felt too much and then nothing, helped immensely.
"A bit." Her fingers stayed laced together behind her own back, feet picking a careful line along by Jake's side. "It's not... something to-- stay in, you know?"
Which had to be the first step of her explanation.
honestly, if Jake EVER makes a Challenge, it will be Eileen's doing, I swear.
Date: 2016-03-31 12:05 am (UTC)He didn't believe it a bad thing that Eileen wanted to Challenge--everyone here did--but he still couldn't shake the memory of her face during, seeing how she held those knives...it gave him the uneasies.
"...guess not." He only spoke because she expected it, sensing she needed a bit of help in the words department just now. He'd do his best. Then he surprised himself by asking suddenly, "--why knives?"
they could Challenge simultaneously in something innocuous. probably horses.
Date: 2016-03-31 12:46 am (UTC)Elisha and Rachel's words clattered briefly through her thoughts before falling aside. Her shoulders flexed briefly before properly hunching in on themselves, arms crossing her own chest to pull in just a bit protectively.
"A few reasons, really." Her voice sounds better in her own ears now; less tight, more certain of itself. "It's something I was fairly confident I could win in, to start. Being smaller isn't such a disadvantage, and Lancelot started teaching me-- ages ago."
Which had been infinitely normalizing, until she'd seen blood and felt her hand twisting the blade.
The thought tempered her speech, slower and more deliberate as her eyes dropped again to their feet. "And it's a good strategy, second. If you start working your way up with-- safe things--" and surely Jake had been in the Deck long enough to know that 'safe' substituted in for 'nonviolent' pervasively "--then people think you can't hack it. And you start getting Challenged by people who think they can unseat you. You can get-- stuck. Backed into a corner. And I know that's-- half silly because it's half about pride, but-- it's still the sort of thing that necessitates watching your back. If you don't start out with a strong showing that you can be as dangerous as anyone else, especially when you're young and still-- small, other Cards will push at you. Challenge you to harder, more dangerous things. Or Counter you in something-- vicious."
She did try to drag her eyes up, briefly, but they couldn't help falling to the ground again.
"I don't want to... keep going in this vein, you know? I want to do the rest in-- chess, and dance, and-- and help make that the new normal. It shouldn't be that nearly everyone starts with knives. But..." The lift of her shoulders was less a shrug and more a further tensing in. "...but it's still what kills people, around here. It's still something-- everyone ought to know. And it's still something you can get in trouble for not-- proving."
that actually sounds like an amazing idea, you genius you
Date: 2016-04-09 01:36 am (UTC)It just made him sad that Eileen had to dance in and out of those shadows. Why the crap couldn't people just...get along all the time? His shoulders slumped a bit. Unfortunately, that wasn't how things worked.
Jake nodded slowly, staring at the path before their feet as they slowly shuffled away from the castle. "...makes sense," he admitted finally, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Although he more or less understood why she'd done it, he still didn't like it much. "Guess that's part of bein' important around here, huh.."
she will propose it but you know A LONG TIME FROM NOW
Date: 2016-04-09 11:56 pm (UTC)Whatever casual touching had built up between them should probably be earned all over again.
"It is. But-- it won't always be." She was feeling far more certain of it, now that it had moved away from theory and into practice. "The Deck can be-- better. We just need to show people it's possible. And it's important to-- at least somewhat meet them where they are to begin."
There was an unconscious pause before she had to unlace her fingers. It felt important to keep herself focused on the ground before her to keep her voice calm, but that required dragging one hand through her hair to pull the loose strands back from her face.
"Thank you, by the way. For-- coming today. I know it... I know this was-- hard. But it... it means a lot that you-- came and that-- you're still talking to me."