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It 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.

room for one more?

Date: 2016-03-24 02:51 am (UTC)
cutslikeaspade: (Default)
From: [personal profile] cutslikeaspade

Surely she didn't believe he wouldn't find out. And since it was family--such as family was these days--Ethan had of course attended the Challenge and watched as Eileen proved her mettle. He naturally noted the smooth way her small hands held the blades, the firm concentration across her young face, and he even spied something even more hauntingly familiar emerge when Somma barked in pain from that particular strike.

Like recognized like, after all.

Unfortunately, Ethan couldn't remain and offer the customary congratulations; his office beckoned at all bloody hours of the blasted day. But the following morning, he deliberately left his door open and made a point to be comfortably ensconced behind his desk updating paperwork he'd been putting off for weeks...just in case a certain visitor might decide to stop by for a bit.

yey! <3

Date: 2016-03-31 12:00 am (UTC)
cutslikeaspade: (Default)
From: [personal profile] cutslikeaspade

The quiet step was familiar, the voice even more so. Hearing first the former then the latter, Ethan looked up from his keyboard with a sincere smile, giving an approving nod.

"So I know. You did very well, tesora." He leaned back in his office chair, beckoning an invitation. "I was impressed." There was of course a chair nearby, or even a knee, were she so inclined. But to his credit, Ethan had never really 'babied' the former Ace--but his shoulder was always open should it be needful to lean.

"Does the world look any bigger, then?" The gentle teasing was compulsory, however. And always given out of true familial affection.

Date: 2016-04-09 01:06 am (UTC)
cutslikeaspade: (Default)
From: [personal profile] cutslikeaspade

"Oh?" He laced fingers across his abdomen, giving her his full attention. "How so?" But Ethan could guess, perhaps. Drawing blood had been more than second-nature to the children of his own generations; had they not been able to do so, few of them would have survived. Especially in the Black Suits, God knew.

But he supposed it was different, from Eileen's point of view. Thank God she'd never had to survive what he and the others had--never again would such tyranny rule the Deck, at least as long as he lived. And he knew several others who felt the same way, at that.

Nevertheless, Eileen was a child of a violence; it ran in her blood regardless. It was necessary, to survive in their world. Hopefully, however, such skills would eventually be the exception, rather than the norm.

His next query was quiet, but absolutely serious. "Was it worth it?"

Date: 2016-10-03 01:39 am (UTC)
cutslikeaspade: (Default)
From: [personal profile] cutslikeaspade
His nod was an affirmative; not given out of sympathy or condescension, never. But rather an understanding, for he'd been exactly where Eileen had yesterday. In that place of killing, where the knife-thrust had ended, not only in one's opponent, but in one's very soul. Innocence was over. The belief that the world was a good place, that nice guys finished first, and the knight always married the princess was gone. Granted, Ethan knew Eileen had already known that, but the illusions of those proverbial rose-colored glasses had been removed. Stripped away by blood, and the death of another at her own small hands.

Yes, he'd been there.

"Did you look in the mirror this morning?" It was a quiet question, one given again without hint of mockery or amusement. Ethan really did want to know. Because after his own first, he hadn't been able to. Hadn't been able to look at the monster gazing back at him, the monster with his father's devilish eyes. It had taken years to tame the beast, and even now its leash was tenuous. And Ethan never wanted Eileen to have to undertake that particular ordeal.

"I'm sure everyone and all have said the same thing, in some form or another, piccolino, but I'm proud of you." And he meant it. But not for the outcome of her Challenge. But rather for having the guts to stand in the ring with another, for knowing when to let the beast have its sway, and for not letting it overcome all rhyme and reason.

Yes, he was proud of her for that.

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Eileen Eicheln

March 2016

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