Snippet #2415009

Swinging her legs in air, thousands of miles about the surface of Albion, sat little Vivi. She sat upon a section of the railing erected to stop people from doing the exact kind of stupid things she was currently doing. Not that any of the crew's shouts to that effect were heeded. Every one of them were met with a loud laugh and a wave of her arm. She liked to live life dangerously, else where was the fun? Even so, sitting on the railing and looking down upon the planet was only fun for so long, and she'd since grown bored of it. She sat, chin held up by her hand and she looked absolutely dejected. The idea of flying on a airship had since lost its novelity.

It was about then that Lohengrin made his way up to the deck. Or he had always been there and Vivi just never noticed? She was never the one to pay attention to much. The rusty gears in her head began to grind as she thought of the things she could do to stave off the boredom. Then in a moment of eureka, it struck her. Showing little to no caution at all, Vivi fell backward onto her hands, and took a few steps aways from the railing on them. Finally, she decided to let her feet do the natural thing and let them fall, standing up right. With that useless bit of silliness done, she skipped across the deck and descended, and when she reappeared ten minutes later, she held two swords. Her own, and another, unmarked blade. Apparently, someone made a trip down to the armory.

She had an idea, and she'll be damned if she'd be deterred from her set course. She continued to skip all the way to Lohengrin, until she stopped and stared at the man with her wide grey eyes. WIthout saying a word, she shoved the unmarked blade into his hand and shifted her own to her shoulder. With her now presently free hand, she reached up to grab Lohengrin's collar and dragged him toward a more open area of the deck. "Come along Henny, I'll learn ya how to fight like a man yet," Vivi said.

Luck was in Lohengrin's favor today. Honestly, if the Deer-boy had been the one she noticed instead of him, then he'd be the one in her clutches instead. She was going to teach someone to fight and then they were going to spar. May the Old Kings have mercy on their souls if they tried to say no.

He’d been contemplating pushing the little bird on the wire, just to teach her something about caution. He’d not actually let her fall to her death, of course—not even he was that cruel—but even as he was turning the merit of the idea over in his mind, she did a completely unnecessary acrobatic maneuver of some sort and disappeared. Oh well; amusement averted for the moment. He supposed there was nothing for it but to go back to brooding, something he personally thought he had down to a fine art these days.

Indeed, the flame was on his fingertip before she reappeared, and he had to extinguish it hurriedly when she shoved a sword into his hand, so as not to burn her. On second thought, maybe he should have increased it instead—it would have deterred whatever bizarre human behavior pattern this was. His eyes narrowed as she hauled him by the collar (though honestly he didn’t move unless he wanted to), and he rolled them, huffing out an irritated breath at her words. Eventually, he stopped moving, which meant that any further attempts to tug him would be quite fruitless.

“Oh?” he inquired lazily, looking the practice sword up and down, then frowning and laying it aside, to draw his own instead. The blade was chipped, the edge ragged in several places, but then, it was several hundred years old. That it was still serviceable at all spoke to the craftsmanship it had been made with. “And why would I want to learn something like that? I recall surviving the Sand Troll encounter in better shape than most.” He’d survived worse than that, too. He knew it wasn’t on his skills as a swordsman, of course—he’d never needed to learn the art of bladewielding, because he’d always had the artless strength and speed necessary to make himself more or less effective without it. Perhaps he’d be better suited to an axe, but he rather liked this sword.

Vivi produced a long, exaggerated sigh and answered him, "I said like a man, Henny, not a pansy. What if we fight something that can block your magic, hmm? What are you going to do? Flopping around with that piece of metal you call a sword isn't fighting... It's flopping." She said, taking note of the chipped piece of metal in his hands. Right, now she'd have to be careful about not breaking it, lest run the risk of feeling guilty. She sighed, but slipped her own sword out of its sheath either way, where she then tossed the empty scabbard to the side.

Clinks issued from her boots as she tapped the sword against them, making sure that the metal was still in working order. The only armor she ever wore were on her hands and feet, they'd better been in top shape. If the pieces were not kept up, then she could find herself just shy of the total number of four appendages. To that end, she tightened the bracers on her arm as well just to be sure. Now that the equipment check was done, she dropped the tip of her saber down and motioned Lohengrin to come forward.

"Come on, let me see what I'm working with."

It took a lot more than that rather sad attempt at an emasculating insult to perturb him. Indeed, the look he gave her in return was pretty much blank, as though he didn’t quite comprehend what she said. Well, the words he understood very easily; it was the intention behind them that was unclear. Why the fuck did this girl care what happened when he fought something that could block his magic? Anything that could do this was bound to be able to kill all of them without a care for what their skills were with flimsy steel, but he didn’t say that.

It was with a sigh of his own that the mercenary decided to humor her. Even if she was just doing it for entertainment, he saw no real reason to decline, and she would probably just annoy the hell out of him if he did. So he swung, checking his strength but not his speed. The point wasn’t to break her arms, after all, and he’d rather avoid the awkward questions that would come of hitting harder than a human being had any right to. He was quite sure the machine had him out-muscled, and maybe Sven’s mechanical limb did, but nothing made of flesh would. A small perk, for all the good it did him.

The blow came in diagonally, in a downward stroke from left-to-right, whistling as it cut through the air.

The gauntlet was there to intercept the blow, though the strength was greater than she imagined. It required a bit more effort to stop the blow than initially thought, but she adapted quickly enough to put her shoulder into it as well, better distributing the force more equally over a greater area. The girl wasn't exceptionally bright, and even sometimes ditzy, but that brain power was put to better use in doing stuff she thought was fun. Fighting was one of those things. Where deerboy was a scholar, she was a warrior, through and through.

Vivi looked at Lohengrin's blade with little more than boredom. No bells and whistles there, just a straight up slice. Servicable, hell it might had even taken down a greenskin or a goblin. But she was not cannon fodder, she was a warrior-empress, with a side helping of pirate. The tip of her own sword raised dangerously up from the deck and made a deal of winding up to return the blow. It was a telegraphed blow, but it was meant to be. Instead of following through with her sword, her right foot shot forward looking to kick him in the kneecap.

There were no rules in battle, and she was not fair, the only goals of any engagement should be to survive and to win, at any means necessary. "Rule one, Henny. Fight to win,"

Lohengrin was in an interesting place. Smart enough to recognize a feint when he saw it, he didn’t bother to try blocking that, but he honestly had no idea what she was feinting to cover—at least, not until a metal-plated foot cracked into his knee. With a grunt, the mercenary backed off a couple steps, testing the leg and finding it still serviceable, though the hit itself had hurt like a bitch. A breath hissed out between his teeth, several strands of hair falling in front of his eyes. He really needed to do something about that. The ridiculous nickname she’d seen fit to give him grated, but he only scowled. “Woman, if I was fighting to win, you’d be ashes. You can’t block my magic.”

Regardless, he acknowledged the point, and this time put a little more thought into what he was doing, sweeping horizontally and expecting it to be blocked or dodged, which was why he followed up by pushing forward, lowering himself so as to hit her with his shoulder while her guard was opened or she was recovering from the dodge. If that would work any better than the last hit, he didn’t know, but it was worth a try. Checking his power or not, he had the strength advantage, and was probably about as fast… but she was obviously far more agile than he.

And exceptionally more devious, he forgot that part. "Implying you could hit me at all," She said, quite pleased at the reaction she managed to provoke. His response managed to crack a smile on her face. Now things were getting fun. As he came in horizontally Vivi kept up with her erratic and wildly unpredictable style. Arching her back, she fell back into a handspring, the whistling chipped blade passing harmlessly by her lower back. Sensing that he was still coming after her, she did another handspring, again still banking on her toes to do the damage. If he didn't bite off his shoulder block, then he'd bite off her boot.

Once she returned upright she crossed her arms and tilted her head, taking on an innocent expression. "You're fast Henny, but that means nothing if you can't hit little ol' me. That's like rule two. Or something," She wasn't going to outright tell him how he could hit her. Where was the fun in giving him all the answers? She'd drop breadcrumbs, but if he wanted to do better, then he'd have to bring it about himself. Strength, speed, agility, all of it meant nothing if you lacked the creativity to utilize it. In a sense, she thought of herself an artist. And Henny would be her protege whether he wanted it not. That was his misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And this was basically how it carried on for several passes, with Lohengrin utilizing increasingly-complicated and creative attacks which didn’t actually hit (though he managed to slice a few hairs at one point, he was fairly sure), and earning the occasional new bruise when she retaliated. It was growing tiresome, and he did not find it nearly so amusing as she did. Nevertheless, it was rather novel, which he supposed gave it some merit. Mostly, though, he was just annoyed. His temper was on a pretty long fuse, but... she was pretty damn irritating, so there was that.

It was about twenty minutes into the endeavor when he decided he was done playing by the damn rules. Drawing back, he threw his sword at her—not that he really expected it to hit, but he was mostly sure he knew which way she’d go to dodge, and got there, attempting to tackle Vivian to the deck bodily, as though quite dirty as a fighter, she would be at a more significant disadvantage in a grapple than he would.

It was about time he did something about her. Truth be told, while Lohengrin was getting more annoyed, Vivi was steadily enjoying herself. It didn't hold the same novelity as a fight to the death would have. There was something about fighting for her life that ramped up the exhiliration. It wasn't a feeling that could be artificially recreated... without someone actually dying, but then it wouldn't be artificial at that point. That being said, she didn't expect anyone to die in their fight. He was their guide and they needed him after all. She wasn't so ditzy that she'd off their only guide.

When he threw his sword, Vivi batted off to the side and put her hands on her hips, "Dammit Henny, I'm trying to teach you how to use that thing. You can't use it if it's oh shit," To his credit, she seriously did not expect the tackle. She'd managed to toss her own blade elsewhere so they wouldn't fall on top of it making the whole thing moot, but still. His gamble paid off. She was on her back with him on top. Things did get dirty, something she thought about with tongue firmly in cheek. Disadvantaged maybe, but she couldn't be counted out yet. Her knee came up aiming for his crotch, as per usual the dirtiest of fighters.

Fortunately for the mercenary, he’d also been brought up in the pragmatic school of combat, and this was not the first time someone had tried such a trick on him. He shifted, and though her knee slammed uncomfortably into his inner thigh, it avoided anything more… damaging. Of course, the maneuver was also good enough to halt his attempt to press the outside of his forearm into her throat and force her to yield. His balance was thrown somewhere slightly to the left, and he swore under his breath in a language she wouldn’t recognize… unless she happened to speak draconian, which he doubted. Another bruise to add to the tally of them he was forming. Honestly, even if he managed the pin, she was going to win for hits landed. Regaining his balance, he tried to cut off her air again, but she wasn’t making it easy. Damn scrappy, this one.

So he was catching on. Good for him. It was about time he got some offense in. Though now it was really conflicting with her rule one. The knee managed to throw him somewhat off-balance, seeing how he felt unbalanced on top of her. He tried to regain quickly enough and his arm went for her throat. She admired his pragmatism, almost brought a tear to her eye. But the tear would have to wait, she was busy. He had size, weight, and strength advantage on her, so forcing him off of her that way was not in the cards. So Vivi would do what she did best. Think outside of the box and do something unexpected. That unexpected thing began her Vivi grabbing Lohengrin's collar and pulling. Instead of headbutting or something normal, she planted a kiss right on his lips.

Hoping that it would cause enough hesitation and confusion, she shoved, trying to force her way on top.

The fuck was this crazy bitch doing? He’d dealt with pretty much every dirty trick in the book at some point, but this was new. Well, not being kissed, obviously, but definitely being kissed in the middle of a grapple. Instinctively, he pulled away, perhaps thinking that she’d try to bite him next or something. There was only so much he was willing to put up with for the sake of a mere sparring victory that he honestly didn’t value that much. He didn’t realize it until he managed to yank himself free, but doing so had eased the pressure of his weight on her considerably, and he supposed he should have seen it coming when suddenly, he was looking at the sky, back against the deck.

“Fuck it,” he said, tone caught somewhere between resignation and perplexity. There might have even been a hint of admiration in it—he’d certainly not thought of that one before, though to be fair, he’d fought many more men than women and wasn’t sure he’d ever be in a position where such a maneuver was tactically sound. Also, he wasn’t completely insane, which she apparently was. “I give up, you win. Can I go now?”

Vivi now sat triumphantly crossed legged on top of Lohengrin, obviously proud of herself. Rule one was rule number one, after all. Fight to win, with the addendum of at any means necessary. She looked down upon Lohengrin as he conceded defeat, somewhat a little disappointed, but overall she was quite pleased with how the whole thing worked out. It was a lot of fun, and maybe Henny learned a thing or two. "Rule... er, last, Henny. Vivi always wins. Nice try though, lasted longer than most," She said, patting the side of his face before rolling off the top of him.