2 ✦ text ✦ unseelie locked

[erythristic]

[backdated to August 2nd, sunrise.]

I require several shardholders who can accompany me to Redgate within a few days. Aside from your availability, I also require that you be skilled in combat without magic and that you can take directions without raising a fuss. None of this is negotiable.

If you believe yourself to be capable of this, please respond, and we can arrange to meet.

Comments

[vrykolakas]

Mm. How would you like me to prove myself?

[There's a faint glimmer of pleased amusement in his voice. The novelty of having to demonstrate his skills in this area isn't unenjoyable.

And he'd like to hit something. What a fucking couple of days he's had.]

[erythristic]

That depends on where in the Drabwurld you happen to be.

[vrykolakas]

Caer Scima. Convenient for you?

[erythristic]

Perfect, actually. Come to the ward as soon as you're able, I'll be waiting.

[vrykolakas]

[The opportunity to take 'as soon as you're able' literally is far too great a temptation to resist. All the Brucolac stops to do is lock the door to his rooms. He arrives in the Ward within seconds, stepping out of a shadow to cross the courtyard.]

Well.

[erythristic]

[she looks up from the locket in surprise, which quickly shifts to a smile as she stands up from where she'd been sitting.]

Impressive. Not the sort to keep a woman waiting.

[vrykolakas]

Never.

[He doesn't offer his hand, but inclines his head a moment. Grell might be able to sense some spiritual scraping, a distinctly non-human edge to his presence.]

The Brucolac. Yourself?

[erythristic]

Grell Sutcliffe. Truly, it's a pleasure.

[the gesture's mirrored, and she takes note of how he feels--good. it's easier to consider non-humans reliable than humans, still.]

Do you fight armed or hand-to-hand?

[vrykolakas]

[He acknowledges the word pleasure with a needless exhale and a slightly distracted-looking jerk of the head.]

Weapons slow me down, I fight hand-to-hand.

[He's aware that Grell isn't human in the way that most people, upon looking at a wax fascimile of food, won't feel too hungry. Not sure exactly what she is, he can still instinctively tell she's not dinner.]

You're planning to test me yourself?

[No surprise or confusion, just an inquiry—one which he makes while shifting his weight very slightly, planting his feet firmly. It's no recognised fighting stance, just an automatic adjustment.]

[erythristic]

[when she gets his answer, she undoes the sword belt she's wearing and sets it aside with the locket.]

Naturally. What better way to measure you?

[leaving the items behind, she walks to the middle of the area so they'll have enough space. this is going to be fun, she thinks, she hasn't done pure hand-to-hand in a while.]

[vrykolakas]

[The corner of his mouth quirks up and he strides over to stand a few paces from her in the centre of the courtyard.]

Good. I submit to your measuring eye, then.

[And the slight, personable smile hasn't faded from his face before he lunges for Grell's throat.]

[erythristic]

[she leaps back so all he gets is air, and she smirks before increasing her speed so she can appear behind him and aim a kick at the small of his back. decent start. now let's see if he can keep it up.]

[vrykolakas]

[Thank fuck, she can actually put up a fight. He swings about when she vanishes, tongue lashing now in midair as he snatches out to grab her ankle in the hope of pulling her off-balance.]

[erythristic]

[he grabs her and she leans into it, letting momentum carry her and bringing up her other leg to try and knee him in the stomach. her strength is tempered for the moment, until she can discern how much exactly he can take. one wouldn't want to break their companions.]

[vrykolakas]

[For a brief unthinking flash he nearly goes to wrench her ankle to one side, but has to stop himself mid-flow; he has no idea if that would, to her, be a seriously inconvenient injury or something to laugh off, bones sealing and setting in minutes—

He doesn't stop moving to think, but still her knee slams into his stomach while he's entertaining his hesitation. Even if Grell's holding back, a blow like that would wind (and perhaps induce internal bleeding in) most people; the air the Brucolac has been holding in his lungs out of habit is knocked out of him in a strangled hiss—and he abruptly vanishes, all resistance to Grell's momentum gone as he flits back a step too quick to see, ready to spring on her should she topple. He's trying to let her own movements work against her as much as possible until he has an idea of just how rough he can be.]

[erythristic]

[bring the grabbed leg down, for one foot on the ground is enough to recover a slight bit, and her other foot goes in front. not as perfect a stance or balance as she'd like, but enough, and it only takes a heartbeat before she launches herself at him, too fast for a human and wanting to follow up that knee with a punch aimed at his throat.

and she's smiling while she does it. this is exhilarating.]

[vrykolakas]

[Something clicks, a decision made: if she can do that, she can weather a little more of his strength. It's a relief, and he surges forwards to meet her, grabbing her wrist in a grip that might crack the bones of a human and aiming a fist into her stomach—as he tries to bring his foot down atop hers, and stamp hard. (The Brucolac learned how to fight during a misspent life; after his death, he only got dirtier).]

[erythristic]

[all of them hit, and she loses her breath in a gasp--but through the pain, he's still close, and she has a free hand. what it means is that she moves to grab the front of his clothes and pull so she can be sure that slamming her forehead into his connects. it's intended to stun--if he's going to play dirty, she can certainly match that.]

[vrykolakas]

[A dark snarl vibrates in the back of his throat as black spots blossom in front of and behind of his eyes. He lashes out with one hand while he's still reeling: not a punch this time but an animal swipe, horribly fast, fingers hooked and nails ready to drag through and open flesh.]

[erythristic]

[good thing she dressed very casual for the practice rounds.

he gets her shoulder, red and pain blooming from where his nails rend it--oh, yes, that's what she was looking for. they'll heal in a day or two, no concern there, and she responds by aiming a roundhouse kick to his stomach. whether he blocks, evades, or takes it, her mind is almost made up.]

[vrykolakas]

[Imagine being hungry, and you don't eat chicken, chicken sort of turns your stomach, but you're starving and the scent of chicken is completely different to but somehow shares something with the scent of red meat—

Anyway, just the sudden red reek of blood in the air is enough to make the Brucolac hiss, an old instinctive urgency suddenly racing through him. He shudders in and out of sight to dodge Grell's kick so that he can try catching her leg under his arm and reaching out to grab her shoulder—then pushing forwards in an attempt to confound her balance and throw her backwards. He'll hook his leg behind her planted knee if he can, to drag her stable foot out from underneath her. It's a little like what he tried to do before, but with more speed and strength now that he's realised she's not fragile. And now that the scent of blood has sent whatever cold and normally sluggish liquid pulses in his somewhat-atrophied cardiovascular system positively singing through him.]

[erythristic]

[she falls, and it's only throwing her arms behind her that prevents her from slamming into the ground. (how many times did that make over the past week? too many.) a quick roll to the side to get out from that position and then springing back up.

pass, she could say, probably should say, but this is fun.

since she's still close, it only takes one movement to lash out, to try and grab whatever of him she can--arm, wrist, back of his shirt, and if she succeeds, the follow-up is to turn on her foot and actually throw him.]

whoops. no obligations to keep tagging if this is too much of a time warp :>

[vrykolakas]

[Grell's movement is unearthly, like watching a flickering moving picture going in reverse; the Brucolac almost wants to cheer. Of course, there's no time. She catches his arm, gets him off the ground, but he twists in midair like nothing human, suddenly just animal muscle—fingernails digging into her arm, other hand reaching up above his captive wrist to snatch at her elbow—so that when he's on the ground, he can try to drag her with him, in the hopes of them both ending up in one vicious, struggling heap.]