asgardmeridiem | Open post

Who: Sonya Blade, You
What: Training and maybe/hopefully some sparing
When: Morning-ish of day 418
Where: Thor district, Arena

She had two jobs (well, three if you include volunteering as a teacher) and was looking into getting a place outside the Welcome Hall. Any other person would see it as settling down in this place, but Sonya preferred to look at it as adapting. It wasn't like sitting on her ass all day would make her go home any faster, and especially in this place when the gods liked to use them as their puppets, she wanted to have some semblance of normality in this place. This meant having a full schedule and living in a place were she could be sure who came and went.

Dressed in black sweats and grey t-shirt (about as close to PT gear as this place could get) she was on her way to one of those jobs a little early, getting in an hour before she was supposed to clock in to get in some training herself. Nice as it was working at the Citadel, it was only for one class and not enough to keep her busy. Atleast in the Arena she could get in some proper sparing and training, maybe even a sparing partner. She also had rifle strapped to her shoulder, along with a few extra clips, wanting to get in some rifle practice while she could with the targets outside the Arena. It wasn't just a matter of target practice either: this baby saved her life as a meelee weapon as well and she wasn't about to let herself get rusty in that area either.

With the weather being not as cold and clearer than it had been, Sonya chose to take the motorbike she'd received as a present all those weeks ago. She'd only just received her license to drive it after all and she wasn't about to keep it closed by the garage. Even if she couldn't go as fast as she'd like to thanks to pedestrians, it felt nice to be riding again and she was able to get to the arena in half the time if she'd chosen to walk.

She parked the bike right by the arena, pulling off her helmet and locking the bike in place to make sure no one stole it, It wasn't a matter of money here, but it'd been ages since she last had a motorbike and she wasn't about to let anyone ride off with it.

ooc: find Sonya around Thor district as she waits for traffic to pass, or right at the Arena as she goes in to work out. Sparing partners or those wishing to learn defence are especially welcomed-she actually won't say no to company. Slow and late tags are accepted.

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It's the rifle that attracts his attention first, but it's her familiarity that holds it. He's seen her in Hemidall house in passing, usually on the way up to his own room. So it's not just the habit of assessing his surroundings that has him glancing at her - there's curiosity there, too.

It's the arena's swords that he's here to use, rather than the revolver strapped to his left hip. He's holding one of those swords in his right hand when he notices her entrance, looks down at its hilt and carefully shifts his grip, then glances back up at her. But if she's here for her own reasons he'll respect that, and besides, he's here for his own.

The swing hits nearly the spot on the target he'd been aiming for, but the impact shifts it, pushes its weight against the scarred stubs where his first two fingers aren't, and the sword clatters to the floor. He goes very still, hearing its metallic ringing echo through the room, and this time does not look around as he hunkers to pick it up.

Edited (phrasing) 2014-03-09 01:36 (UTC)

She hardly looks at anyone once she enters the arena. It's a public area after all and large enough that there's almost always someone there: there's no point in getting picky about it.

It's when she pulls the rifle from her shoulder that she does feel someone's eyes on her, looking around to see who it is. The man could be old enough to be her father (but in this place it's hard to tell by appearance alone): she gives him a nod in greeting to be polite. She was looking to work with swords anyway, she might consider asking when he's finished.

The sound of metal then gets her attention, as is the sight of what looks like some fingers missing were there should be. She doesn't mean to inquire what happened, and as he doesn't look around to pick of the sword, she figures he'd probably not wish to talk about it either.

"Is the sword a new weapon for you?" She eyes the revolver at his hip.

Somehow the idea that it might be an experienced fighter who's seen that, who thinks him an amateur for it, makes it even worse. His shoulders tense a moment, but he knows the pride for what it is, breathes out, tries to let it go.

"No." He looks up at her, taking a couple tries to scoop the sword up before standing. "At least, it shouldn't be. I've been here often enough."

He looks down at the sword, hanging awkwardly and dragging the ground a little. "We were taught never to favor one hand over the other. Perhaps those days are done. Were you meaning to use this?" Roland holds the sword hilt-first toward her, his eyes flickering again over her rifle. "Or were you practicing with your own weapon?"

This situation wasn't deliberate, but now there's the chance to ask about what first caught his eye, there's no reason to pass it up.

She says nothing else about him dropping the sword. For all she knew it wasn't the weapon, but rather the injuries getting in his way-or he was just having a bad day.

"My own. I can work a sword decent enough, but a rifle's what I'm more familiar with." She didn't wish to favor one weapon over another, but the rifle and knife are what she's more familiar with, what they trained her for in the army.

Since it's now the topic of conversation, he looks at the rifle freely, studying it. "I ever was more comfortable with the gun than anything else. Is that from your world? I recognize it but I haven't seen any of its like here."

She considers herself too old to blush, but there's something of regret in her features. "This model? it's pretty close, but it's not the same as the one back home. This was commissioned by leonardo da vinci during the fire giants attack. When I was taken to this place, I just had my side arm."

Not that she wasn't grateful for it, but it wasn't entirely the same. Which was why she hadn't gone as far as naming it yet. Not that she named her rifle back home either, but given how it's saved her ass numerous times, it was something to consider.

Either that or she'd been around dwarves for too long. "Suppose I should start improving in swordfighting as well, just to keep my bases covered."

There's no recognition on his face at the name. He only notes that she's been here longer than he has (which isn't surprising), and that this city has the machinery to create that type of weapon (which is, a little).

"Bullets only last so long," Roland agrees, nodding. "If you don't need anything too advanced, I could help." He casts a glance at the spot on the floor where his sword had fallen, and his expression tightens. "If you'll believe it, the rest of my body does know what it's supposed to be doing. I've been trying to improve, but..."

The sword's hilt waves vaguely toward one of the training dummies. "These stuffy-guys can only teach so much."

"You're having an off day, everyone's entitled to them." Except when it's other people's necks on the line, but in a training room against a target, he's entitled to have a bad day. "Also I've been told sometimes the worst thing is trying to hard."

She's been told it a lot actually, it was one of those things her CO had to all but drill into her head.

"Right now, I'm just looking for honing and brushing up. Hardly what you'd call advanced." She pushed the magazine clip from the rifle and set it with her things. "Where can I get another sword?"

"Gunslingers aren't." There's not been much call to refer to himself that way. The word means nothing to anyone here but him, and he knows it. But it's a statement he can't let lie. "But as to the rest..." He eyes the sword for a moment, then switches it to his left hand. "You may not be wrong."

"The rest are nearby." Roland watches her preparations with interest, then jerks his chin in the relevant direction. "Through that doorway." It's been a time since he's last sparred with this particular weapon, and a pleasant tension is seeping into his limbs at the thought of it.

"Then everyone has bad days." She corrected.

Sonya follows his glance and goes towards the doorway, the wooden training swords where he says they would be. She'd fought with swords before, had some basic training with fencing, but that was years ago and since then it was less formalized.

Back on the mats, she waited for him to get ready.

He lets it be, certainly not agreeing with her, but not seeing the worth in making an argument of it. Roland's much more interested in what's about to happen than he is in making a point that wouldn't even be relevant to her. Instead of focusing on that, he notes the wooden sword, following her and exchanging his own for a similarly less deadly one. Perhaps that's wise.

Roland has nothing to lay aside - not even his revolver, its holster secure and its end already tied to his thigh so it won't flap around - and so he isn't slow in joining her. He eyes her stance, trying to remember his own, and aims a cautious stab toward her middle. Not truly trying to hit, just wanting to get an idea of her movement and speed. An idea of his own too, probably.

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