Get a Grip

[Laszlo]

It was difficult to keep looking Elhaym in the eye as she told her story. Laszlo listened solemnly, mostly watching her feet until she mentioned her sword. That long, silent weapon had been her salvation, a metal, inanimate savior, allowing her to cut her way out of death's choking grasp. Laszlo had no doubt, if it were him experiencing the madness she described, that no sword would have instilled him with courage like she had. He certainly would have died then, a casualty like all the others falling around her. The city was so lovely and often serene. It was difficult to imagine the insanity that must have taken place here during the Storm. Had Alvadas experienced as much of a bloodbath? Or did it just plunge Ionu's corner of the world deeper into a horrifying unreality? Seven, Ifran, and Shai… were they all still alive? There was a pause, and then she followed her story with a piece of instruction. Laszlo met the gaze of her single eye in comprehension, then observed the way she held the sword's sheath at her hip. Obediently complying, Laszlo tucked the scabbard snugly into his own belt, so that it would sit upon his left hip. The blade chittered and rattled against his sheath as he arranged it so it would hang almost horizontally next to him. It did seem a little unusual at first, but this weapon was thinner and lighter-looking than the heavy longswords Laszlo had occasionally seen carried by Syliran guards and traveling bladesmen. The weapon was curved, with only one sharpened edge that faced the sky as it hung sheathed; certainly it operated differently than a broad, straight blade. Thinking back, he did recall that the Shinya guards he'd seen here wore their weapons this way. Although he could feel the weight of this sword pulling at his hip, there was almost a sense of security about it. With one hand upon the scabbard, and the other resting on the weapon's hilt, Laszlo thought he could almost remember standing this way before. Like so many new experiences the Ethaefal had, this one had a pang of ancient familiarity that he could not identify. He could only presume this meant that, some unknown amount of time ago, Laszlo had held a sword this way in a previous life. It would make sense for the shadows of forgotten memories to be stirred, if Elhaym's story was deeply considered. If he were once a swordsman, this weapon would have been closer to him than a lover. Laszlo's thumb brushed the sword's handguard as he watched her draw the blade. What started as careful and practiced became sudden and frightening. He could hear the blade cut through the thick, chilling air, and he thought he could almost feel a flush of wind that came off its swift, shining steel. Elhaym did not hold the weapon like an instrument of killing, but as if it were a piece of herself, a living thing. She became a different person, contemplative and respectful, somehow even more at peace. Perhaps it was forced, or perhaps it was deep gratitude; 'Lioness' was the reason she was still standing. Then it was his turn. There was no possible way Laszlo could wield a sword like Elhaym. Some part of him still felt wrong for holding an artifact meant for her ancestor, 'Tragedy'. He had been certain that the Acolyte had loathed him, or feared him, but she was giving him an heirloom. Did it mean nothing to her? Did she just have a collection of these lying around? Or, it might have been part of her foreign honor code. The Lhavitians were still an alien culture to Laszlo. Although, there was the off-chance that Elhaym actually fancied him, and that she was just more comfortable showing her affection with her fists. A bit like a schoolyard romance between children. Gods forbid that were the case. Mimicking Elhaym's first movement, he pushed the sword from its sheath with his thumb. Grasping the hilt, he slowly drew the blade into the open, gleaming too brightly against the black of its scabbard and the dark tones of the wet stone style beneath his feet. He did not attempt the same quick flourish that Elhaym had performed. Despite its vague familiarity, the weapon was too much of a mystery to him, a symbol of death and violence rather than graceful savior (that could somehow have a gender connotation). The sword was freed, and Laszlo watched reflections slide across the smooth mirror surface of the blade as he lifted the blade into the air. It reminded him of Siofra's dagger. That weapon had a story, but he had not kept it. It sank beneath the waves along with her body when Laszlo brought her to the Suvan Sea to rest. Victor's dagger had been briefly in Laszlo's possession, another weapon that had taken life. He scarcely held it, and never with the intention to harm anyone. This wasn't a dagger. It exuded so much more power than that small, mundane weapon. And yet, there was something more decent and honest about it. A sword was conspicuous. A dagger was a criminal's tool. "I feel like this is the realization of a young boy's dream," Laszlo remarked softly, grasping the hilt between both hands as Elhaym instructed. Its weight felt surprisingly easy in his hands, with his left near the pommel and his right controlling the sword's angle. "If I'd had a childhood, I imagine that I'd have been doing this with sticks and swatches. I almost want to remember the times I did, but…" Laszlo looked back at Elhaym. Despite her relatively solid build, she looked so much smaller than him. She was certainly a woman, he thought to himself, if he'd ever doubted it before. It was a little emasculating to think that even if she was a pitiful swordsman, he was still outmatched. He lowered the sword, but still held it fast with both hands. "Your being a woman has nothing to do with you being transparent, you know. Seven was more volatile than you, though he was less violent." Easier to manipulate, too. "I've been prone to… outbursts. I've done things I'm not proud of. Honestly, I don't claim to have any more control over myself than you. My life has barely even begun, and it's already falling apart. Two years ago I had nothing and I didn't care. Now I feel like I'm losing everything." He swallowed, returning his attention to the sword. "I could help you, if you wanted. I couldn't possibly counsel you or give you advice, but Hypnotism could help calm you, or help you remember things you've lost—or forget them."

[Elhaym]

His face seemed to twinkle with faint recognition as he toyed with her gift. The decision to essentially bribe him into helping her had been a quick but difficult one made in the time between finding him in the plaza and meeting him here. She had two other blades from her ancestor, true, and they were much more seeped in history. It could have grated her that he held the third now, but for some reason it didn't. In the end, it was only wood and leather and steel as she said. The memories, the attachment, that was what mattered. She still had that in her heart, and in the other two blades. The desire to live up to what her bloodline had achieved in Lhavit had dimmed over time; no one can live in a shadow that dark and lengthy for long before venturing out into the sunlight to forge a shadow of their own. That, and above all she still had her Lioness. That was the most precious blade of all.

She nodded as he spoke of the wonderment of blades to young boys, knowing that to be truth. She'd felt the same way when she first took hold of the leather bound hilt of a blade; there was something infinitely more personal and powerful about a well forged sword than even her own body, no matter how much more lethal the latter was.

Her face hardened a bit when he offered to help her.

"I wanted to understand what hypnotism was, and for now you've shown me that. You will understand then if I say I'd rather not."

She took a breath and exhaled slowly, trying to keep herself from growing irritated with him. A few chimes without the threat of violence and he already seemed content to think she was willing to let him inside her head. Whether or not his claim that he could help her was genuine or not, at this point she was not interested. She did not know this man; he was an alien and a wizard, only bothering to impart his secrets because she had made him and bribed him on top of that. He seemed a sorry creature though, and that grated.

"You said you have a lover, you've mentioned her twice. Abalia?"

The gears in her head began to turn as the pieces fit together. His friend Duvalyon, the doctor who was taking care of someone important to him. His desire to get inside the Bharani library, ostensibly to find some sort of rare knowledge. And again, his claim just now that he was losing everything.

"She is sick, isn't she."

Her body turned, snatching up the black sheath of carefully sliding her blade home. It was held at her side in a three fingered grip without further thought as she took a few steps closer to him. Perhaps she had struck a nerve, for he stood there with her own blade held tightly. With a gentle hand, she moved to push it aside and step into what would have been the butcher's yard had he been a trained blademaster.

"I didn't know, I'm sorry. I… listen, I have a duty to these people. Sometimes… well, usually, I get carried away. There is much more I want to know, and much more I can show you, but now is not the time."

Thunder rolled across the peak as the spoke, the rain battered the covered walkway and blew in misty sheets across their bodies. What little light that had been fighting it's way through the cloud was slowly disappearing as the deluge worsened. It was not a pleasant day; rain was pleasant, but storms in Lhavit could become frightful.

"You should goto her. She probably doesn't want to be alone right now. I've taken enough of your time."

Elhaym's hard front and fierce loyalty to her people had a tendency to dissolve into something more manageable after a time, and for now it had. She had told him to go, yet with the rain bearing down so hard on the city she was reluctant to leave the sanctuary of their little covered pathway. Instead, she propped her blade against one of the pillar's and propped her elbows against the railing, looking out to landscaped mountainside beyond. It was distorted by the rain, but still the skyglass shown. Something bit at her, and a fleeting thought from before barreled into her mind and immediately escaped her throat. Her head turned back to him as she spoke.

"Laszlo. One last thing… I may have misled you. The Shinya are not all like me, is what I mean. The Order emphasizes meditation and a calm demeanor, and staying in control of your emotions. True neutrality, I guess. What I mean is, I wouldn't try your talents on anyone wearing the blue. Unless you are as good as you say, they may well notice."

Quietly she looked back out across the peak, taking in the sights. Her body was cold, but the chill felt good on her scarred arm. The thought of lounging in a hot bath at the Pavilion did wonders for her ability to tolerate it as well. She didn't say goodbye, merely waving over her shoulder at him. Already, she was lost in thought with her head lowered. Twice now she had been made a fool of in her reckless quest to purge the city of threats, working herself up and betraying her nature to men who she had no real reason to ever have spoken to. Now she was simply confused.

Is he a threat? Or is he simply a man with problems like anyone else… no, not a man. An Ethaefal, a creature I know nothing about. I have to think about this…

Her mind churned like the water that blew across her face, trying to decipher this Laszlo. His Hypnotism, his odd way of relating to her, even his very being. It was all befuddling, making her even more starkly aware of his comment about her emotions. These days, she never seemed to know what to think for more than five chimes before she was already walking a different path. Why was nothing every easy for her?

[Laszlo]

"It's complicated," Laszlo mumbled softly, still gazing down at the streamlined reflections on the side of his sword. His sword. What a fanciful concept. Despite the tugging feelings of déjà vu as he held onto the hilt of a lethal weapon, wielding a blade just felt so… unsettling. Maybe he would get used to it? "But yes, she's dying. If there's a way Duvalyon and I can save her, I'm positive it will be found at the library. I imagine every answer to an Ethaefal's questions is here." No wonder Lhavit had the largest library in the world—according to the Cribellum. Laszlo could not imagine that anyone would have more questions about the world and existence than an everlasting Ethaefal. Elhaym might not have realized that Abalia's 'sickness' would have anything to do with Laszlo being an Ethaefal. Quite possibly, it didn't, but Laszlo being the immortal servant-child of a goddess might change something about pregnancy. Please, let the gods be merciful. She probably doesn't want to be alone right now. That was probably true. Laszlo turned and glanced out into the darkening sky, so heavy with water and restrained fury that it fell upon Lhavit and the peaks like a soggy mantle. The thunder, for now, was mild, but patches of silent lightning flickered all around them. Laszlo shivered, and not from the cold. He was apprehensive about storms now; everyone must have been. He could only imagine how uncomfortable Elhaym was getting, and she was right about Abalia. Even if she was safely indoors, only Duvalyon was there to keep her company as the sky grew violent. That wasn't enough. Having been dismissed, Laszlo was glad to take the opportunity to leave. He pulled the scabbard from his belt, worried that he'd look silly carrying a sword on his belt if he didn't quite know how to use it. Again, he tried to mimic Elhaym's instruction, threading the tip of the sword into the scabbard and slowly easing it back into its shell. The scabbard's metal tip clacked against the handguard, and the blade was secured. Briefly, Laszlo considered offering to walk Elhaym to wherever it was she called home. It would only be courteous, and the Ethaefal often had a partiality toward chivalry. As he thought on it, though, he realized he had absolutely no desire to walk Elhaym anywhere. Despite her gestures for peace and cooperation between them, some larger piece of Laszlo still felt used by her (he had been coerced, perhaps even blackmailed into agreeing to her demands). Accounting that with the many times she'd already done violence upon him, he remembered that, despite his patience and willingness to tolerate her, he did not really like her. Perhaps that would change, if things kept going the way they did. It was uncomfortable to dislike anyone, because it reminded him of Victor Lark. "Perhaps when the weather is more agreeable," Laszlo suggested, expressing his willingness to meet with her again and learn more about his newly acquired sword. "Take care of yourself." Holding the sheathed sword in one hand, Laszlo turned and began to leave the pavilioned walkway into the greater courtyard, toward the bridge. The curtain rain greeted him like a waterfall. Elhaym called to him then, making his pause and turn his head, reminding him that she was not like the other Shinya. Thank goodness she wasn't. Her warning was unnecessary, however. Laszlo's last desire was to draw attention to himself in Lhavit. There was no guarantee he wouldn't use Hypnotism on another guard, if he felt the need to defend himself, but he doubted he would have to, and would prefer that he didn't. It seemed unlikely that any other Shinya would accost him with their bootheel anyway. Saying nothing in response, Laszlo signaled that he'd heard her only by facing forward again and continuing on to his apartment.

[Hermit]

Thread Award

Laszlo

Teaching 3
Katana 3
Hypnosis 3
Persuasion 2

Layout of Lhavit
Djed Storm 512
Tripped by Projection

You have a katana, which you may create your own image of and have sans payout, of course.

Elhaym

Unarmed Combat 2
Teaching 3
Katana 2
Projection 2

Hypnotism's Tells
Abalia
Might over Magic