Closed Unhappy Attraction (Noven)

[Caela Dorin]

The cook seemed to find something amusing although Caela wasn't sure what he could have found funny about what she'd said unless there was something that wasn't privy to in his head that he found amusing. He didn't leave her in the dark for long though, pointing out that the orphan's ability to look out for herself was an apparent problem. Just because she was confused over this so-called problem didn't stop her from noticing his nearly addressing her formally again. At least he'd corrected himself.

So the girl could look after herself so he'd been smiling about what? That the dancer hadn't known that the girl he was talking about was a vicious little thing? So she could stab a grown man; that was a good thing. A woman in Sunberth should be able to look after herself and if she was getting a head start before she hit womanhood then good for her. So what was the problem?

His initial grin was replaced with a more serious expression, one that served to show her that he took this favour from her seriously. The dancer might not have understood the reason why initially but he was endeavouring to spell it out to her. It quickly became something approaching a rant aimed at her rather than to her. It wasn't her fault after all that orphans - or any person for that matter - died in this city but it was obviously something that he felt strongly about. As Noven told her about the boy, Thomas, she began to realise that she might have been a little hasty in her judgements. The man was really invested in the lives of the little brats and the anger in his eyes seemed to attest to that. He wasn't trying to hide it either. He actually cared and he didn't seem to care if she knew it.

The dancer frowned. She was beginning to see the problem. The girl was too spirited, too obvious in her way of thinking. In Sunberth, you couldn't mess with the wrong people and by the sounds of it, the girl didn't know when it was a good time to shut her trap. Caela was all too familiar with how a woman could be broken, perhaps not the exact methods that could be employed but rather the effects. Her mother hadn't been quite right. Sure there had been a time when she'd covered up the cracks in false humours but there had come a time towards the end, the last year or so of her life, when the cracks had grown too wide to hide. She'd become like a zombie and the dancer had often wondered if she might have lost her living if Dira hadn't taken her. The blonde did have faint memories of her mother from when she was a young child when the prostitute had been more lively, more spirited so she knew the extent of her degradation. Her mother had had protection though. No man had been able to break her in the way that Noven was talking about whereas this child...

The cook couldn't have known the chord he'd struck in her, images of her broken mother flooding her mind. Regardless of the how if that girl was tormented as he was suggesting the result would be the same. Her mother had died before the age of forty but had probably wanted to die by the time she hit her thirties. Would Amira hit that age? Would she reach Caela's? Hai, the dancer doubted that she'd even get out of her teens if what Noven said was anything to go by. The thought of it was horrific. Images of her mother and that child merging, becoming one had her teeth near to gouging a hole in her lip as her eyes shut in an effort to hold back tears.

She just breathed during the silence, letting herself recover. He cleared his throat, drawing her back into the now from some combination of past and future. The dancer's eyes snapped open, the green orbs perhaps a little misty as they fixed on him. Selfish cow, self-centred bitch, she reprimanded herself bitterly as she had an attack of conscience. If the cook had been some paedophile who'd wanted the girl groomed, Caela would have handed her over on a silver platter. Whatever the reason, the young woman had been more than willing to put herself ahead of the girl's even if it had meant her ruin or her destruction. Now though... she couldn't do it. He'd had to make her think of her mother! Not that he'd had any idea how to get at her or which nerve to strike. Perhaps that was worse.

She had survived thus far - for the most part - in one piece so the man had a point. The dancer could teach the youth what she knew, maybe teach her what she knew about men and how they could be manipulated. Although she might be a little young for that kind of thing. Caela would have to think about that one.

The cook had entered uncomfortable space and the dancer couldn't blame him. His words made her want to cringe. She could see all of this being dumped upon her, anything girly, womanly or whatever. She'd agreed before she'd really realised what she was getting herself into. Shyke! Noven certainly expected her to handle it. Well there was no point having this Amira growing up innocent. She hadn't been sheltered anyway so she'd probably be aware of certain things already. She frowned in remembrance. The orphan had been in the kitchen, presumably so had Noven or he wouldn't have come out armed with a frying pan. Those two children had probably been in there when Caela started screaming and that had obviously drawn the cook out to her rescue but they'd heard. Of course they knew. That flyaway comment about her being an extra bit of fun wouldn't have gone over their heads she was sure. It sent a shiver of horror through her. Ignorance would have been far better.

Her future teacher seemed to have gotten a weight off his chest. Once the subject of Amira was passed he seemed more at ease, better somehow now that that wasn't weighing on his mind. Her training was on his mind now and she was eager to get that started as soon as possible. "Can now count as any time?" she asked as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Her eyes rolled at the mention of changing her clothes. "Way to state the obvious." The young woman took a step back, ready to turn to head straight back to her room when a thought struck her. She turned it over in her mind, viewing ways of voicing it from different angles. If said straight out then it might be taken the wrong way. Just because he was going to train her and he'd been kind enough to rescue her didn't mean that she would give him certain... liberties.

"You might need to know where to find me in the future and you might want to carry some reports back to Jillene. On the body count on her turf, I mean. So are you coming with me? You won't be coming into my room obviously." The look she gave him seemed to suggest that if he thought otherwise that he'd be sorry for it. She shrugged, not waiting for a reply and headed back towards her apartment. He was a big boy, he could work out how to tag along if that was what he wanted.

[Noven]

He was somewhat surprised at her eagerness to start training right then and there. Course, there was her unfortunate encounter with a pack of lusty goons to consider. But Nov, being Nov, figured that Caela, being a woman, would want to do stuff like...well, like recuperate and drink hot tea or some shyke. That she was willing--determined, even--to dive into more physical exertion today instead of locking herself in her room and barring the door threw him a little off guard.

Then again, he realized a bit belatedly, maybe she was used to this. Most women were in the Berth. The thought made him frown, though Nov chose in the end not to dwell.

There were more pressing matters to attend to, anyhow. Like the subject of Caela shedding her clothes whilst the cook lingered somewhere outside of her room.

Noven gave a half shrug and grinned. "Lead the way."

It was true that he needed to know where to find her. Sort of. More as an act of prudence than anything else, or so he told himself. Fact was that Jillene knew where every single living creature under her roof lived, rats and dogs and humans alike. She could just as easily send one of the orphans as a messenger or grant permission for them to use an empty room to train in. But Nov felt she already held one too many of his strings. He would do whatever he could to keep her power over him at a minimum.

Plus, it wasn't as if his new student was hard on the eyes. The cook normally maintained a healthy amount of distrust and wariness for the pretty ones. They were always, always trouble. Manipulative to impossible degrees, getting him to do everything from delivering food for a full blown massacre to sneaking food for their abandoned, five year old daughter. Just thinking about it made his head spin.

But, Blondie seemed genuine in her desire to learn some proper defense. Maybe, just this once, things weren't going to explode Noven's face.

Why do I feel like I've hoped this before...

He followed Caela with a mix of curiosity and caution. It made him feel like some overgrown, mongrel stray, but what was he to do? They couldn't go to his place to train. Nov was pretty sure they'd fall straight through the floorboards if they tried. The wood creaked dangerously just from him walking back and forth.

The cook sighed and glanced down as they walked. Only to realize upon doing so that he was still wearing his apron. He quickly untied it and stuffed the bundle of fabric under one arm. Nope, definitely not setting foot in Caela's quarters wearing that. Nov managed afterwards to catch up, though he still kept some distance between them, remembering how she'd flinched the first time he'd come close to physical contact.

"So..." he began, cursed hands once more hidden in his pockets. "Who was this intruder that got you worked up enough to see Jillene?"

Nov wondered idly if the culprit was still alive. He'd make a convenient target to refresh the merc's troublesome mark.

[Caela Dorin]

She made the mistake of glancing back when he spoke, spotting the grin and making a sound of disgust. She had an idea what he was thinking and she really wished that she didn't. Didn't make it clear enough apparently. Either that or he's too pig headed to have his mind changed, the dancer thought as she picked up the pace. Let him run to keep up if he had to, Caela didn't want to have to meet that smile again if she could help it. She was not letting her mind sink to his level. He's far more attractive when he smiles, even if his mind is in the gutter, she pointed out to herself much to her chagrin. So not the time! A flush of colour was threatening to creep into her cheeks, the blonde caught somewhere between annoyance and embarrassment at her own thoughts.

Despite her pace, Noven succeeded in catching up to her making her battle to somehow quash the heat in her face all the more challenging. Her gaze fixed ahead, the blonde quite decidedly not looking anywhere near the space that the man occupied. It'd pass and then she could go back to being disgusted with him although she hoped that that'd pass as well. Caela wasn't sure that she could take any sort of lesson from the man, or rather concentrate, if she was caught up in thinking about what he might be thinking about her.

You're thinking about this far too much. Shouldn't you be used to it?

The dancer sighed, running a hand through her hair absently. She probably should be used to it, the attention, the way men's desires played behind their eyes, but the truth was that she wasn't. At work she just ignored it, blocked it out but away from the tavern it was always harder. Avoiding men's gazes and trying not think too deeply about what went on in their heads when they stared allowed the blonde to go out and about but if she couldn't manage that much...

The cook drew her from her reverie, his question making her glance his way. He'd taken his apron off, she noted. He was probably so used to wearing it that he hadn't realised that he still had it on. That or he hadn't expected to be leaving the Orphanage so soon and she hadn't exactly given him the option of dropping it back into the kitchens. A thoughtful chew on her lip before the answer came. "Well I haven't had an intruder yet - at least not this season - but I could. Aside from all the racket going on outside my door last night, I had a wonderful surprise drop through my door when I opened it. You can see for yourself, it's not like anything's going to have changed." The dancer shrugged, trying to appear casual about the whole thing but she really dreaded going back to her room to face that. She hadn't wanted to go alone and if he hadn't come she'd have been terrified.

Until she neared her room, not a sound came from the blonde. She kept up her fast pace until they grew near too, slowing to a crawl before the room even came into sight. Her breathing came faster as she got closer to the horror that had quite literally landed on her doorstep and she had to tell herself to breathe more slowly before she hyperventilated. Her fear wasn't likely to go unnoticed by the man but she was past the point of paying attention to him or guessing at his thoughts; her mind was on other things. Her eyes didn't stray to the ground as they came in sight of her "surprise" and it wasn't until she stopped a few feet away from it that she risked a peek. A shudder went through her as she gestured weakly in its direction and that of her door before covering her face with her hands.

It was still there.

She'd heard the screams in the night, as she was sure others had but no one had bothered to move it. The man, whoever he had been, had died slumped against her door. The dancer had seen enough in the odd angles of his fingers and the way his face had been carved to guess that he'd been tortured before his throat had finally been slit. There was probably more that she hadn't had the nerve to search for, the blood pooled around him suggesting other wounds. Her feet had tracked through it, leaving a bloody trail in her wake until she'd had the presence of mind to drag it off the soles of her shoes.

"It fell in the door and I had to push it out. I had to slam the door into its head before I could get it to budge," she moaned, voice muffled by her hands. "Could you get rid of it? Please!"

[Noven]

Her answer was strange at best. A surprise dropped through her door? Noven couldn't even begin to guess what it was. So, in his typical, ham-handed fashion, he didn't. He was going to find out sooner or later anyway.

The cook glanced over at Caela again. She shrugged her own words off as if they scarcely troubled her, but he could see that she was frightened. Nov knew the look of fear better than the sound of his own voice; he could sniff it out a league away, even through the dingy, thick stench of the Berth. Taking the rest of their short walk to digest this new information, the man wondered idly if this was the main reason Blondie had chosen her own apartment. Because she was scared, and wanted company.

The runts did this often enough to him. At first. Convinced there were murderers and Myrians who favored the tender meat of children hiding in ridiculous places like pantries and toilets, they tried during his first year as their cook to ask for help. Noven happily obliged. He held their hands, nodding all along the way as he assured them there was nothing to fear, and then locked the door behind them once they'd entered whatever space was supposedly harboring child eating criminals. The cook would spend the next five chimes hollering for any fiends to come out, as he had a tasty gift to offer named Loy, or Corin, or Leania.

When they re-emerged, none worse for the wear except maybe tear stained cheeks and soiled trousers, the other runts would be gathered around, a knowing look shared between all of their faces. After that, Nov was rarely ever bothered again. Only the new ones gullible enough to be tricked by their elders would come begging him to escort them to bed.

They learned just as fast as the rest.

The cook highly doubted he could use the same method on Caela, though. He also doubted her fears were quite as imaginary, especially not when they seemed to triple in strength as they neared her door.

Well, what a right, sodding shame. Seemed like Noven's would-be victim was already dead. Not only that, someone had seen to it that the poor bloke was tortured before he died, too.

Methodology said a lot about a person. The cook himself preferred cleaner, simpler techniques than carving up people's faces. His curse tended to handle the rest and he didn't like leaving a mess. But he did very much enjoy broken fingers; there were always plenty to use before the victim cracked. And, from the looks of things, so did whoever had tortured Caela's mystery corpse.

Blondie had her eyes covered, to Nov's amusement, and begged him to get rid of the body. He didn't exactly blame the guy's murderer for leaving his--or her--dirty work behind. Twas more likely one got caught getting rid of a corpse than creating one. And since this was Sunberth, no one was going to spare more than a few repulsed glances before continuing on their way. Unless this man had been important. Which, the cook felt, was highly unlikely, given his ragged appearance and even more ragged location.

"Well, lucky for you Caela, I'm an expert at getting rid of bodies," Nov quipped. He only wished he was lying.

He bent to inspect the body first. It hadn't begun to smell in earnest yet and the Fall weather had been cool, which meant Blondie's mystery man died within the last twenty four bells after all. Not that any of this mattered. The mercecnary was more concerned with whatever goodies might have remained hidden in the man's pockets. Patting down every possible surface, he was rewarded moments later with a small pouch fished out from the inner lining of a boot.

Nov tossed it in front of Caela's feet. "Might be worth something. Won't hurt to check."

Then, with a grunt, he hooked his hands under the corpse's arm pits and dragged it down the hall. Back in the empty space mystery man had once occupied, only dark, dried blood--mostly signs of Caela's own struggles, he guessed--remained. It would still have to be dealt with later, but at least the body had stiffened and allowed no more blood to be displaced. It wasn't often the merc got to dispose of a body like this without leaving behind a pesky, crimson trail. That's why he usually burned them.

Sadly, there was no such option in the middle of the Sunset Quarters. His own apartment wasn't too far away and Nov didn't relish the idea of his home being burned down a second time. So, instead, he made do with a single, open window.

"Here ya go, old pal. Have a safe trip down." Then he shoved the corpse head first out of the building.

Some unsuspecting beggar down below squawked in protest, but Nov paid them no mind. He rubbed his hands against his trousers and turned to walk back to his new student. Not a whore or slave indeed...it'd been a while since he'd seen anyone react like that to a dead body. Although, to be fair, carved up faces didn't do much for the merc either. Reminded him too much of Raz.

"I take it we can get started now? Soon as you change, 'o course."

[Caela Dorin]

There was silence from the man as he took in the scene, the blonde unwilling to turn to take in his expression. Dead people weren't a new sight to her - she'd lived in Sunberth all her life after all - but that level of brutality was too horrible for her to stomach. She hadn't lost her breakfast over him though, now or earlier but then perhaps that wasn't too great of an achievement; earlier she hadn't eaten anything and now she wasn't looking.

"Well, lucky for you Caela, I'm an expert at getting rid of bodies." The cook's reply certainly seemed to ring with truth and she somehow couldn't bring herself to doubt him. Considering the short work he'd made of her attackers and Jillene's comment about bodies, the dancer guessed that he was used to killing people and that he was good at it. If he could teach her to do the same then... no! She still didn't like the idea of taking another life. He could show her what she needed to fight, things that could be twisted to cause death rather than pain if the need ever arose but not techniques that were used to guarantee the extinguishing of life. When she'd been attacked today she'd been capable of it but now with her blood cold, the idea chilled her to the core.

Noven was certainly doing something with the body but it went unobserved. She'd turned away blindly but was forced to look down as something struck her heels. A pouch. The source seemed obvious although she didn't glance towards the cook to confirm her suspicions. Instead she bent to retrieve the small bag wondering why his killers had allowed him to keep its contents, even in death. There was certainly something inside it that rattled but there was no clink of coins. It was opened cautiously as if the dancer expected something to leap out of it and spilled the contents into her palm. Dice, two of them made of some white material, ivory maybe? They weren't valuable as far as she could discern and dice weren't difficult to come by so she dropped them back into their pouch with a twinge of disappointment.

Her attention was drawn to the cook dragging the body to the nearest window and throwing it out as she looked on. Yes, he had just flung a person - dead, mind - out of the window. Perfectly ordinary thing to do. She stood agape until his return when she thrust the pouch towards him. "Just dice. You can have them," she offered generously as she forced the unwanted booty upon him. If he failed to take it, she'd just fling it at his feet as he had done to her. The dancer crossed to her door, skirting the dried pool as best as she could before unlocking her door. More streaks of blood within, the substance having been more liquid than solid when the corpse had fallen in through her door. The scent of something rotten wafted into the hallway and the dancer wrinkled her nose against it but entered anyway without showing any surprise at the odour.

The door was closed and locked against the cook, the dancer not trusting him enough to leave the barrier between them easily removed. Far too much of a temptation. A fresh blouse without traces of blood and mud was pulled from her trunk of clothing along with a pair of cotton pants. Her boots were tugged off at the side of her bed, skirt swiftly changed for pants before they were replaced on her feet. One blouse were switched for another and the old clothing was balled up and thrown into the trunk, which was allowed to slam shut as she went to open the door for Noven.

"Changed! See now that didn't take long, did it?" She hadn't left him alone with his imagination for more than five chimes. What he'd thought of in that time, Caela didn't even bother to approach mentally. "So with that out of the way we can started now, right? I'm not completely clueless where fighting is concerned but... I haven't practised what I do know as much as I should have. I've been shown how to throw a punch, how to block and how to kick. Which did absolutely nothing for me today because I had the wind knocked out of me from behind. I can hold a dagger too although using one is a different matter."

The dancer wasn't able to stay still as she spoke, walking back and forth across the small space, pausing on occasion to run an agitated hand through her hair or rest a hand upon her hip. This was not ground that she was used to being on. Strange men in her room who she'd invited in was something that just didn't happen. A man in her room was a strange sight indeed and while she could usually deal with any strange man in the tavern with ease and little discomfort, the same situation in a different setting was another matter entirely. She wouldn't perch on her bed and she wasn't just going to stand in front of him so she was drawn into a constancy of movement with a glance every few ticks in Noven's direction.

OOCFor the record I was thinking of loaded dice in the pouch, something that Noven might take the time to realise whereas Caela wouldn't.

[Noven]

Dice...

He bent to pick up the pouch, lost in thought. The word alone sent cogs churning away in his head and a furrow creasing his brow. Nov was so distracted he barely noticed how Caela had thrown the loot at his feet, nor the rotting scent that wafted in as soon as she opened her door. Because if his guess was correct...

The cook was still prying the sack open when Blondie disappeared into her room and locked him out with a definitive click! He glanced up, momentarily distracted from his distraction, and tch'ed. Honestly, after all the trouble he went through to save her ungrateful arse, all the heads he'd bashed in and threatened, and all the wildling orphans he had to whip into some semblance of civilized humanity in her presence, this woman seriously thought that a single, flimsy piece of wood and a gods-knew-how-ancient piece of shyke lock would keep her safe from him?

Nov had half a mind to kick the door down just to prove a point.

But then he remembered the weight in his hand and thought better of it. Partly because Nona's ghost would haunt him twice as often if he did, and partly because the Isur would flay him alive for destroying her precious property. So, the man went on trying to get the bag open, cursing plenty along the way as his calloused fingers fumbled with the string.

As soon as the ivory cubes tumbled out and into his palm, Noven knew. Loaded. Definitely, undeniably loaded. There were about a hundred ways for a gambler to cheat, and at least a thousand more ways for the same gambler to try and end up finding himself dumped in front of some lass's doorway with mobster artwork for a face. Along that train of thought, the cook paused for a tick to wonder if Blondie was anywhere near done yet. Which lead him to wonder of other things...until a window slammed shut somewhere in the building and jolted him out of a rather pleasant reverie. Right, back to the dead guy.

Nov himself knew a couple methods for loading dice, but not even he had ever been desperate or foolhardy enough to try his hand. Only professionals could hope to get away with that stuff. Amateurs tended to just get themselves dead.

He picked out the pouch and weighed the dice in his hand. Whoever had altered them was definitely not terribly good at what they did. Even a novice like Noven could see that the dots on one side looked and felt different from the others. To test his theory, he crouched down and rolled the dice on the floor. After a bit of wobbling, both pieces settled with sixes facing up, easy as magic.

Well, well. No small wonder mystery man there had been tortured and murdered. Going for boxcars as an amateur nobody was like writing yourself a death sentence. Might as well throw yourself over a ledge and be done with it, before some grump of a cook came along and did it much too late.

And if it had been Tall Johnny this poor sod attempted to cheat? Stars and stones, just thinking about it made Nov's fingers hurt.

The door flew open to present new and improved Blondie. "Changed! See now that didn't take long, did it?"

Nov gathered the dice back into their pouch and stood up to look at Caela's chosen ensemble. Pants, good. Blouse that isn't muddied and bloodied, also good. The rest, he kept conspicuously to himself.

"No, it didn't," came the cook's vibrant reply.

He stepped inside and gave a cursory scan of Caela's humble abode. It was...feminine, minus the blood stains. The realization struck him, for the first time since them having made their deal, as something of a problem. First, because he didn't like thinking about the last time he had been in a beautiful woman's quarters. And second, because there was too much shyke he could potentially break or look at when he shouldn't be looking.

So it grew apparent that there was not one, but two anxious people occupying Caela's apartment. As the woman talked, revealing the unexpected amount she already knew about hand to hand combat, Nov kept his body still and eyes limited to a single cone of vision. He didn't enjoy being yelled at and having things thrown at his head. It was, in fact, one of his least favorite things in life.

"Aye, we can start, " the cook nodded, "but we're not gonna waste time kidding ourselves."

He set the bag of dice on a table and stepped forward to close the distance between them. "Because let's face it, there's no way in hell you're going to win a street fight with just punches and kicks. Not unless you're fighting children, lepers, or the elderly. And a block might save that your face from being smashed in. Might. For a couple chimes, tops. But it won't stop them."

Nov pointed at his nose. "If you're gonna punch, punch where it counts. Breaking someone's nose is a good start if you get the chance. There are a ton more, and I'll show you most of them. Teach you to fight dirty. Cause that's the only way to scrap in the Berth."

"Now," he grinned, not even bothering to brace himself, "punch me. Doesn't matter where."

[Caela Dorin]

Noven didn't seem any more comfortable with the present situation than she did. Somehow that made things far worse.

She tried not to notice the way he looked about the place and then grew uncomfortable but she could see him squirming, even if it was mostly internal. She could see it in the way he held himself, where his gaze went, how his weight shifted. The dancer was made self-conscious of the more womanly aspects of her quarters although they were only little things in her eyes. Apparently they was enough to draw the cook's gaze and then for his eyes to avoid it afterwards. She was glad to get her say out so that they could get down to business rather than having to be aware of the man's discomfort.

Caela waited attentively for what he had to say on the matter. What she'd listed in terms of her fighting abilities - unpolished as they were - sounded like a lot to her ears but then what did she know? Apparently not enough. As he set down the dice she'd thrust upon him, she found herself sighing at his words. So what she knew wasn't that much good to her. Web had explained that her brains were probably more important to her than physical prowess, that if she could use what she knew that she could best most ordinary thugs. She assumed that Noven wasn't talking about ordinary thugs and perhaps he didn't think that smarts counting for anything. Who did she believe though? The woman who'd rescued her from attackers or the man who'd rescued her from attackers? Both could clearly fight but she didn't know who she was better off listening to. Anything the cook could offer would have to be taken into account all the same.

She didn't know whether to laugh or not at the comment about the opponents she could manage to take on. Given his seriousness about it, she decided against it. She'd managed to stop herself from her roaming about the room and stand facing him with her arms crossed over her chest. Her weight was still shifted restlessly from one foot to the other as she listened to his brief advice but paused in her movements when he told her to hit him. The blonde couldn't keep a chuckle at bay.

"You'd think I'd be surprised by you saying that but I've actually had a similar... invitation not all that long ago," she explained as she unfolded her arms. The limbs were raised above her head, hands locking together as she stretched out her form. If the way certain fabrics clung to body in the movement happened to catch the cook's attention, the young woman didn't mind. If he was going to think illicit thoughts then she might as well use her body as a useful distraction. It probably wouldn't occupy him for long but if it unbalanced him at all then it might be to her advantage.

Web's advice from early the season before was dredged from her memory, the essentials put into practice now. She knew the stance that the older woman had taught her but she didn't want to seem too obvious in her defensive. If her left foot was placed forward, the arm on the same side was to be used as a guard but perhaps she could keep her stance more casual and therefore catch the man off guard. Unlikely but worth a shot.

The idea of distracting him had taken hold in her mind now and the notion of messing with his head before he caused her pain in the future - no doubt when he blocked her punch - was just too much fun to let up on. "I don't know why people have such a desire for me to cause them harm, or try to but you're my teacher so I guess..." Her words had brought her closer to him, not close enough to encroach on his personal space but near enough to allow for combat. "...your wish is my command."

A quirk of her lips as her words drew to a close, her left foot placed forward as she affected a slight bow, gaze mocking as it met his. As she straightened again, forward foot remaining where it was, the dancer was all too aware that his stomach wasn't all that much higher than her own. As soon as she was erect, the blonde's mind flitted to dancing as a parallel for what she wanted to do and moving as swiftly as she could with her eyes remaining on Noven's, Caela twisted her hips so that they followed the movement of her right fist as it snapped out at his stomach, knuckles upwards as she'd been taught.

The dancer was prepared to snap her arm back - never planning to fully extend her arm and lock out the joint - provided that the man didn't stop it first.

[Noven]

Noven watched her stretch, and all the gods and goddesses be damned if it didn't remind him immediately of red headed Isurs and nights he'd rather not remember.

The cook tried to shrug and joke his way into forgetting, but the memories clung to him like ill-fitting clothes. He chafed, he struggled, he drowned himself in ale, and still there was no getting rid of the damned things.

Then again, it wasn't like Nov was the forgetting--or forgiving--type.

Just when he was beginning to think Caela might be more trouble than she was worth, his new student positioned herself in a vaguely defensive form. The man wasn't entirely sure if that was what she was going for, but it only made sense if she expected him to retaliate. Which, Noven had no intention of doing, but it was good to see she could think and prepare ahead.

Caela was talking again. And getting closer. The cook felt contradictory reactions of retreating backward and challenging forward, but in the end he merely chose to stand still. He was, after all, to be her temporary target.

"...your wish is my command."

The way she said those last words, bowing and looking up with mocking, green eyes, caught Nov off guard. He wasn't sure whether that was her goal, putting him at unease, or if this was just the normal sort of thing Caela said and did to her combat instructors. Either way, he had little time to dwell. She was moving not long after again, wasting no time executing a swift punch to his stomach.

Had he lost his focus, momentary as that was, to a more seasoned opponent, Noven might have taken a debilitating blow to the gut. Or gotten stabbed. Both of which he'd fallen victim to on numerous occasions. But the main reason Caela couldn't even come close to wounding him was simple:

She didn't want to.

As soon as the lass twisted and pulled back her arm, Nov knew she would fail. He could see in her expression and body language. She was holding back. And she had no clear intention of hurting him. Of really hurting him, as much as she could.

His right hand rose to meet hers with an audible slap of flesh against flesh. Instead of his gut, Caela's fist was now held back by Noven's calm, unwavering palm and fingers. He only felt a sting of pain upon impact, though it was so brief the cook hardly stopped to think about it. He held her fist there for a tick or two before pushing it gently to one side and releasing it.

"A decent first try," he commented, "for practice. When you're out there on the streets, though, you won't be getting any second or third chances."

Nov took a few steps back to prepare for the next exercise. "You can't afford to hold back. When you attack me, you have to want to hurt or stop me. If you don't want it from the start, you'll never see it to the finish without failing."

"Live or die...that's how you have to act," he continued as he checked to make sure nothing was in the way around them. "And you don't have the luxury of rising to the occasion when the time comes. You have to be able to do it, every single time, no thinking, no hesitation. You hesitate, you lose."

Noven brought up the heel of his hand. "Use your palm to aim for the nose. That's the least amount of effort for the most amount of damage. Plus, no one isn't distracted for at least a few ticks with it hurting like seven different kinds of hell. And if you break or shove their nose into their brain, all the better. They'll either run or be dead. Which means you get to go home, alive and dignity in tact."

The talking, he found, unusual in its amounts as it was for him, was helping. Nov was almost completely free of any unpleasant, irksome memories.

"If that doesn't work, aim for the balls. Not the other bits. A man's stones are far more sensitive than his rod, so if that's your tactic, focus all the impact on the parts that hurt most. And if you're not fighting a man..."

The cook gave this some consideration, trying not to let his imagination get the best of him. "...well, I think you'd know better than me."

"Now," he concluded for the time being, "try again. Harder."

[Caela Dorin]

She hadn't expected to score a hit on the man even with her attempts at gaining the upper hand but she still felt some disappointment when he caught her fist. Even though it had been unlikely she still would have liked to have succeeded. As it was the dancer could only sigh and take a step back once he'd released her. Her knuckles stung slightly but not enough to cause her any real discomfort; she hadn't hit him that hard. That was another disappointment to the dancer. Sure she hadn't wanted to hurt him but she'd expected something better from herself in all honesty.

Practice. She hadn't missed the emphasis. If that had been a real fight it would have been truly pitiful and she would have been overcome by whoever she'd thrown that punch at but then again this was only practice so it wasn't that important, right?

Wrong!

He hadn't attacked her so there'd been no real reason to hurt him but that didn't mean that she was incapable of attacking a threat to her without hesitation. If the danger was real then she would have the willingness to deal with it. Protests came to her lips quickly, the young woman not caring if she interrupted him. "I didn't hesitate! I can hit someone if I want to. Do you think that I wouldn't try to floor someone who made a grab for me? I didn't have much choice in the matter today but I didn't think when I tried to slash that bastard's face apart earlier." He'd pissed her off with his criticism. It didn't matter that he was trying to help, she didn't like being seen as some useless damsel who someone else had to rescue.

"I didn't need to hurt you because you aren't a threat..." She paused, frowning before continuing. "You haven't presented yourself as a threat," she corrected herself. She shrugged, lapsing into silence as he began to list off some key places to hit. The young woman was silently seething as she listened to him, bent on some sort of malicious attack if the opportunity presented itself. If she could cause him pain then she'd be more than contented. Then he'd realise that she wasn't some helpless woman who was unwilling to hit someone else. As he spoke, she couldn't help thinking about smashing his nose in but as he provided her with a new target, she sniggered.

"Oh yes because I'm naive enough not to know that. Would you like to point out something else obvious?" she commented sarcastically. The blonde rolled her eyes. Every man was more than aware of what an angered female was likely to aim for if she had the chance too so it wasn't the best target unless the man was distracted. No man was stupid enough to leave himself vulnerable like that except under certain circumstances. At least that's what she thought.

She didn't comment on fighting women although there were certainly some petulant remarks that sprang to mind. They were quashed although others soon rose to take their place. Some snarky comment was bound to come out at some point and when he asked her to try again, she couldn't hold back any longer. "Oh do you want me to hit you harder or to try harder? It's not like I'm not making a petching effort." Ill-humoured now the dancer brought herself closer to him again. If he'd been trying to ignite some sort of fire in her it had definitely worked though perhaps not in the way that he'd expected. If he wanted for Caela to be willing to hurt him then he'd gotten his wish.

There was no effort made towards her defence this time, the blonde merely placing her left foot forward and curling her right hand into a fist. She decided to tried for a higher strike this time intending to aim for the point under his chin rather than his stomach. A plan of action had already planned in her mind as she prepared to attack him. Again her hips twisted as her arm was thrown forwards and upwards, the dancer putting all of her weight behind the punch as she stepped towards him with her right foot. Noven would no doubt block this hit as well but even though Caela expected it, she made no effort to draw her fist back. She wanted to hurt him this time, even if it was just to prove that she could do it. And if he did succeed in blocking her fist, the dancer was ready to drive her left knee into his groin as soon as her fist made contact with something.

[Noven]

He'd been anticipating some amount of frustration from being made to feel, for lack of a better word, useless. But boy, had Blondie exceeded his expectations.

She was straight pissed now. Bristling with indignation on so many levels Nov was surprised she hadn't started spewing acid. With a tongue like that, it was no small wonder she'd been chased down. Or maybe it was a testament to her baffling ability to survive. Whichever it was, the cook was starting to question if he'd asked the right favor.

Some part of him bristled back; after all, she'd been the one looking for help, not him. He'd even dumped that poor sod's body for her, free of charge. And what did he get for it all? Nothing but lip. And not the pleasurable kind, either. Yet again, he was reminded vividly of that single, important lesson he should have learned since hitting puberty, but never quite grasped after all these years:

The pretty ones were always trouble.

But another, less relied on part of him was kind of...amused. Because under all of her bite and cut, Caela was no different. Not from him, not from Mira, not from the rest of Sunberth's powerless inhabitants. They were all afraid. And therefore all hated feeling vulnerable, weak, unable to change their circumstances. Which was why she had come to the orphanage in the first place, in hopes that Jillene could offer some kind of solution.

Well, Blondie was in for a ride. Because Noven was something of an enthusiast when it came to education through sadism.

"Hey, nothin' wrong with bein' angry," he grinned, and meant it. She had fight and that was all that really mattered. "And I want you to do both. C'mon, gimme your best shot."

He didn't need to be goading her on like he was. But hell, things were just a whole lot more fun this way.

Caela threw all her chips in this time, no holding back. She really, really wanted to hurt him now, no doubt itching to sock the smug look right off his face. Well, all fine and good by Noven's standards. Fighting without anger was like cooking without fire. Ya might as well thrown down your apron and go find a quiet little pub at that point.

The lass aimed for his chin this time, but it didn't end there. To the cook's mild surprise, she had a back up plan as well, because as soon as he leaned to one side to dodge her fury-fueled punch, Caela's knee was shifting. She might have succeeded, too, had Nov not dodged instead of blocked. All of that force driven toward one point would undoubtedly leave her less balanced than before. She would need a moment to readjust, or at least have her movement slowed just a hair. Both of which Nov was ready for.

He stopped her left knee with both his hands, his own knees bent and torso leaning forward to bear the brunt of the impact.

Noven pushed gently against her knee cap to sever their contact and signify that it was the end of round two. "Better," he noted, "but if it's surprise you want to use in a fight, we'd better work on your fake and slips."

The cook could distinctly remember teaching this same lesson to Nellie a handful of days ago, but his approach would have to be different with Caela. His new student was far more prickly than Clam Girl, who bore most of Nov's lessons with dogged determination and humility. Blondie here, on the other hand, was already pissed. And it would be a shame to waste such a precious opportunity.

"When you fight, you have a certain reserve," he explained once both were upright and recovered. "A limited amount of time and effort. Of commitment. Sometimes, if you give too much commitment to one move, you'll leave a big enough gap for your opponent to counter you. And other times, if you give too little, your attacks are useless. Watch what I mean."

Noven bent his knees again, bouncing on them a little, and raised his fists. "Which is why when you fake," he explained as he leaned to one side to initiate a half punch toward Caela's head, then switched sides immediately to throw a slightly closer punch, this time toward her gut, "before you slip, one has to have more power and focus than the other. Two slips are just two punches, and two fakes are just two punches with no results. There are combinations you can use, but those are a little more advanced."

He stepped back and held out his arm at full length. "And just to get a better idea of why this is important, put your forehead against my hand and try to reach me."

When the results were made obvious, Nov lowered his arm and continued explaining. "A taller opponent will always have more reach than you. Yeah, yeah, I know, obvious stuff. Which is why your footwork is very important. Your feet will be making the biggest difference between hitting and getting hit, because half the game is distance when you're shorter."

"Now, when I take a step forward," the cook instructed, "you take a step backward. I won't attack yet, but you can. And when you do, it's your turn to move forward. The goal is to never stop moving."

Nov lowered himself in a more offensive stance once more, his mouth cracking the tiniest of smirks as he invited, "Care for a dance, Miss Dorin?"