Asen's rather unladylike handshake nearly brought a smile to the Akalak's lips, but he suspected this might be unwise. Her forceful grip seemed to suggest that he had been correct in assuming she wouldn't appreciate an overly formal greeting, and the girl's subsequent mannerisms appeared to confirm his diagnosis. In fact, Asen's circumspect eyes and altered posture told the warrior that perhaps even his slightly dialed down handshake might not have been received without irritation, for which Aren could not help but blame himself. He had read the girl correctly, yet his own bias had kept him from acting appropriately. She was thin, and fragile looking, and had a feminine shape and he couldn't help but treating her more gently than he would a man which found himself in a similar position.
Asen would have had every right to feel insulted, but luckily she didn't seem to be, beyond having the urge to make herself look bigger. It didn't work very well, and Aren almost wanted to laugh at the attempt, but he wouldn't dare. Was she a warrior, or want to be one, at least? She definitively didn't strike the Akalak as the stay at home and knit quilts type, but simultaneously did not seem to possess the physique typically associated with a fighter or a fighter in training.
The girl's reaction to Aren's question felt incongruous with her answer, her body language suggesting that there might be more to the story, or to her experience of the event. Perhaps it was a matter of trying to be brave while remembering a moment when you were frightened, or maybe she simply did not want to remember it at all; he couldn't blame her, as fierce as the storm had been.
"They're fine," The giant said curtly, in reply to her asking after his family. He didn't mean for it to come off like he didn't care for the question -which was probably how it had inadvertently sounded- but Aren simply did not have the intention, nor the desire, to speak about the matter. His blood boiled just picturing his father's face, and he didn't want the thought of the man darkening his mood.
Realizing he was probably being rude, however, the Akalak softened his answer by offering a polite smile to show that she had given no offense. "Tell me, have you had martial training?" He added, eager to get off the subject of his family.
Ironically, it had been Aren's father that had taught him to fight, but these were some of his most precious memories from childhood. It was strange, to fondly remember a time when the man had basically spent half the day beating his own son to a pulp with his bare hands, but the Trial had taught him what suffering truly was. As a boy, he could never have imagined the fear that would seep into his heart on that day, but he was grateful for the training that kept him alive. When he got older, however, he simply couldn't understand how his people justified the continuation of this insane tradition. This created a schism in how Aren thought of his old man. On the one hand, there was the brilliant man that had shown him how to be strong. On the other, there was the stubborn mule that had forced his son to bear witness to the death of his own friends for what seemed like no good reason at all. It was hard to reconcile these two facets of the same person, so he had not even bothered. To Aren, the man who had taught him how to fight was gone, replaced by the ignorant savage that now resided in their home.
"If..." The Akalak's eyes gave Asen a wary look, "...I may ask." He still wasn't sure what to make of her, and he certainly wasn't entirely confident in being able to predict her response to any given question. For all he knew, she might take umbrage at his inability to tell whether or not she had some experience with combat. |
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