[Flashback] It's an art

[Cailet]

49th of Summer 508 AV There were no shades on the window. Some might find this inconvenient; anyone curious enough could just peek through and perhaps catch a glimpse of things that one would rather keep private. Some thought shades helped retain the room’s natural warmth. Others found the sun at certain times of the day annoying. And thus the tradition of shading ones windows with swaths of fabric or other materials. Cailet counted on the sun shining annoyingly in through her window. With a sleep pattern reminiscent of a coma, there was no other way but piercingly bright morning sunlight to wake her. The bells that chimed the hour, the gradual volume increase of the city around her doing nothing to rouse her from those deep slumbers. Most of the time, Cailet was awake before the rest of the city even considered opening their eyes. With her bed positioned just *so, the very first rays of morning light danced across her eyelids. Getting up was always a process, despite the fact that she was a morning person. Well, that’s a lie. She was neither a morning nor an evening person. For that matter, Cailet wasn’t even an afternoon person; her temperament found an even middle ground before she had even reached her puberty, and somehow it stayed as homeostatic as the rest of her biologies no matter the time of day. Controlled temperament or not, the morning was a process. The morning rays gently caressed Cailet’s eyelids, a gentle touch of warmth that brought the woman ever so gently into the waking world. Anyone else would have grumbled at the pervasive brightness and turned over, but Cailet climbed from her bed without complaint. First: the mirror. Long, pin-straight black locks were plaited into a single thick braid that fell past her shoulder blades. This was then spun tightly into a knot at the top of her head and carefully secured. A few violent shakes of her head assured Cailet of this. Second: a pair of off-white pants and a matching top were pulled from the dresser facing the foot of the bed. Made from a light, breezy, cotton-like material, they were Cailet’s much preferred outfit as it was ridiculously easy to move around in, and the fabric seemed to abhor sweat as much as she did herself; the cloth refused to cling to her sticky skin in such situations. The wardrobe doors were closed upon the other white outfits that hung within, a light blue robe, and a peculiar sash hung on the inside of the door. There was footgear too, stored at the bottom of the wardrobe, but Cailet left those behind. Instead, from drawer on the side of the larger doors that had just been closed, she pulled out what looked like bandages. Loathing the confinement of shoes, only having to wear them after her arrival in Lhavit so many years ago and never getting over the feeling of her feet being indefinitely trapped within the footwear, Cailet preferred to wrap her feet instead when she didn’t have to go outside. Perching on the edge of her bed, the woman started at her ankle, wrapping the cloth around and around in a slanting angle, down over the heel, then her sole to her toes. These were left free- they had to breathe, she felt- as she wound the remaining cloth back up the length of her foot, the end tucking in the top of the wrap. Repeated once more on the other foot, and Cailet stood. A glance to the window told Cailet that the sun still barely illuminated the city, and she was still free to move about in the sleepy silence undisturbed. As ready as she needed to be for a simple morning workout, she strode to the door and the rack of weaponry that was kept there. Preferring staves, the woman ran her fingers over a few of the different ones she owned, her hand finally decending to grasp her very first staff: A simple walking stick she had made herself. It was no more than a polished branch, with a vine that had grown into it, spiraling along its length. Smaller branches and lumps had protruded from the staff at one time; obvious by the poor carving away of these that Cailet had done herself. It was crude, ugly, worn to a smooth finish by much use and very harmless looking. But it was hers. It was time to practice.

[Cailet]

Cailet felt lonely this particular morning. She hadn't had her dream. Reoccurring for as long as she could remember, the dream was like a friend. A friend that you kept secret, didn't talk about and only let out at night. But she loved the dream. It was like her best friend. Sometimes, if she was lucky, it would persist throughout the day, and then..well, then her friend was with her. And so it was with this empty feeling in the back of her head that Cailet left her rooms on the fourth level of the Pavilion, not bothering to even completely close her door behind her as she strode, staff in hand, down the deserted hallways. The woman strode everywhere she went. It was a purposeful, no nonsense stride that naturally made people move out of the way. Her legs were long, a prominent feature of her whipcord body. With a long torso to match her legs, Cailet looked a little off balance with arms that were just a tad too short. No one is perfect after all. Perhaps her choice of staff was indicative of an overcompensation for such a shortcoming, but she would never admit it. With her passage marked only by a gentle brushing of her clothed feet against the reed flooring, Cailet moved through the hallways of the pavilion. Such silence was unnecessary, for many of the Shinya were early risers. It was not uncommon for any one of them to spend more than a few hours meditating before breakfast. Most discovered over the years that rising early enough caused their bodies to struggle awake, gave them more time before their meditations were interrupted by a very insistent, grumbly stomach. Each of her fellow Shinya that she happened upon on her way to her favorite training room received a polite nod, sometimes erring more towards gracious though that was not Cailet's intent. The fondness, love, or sentiment the woman felt towards the individuals of her order were not expressed through emotion. They were expressed through action and her upholding of their laws in the best way that she could. They were expressed in her dedication to their city and their people, though few of her fellows understood this, and saw indifference instead. Most of the time, Cailet was shrugged off by others in the same way that she politely declined interaction with them. Others thought of her as an ice chip. The room Cailet chose to spend her morning was one of the older, smaller ones. Less used and less taken care of, she was one of it's only visitors so of course it was empty when she arrived. It was always empty. But it hadn't always been this way. Located closer to the main hallway containing the living spaces the training area had once been much preferred, but as it always happens, bigger and better come along. The floor reeds of this old room were perfectly worn down, the very walls themselves practically bursting with memories and stories from their many years of experience. With her staff resting up against the door frame, Cailet began her slow walk around the room with her fingertips trailing along the wall. Every so often, she paused and pressed her palm flat against the surface, seeming to listen. Sometimes, Cailet would circle the room half a dozen times before finding the perfect spot; sometimes it took only half a turn. But she always stopped, faced the wall, and pressed her hands flat against the surface. Up high, down by the flooring, or maybe with her arms stretched as far as they could go. The room had stories, with each crack, dent or smudge meaning something different. And each morning Cailet found a new one to listen too. It was her form of meditation, listening to these stories. Cailet knew her place in the world, at least her world, as she knew it. From day to day, she reassessed this position and expanded the world from just around herself, to the city of Lhavit, all it's people and onto the domains so many thousands of miles away. But she found it easiest to start with the past. Settling herself into whatever position she found necessary to listen to that particular story, Cailet always closed her eyes, and she always steadied her breathing. Once that was done, she was able to slink away from her own conscious thoughts and feelings. It was like trying to sneak from the room of a baby that was just put down to rest. Very difficult. Harder than the conscious thoughts were the subconscious ones. Just when she thought her mind was blank, Cailet would realize she was thinking about her mind being blank...or butterflies. Or something else equally ridiculous. Learning to ignore ones subconscious was just a matter of time. With everything of her own neatly left behind in a pile at the back of her mind, Cailet opened herself up to the stories. That dent there was from a fit of anger. The day before, the crack in the corner had told her of a particularly intense training session that ended in a broken leg and two black eyes. Today's story was very persistant. It exploded into her vacant mind like a firework. Behind all the colors, Cailet saw tunnels in the mortar that held the walls together. They ran up, down and sideways and they were everywhere. Quicker than she could physically move herself, she flew through the tunnels, traversing the levels of the pavilion faster than should be possible. And then she was in the ground, and in the square. All over Lhavit she flew. Crack! Startled, Cailet whirled towards the sound. There was nothing behind her except her staff, which had fallen from its rest against the door jamb to crash to the floor, catching the corner of a reed and splitting it in half. Nonplussed by the interruption, the woman moved from her position at the wall. Though it had seemed only minutes, the stiffness of the muscles in her legs told Cailet it was much longer than that. Not to mention the sun was higher in the sky now. It was almost mid morning. For every negative there is a positive, and while Cailet's meditation was drawn up short she now had more time to practice and to think. The tunnels she had seen piqued her interest. Just one more way to look at things and realize that even the most unrelated of places within the city were connected. Cailet liked to challenge her mind, and this imposed upon her thoughts as she began to stretch.

[Cailet]

Sitting on the floor with her legs spread in a V before her, Cailet started by stretching the back of her leg muscles. Her favorite way to do so was by reaching forward and grasping her foot with both hands. She started with the left, interlacing her fingers along the sole for a good grip as she leaned forward and pressed her torso down along the length of her thigh. At first, there was no reaction from her muscles. It wasn’t until she rested was completely bent in half, her forehead resting against her knee, that she began to feel the delicious strain of her muscle around her backside. Extending her heel, so that the stretch encompassed the muscles all along the back of her leg, Cailet then theoretically tried to pull her upper half down towards her toes, while keeping her leg stationary. In reality, she knew she wasn’t going to reach, but it was the best way she knew of to lengthen the thick, hard muscles of her upper leg. If those muscles cramped in a fight, all was over. The same was repeated with her right leg, flattening herself and pulling until she felt the strain she wanted. Releasing her foot, Cailet placed each of her hands on their corresponding knee. The flats of her feet came together before her, forming a rough diamond shape with her legs. Firmly, the woman pressed down on her knees, pushing them in an unnatural position towards the floor. It wasn’t painful, but instead positioned her legs in such a way that the next step of the stretch would engage all of her leg muscles again. Slowly, carefully, Cailet began to draw her pressed feet inwards along the floor. Making sure that the flats of her feet never lost contact, her upper leg had to widen its V to compensate. No was when the muscles started to stretch. The further in her feet got, the more it burned. She was stretching the same muscles as before in a different direction. Cailet was very thorough. Her leg muscles only had to endure a completely flat straddling split before she moved on to another section of her body. The core muscles were next. These were taken care of with simple twists and curls to the left and right, also by bending to touch the floor with her palms flat, and holding that position, before standing back up. Cailet found that she had to worry less about the muscles in her torso, that they loosened better on their own during her practice than by any stretch she could conceivably create. It didn’t hurt to warm them up though. Her arms were last. Exaggerated rolling of her shoulders loosened the muscles after their long stint of inactivity as she slept. Cailet felt the strain she was looking for in her arms quicker than she expected, which resulted in a few more repetitions added on to her normal routine. Stretched across her chest and then behind her head, her arm’s took less time than either her legs or her torso. But! There were still the two dozen laps around the room first, to get her heart pumping. Staff in hand, Cailet began these, the same neutral expression upon her face as when she awoke.

[Cailet]

It was like a dancing. Everyone does so in a different way, to different music, with a different flair. Cailet’s morning practice held steps like a traditional dance. It always started the same, and ended the same. If she messed up, she started over. The footwork had to be just as perfect as the staff work. Also like a dance, the faster one went, the harder it was to land the perfect motions. There was much more room for error. Every day, Cailet pushed herself a little bit faster. She need not worry about having to create another dance for when she reached her fastest speed, because after her fastest she was sure there would be faster still. It started simple. Feet shoulder length apart with her staff held at arm’s length in front of her. On mornings when her Dream accompanied her it was easier to envision facing off against an opponent. As pretty as she had made her practice, all the moves that Cailet included were those she would use in actual combat. After settling her mind into the work that was to come, Cailet began to move. The staff swept slow arcs in front of her, the end flicking out at each pinnacle, the top striking outwards towards where ankles would be as each motion was completed. But her feet stayed cemented in place. The grasp on her staff was firm, but friendly. Like a handshake, she had been told so many years ago, ready to hold on tighter but otherwise with looseness that let the wood move fluidly through its motions. Too tight a grip restricted what the staff was capable of, pulling the different swings and attacks up short. Since one depended on reach as well as close combat when fighting with a staff, clipping a motion short of its full extension could be a dangerous mistake. And so, the first moves were designed to teach the dancer how to properly shake hands with their weapon. And so the staff spun in figure eight like patterns in front of her, the sweeping motions wide before they abruptly began to change. Quick, snake-like strikes would have peppered her opponents upper torso if there had been anyone standing there. Each lash of her staff was accompanied by a soft whistle of the air and a few carefully planted footsteps in any direction. It was during these strikes that Cailet began to add some twists and turns. In reality, if one found the need to strike at someone, there was a good chance they were already, or planning on, striking back. That’s when conditioning one’s body to dodging came in handy. Since her normal outfits consisted of the type of fabric she currently wore, or perhaps leather, there was only certain types of hits Cailet would be able to take without being seriously hurt. Landing a blow from a blade was simply out of the question. With her body moving and flowing, twisting in unnatural positions Cailet began to move her staff even faster. This was when it started to get hard. Now that she was limbered up, she must push herself. Opponents didn’t attack in a happy pattern, at a set pace. In theory, one must be able to dodge anything if they wanted to survive. The morning so far had been a success. With a light sheen of sweat beginning to coat her skin as she danced through her routine, Cailet began to feel fatigue creep into her muscles. She took this as a challenge, as she simply wasn’t about to let her muscles dictate what she could or could not do. The twists and turns reverted to aggressive swipes with both the top and the bottom of her staff. Aimed at the feet, and then the head, back to the feet, with a jab towards the torso, Cailet aimed to push her opponent’s back against anything, to make them retreat and “mess up” their own semblance of her dance. The faster Cailet whipped the wooden staff around, the more her arms screamed in protest. Her weapon felt heavier than when she started, and she gritted her teeth against the burning resistance in her arms. Well trained eyes started to note the different mistakes she made: That swing dipped too far to the left, leaving her side open. That time, she gripped to hard in overcompensation of her fatiguing muscles, drawing her strike up short. There, she had completely missed the spot of air she was aiming for. Again and again these mistakes perpetuated, but Cailet refused to give up. She had reached the end of one section of her dance at a pretty fast speed, and refused to slow down as she transitioned into the next steps. This was her biggest fault, for as she started to swing her staff behind her and over her head, her arm muscles finally decided they’d had enough for the morning. With a knock that set her teeth jarring together, and an echoing throb through her skull, Cailet whacked herself in the head with her staff. She must have hit just right, because the nerves in her right arm, the one holding the staff at this moment (she was practicing being ambidextrous with her weapons), went dead and the staff went clattering to the floor for the second time that morning. A rare frown twisted Cailet’s features, looking strangely misplaced on her narrow face. Gazing at the staff as if she was considering just leaving it there for its insolence or not, she rubbed the back of her head gently, pull her hand away mid-wince. Stooping and snatching up the staff, Cailet turned and strode from the room. It was time for breakfast.

[Calamity]

XP Award Cailet Lores: Rising with the Dawn Meditation: Listening to the stories Stretching Before Practice Fighting is like a Dance XP: Meditation: +1 Staves: +5 Comments: Hiya! Stepping in for Kelpie to get your thread graded, and sorry for the wait! Now, I gave you an extra point in staves for stretching before practice (thus being more limber and being able to practice more efficiently), because stretching doesn't really have a skill tied to it. If you have any questions or want additional feedback, feel free to PM me!