The Order - New Scene (Adkin Gets Even)
I like to call this scene "never piss off an engineer, lest you be proven ignorant of their wizardly ways," but that's hard to fit into a journal post title. So, here it is, completely unedited. Please pardon the typos, I'll be getting to them when I do my comb-throughs next week.
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Brand brought the blade up again in the same wide arc as before. Bending under the weight of the anticipated blow, Geno brought his own sword up with both hands to brace against the oncoming strike. He locked his elbows and waited to feel the gentle pressure of the practice blade against his own. But inches away from contact, the blade stopped and drew back along its line as Brand broke stance, already shaking his head.
"You're locking your arms again," he chided, trying not to sound irritated. "Loosen up your joints. That isn't a shield you're carrying, you're not going to be able to block something this size. Deflect." He gripped Geno's hand and rolled it forward, torquing the blade in the boy's hands. "Deflect. Let it glance off. That leaves them shoulder-forward and leaning right into your return." He shifted his body forward, bringing the practice sword around to demonstrate. "See?"
Geno nodded, straightening up with a frustrated sigh. It was the sixth time they had been over this. It didn't feel natural to train this way: a slow dance through the moves with minutes to calculate mere seconds of action, and at all points interrupted by Brand's incessant analysis. For as quiet a man as he was, Brand was the most talkative trainer Geno had ever known. Still, he was the only person in the squad skilled in the art of heavy blade, and Tracer had insisted that Geno learn to defend against the full range of opponents, despite her student's objections. Defending against the slow, predictable swings of a heavy blade fighter was so hopelessly irrelevant to fighting gunners, Geno couldn't help but wonder if Tracer had other motives in making her train under Brand, but a month of these sessions hadn't gained him the slightest insight into what it might be.
"Again." Brand shifted back into stance. Geno begrudgingly followed suit. Again the large practice blade swung around. As he watched it peak at the crest of its arc, Geno ran through the lessons in his head, drawing up a schematic around this one simple defense. Bend the knees. Bracing foot back, half-turn. Shift grip, roll the wrist. Lean back, bring the blade forward, point bent across the chest. Edge facing the oncoming strike. Elbows out. Stay loose. Roll the blade. His body began to bend one piece at a time like an actor reading lines from a script. The heavy blade was still on its way down when he reached the final page of instructions. Content in his preparation, Geno left his body to its automated rigor and let his mind wander in the empty space while the practice sword continued on its slow descent. To his surprise, the point of the dull rod suddenly picked up speed, roaring across the remaining game with alarming force. His arms tensed against the strike, and the clang of metal was followed by a ready quivering in his elbows. Brand sighed, straightening up again.
"You can't tense up like that," he said, ignoring the look on his partner's face.
"I was fine until you sped up," Geno muttered, falling back into stance for another rendition.
"You have to be ready for changes out there," Brand explained. "If you start thinking there's a pattern to things, you're going to get caught unaware. It only takes once, remember." He tapped the blunt tip of the practice sword against Geno's arm. "You're not always going to have time to think it through. It has to be automatic. That's why we're doing this."
"Could we do it a little faster?" Geno pleaded in earnest. Brand couldn't help but smile, but shook his head 'no.'
"Once you can fit it all in your head at once, we'll worry about how to pack it into a smaller space." Geno rolled his eyes good-naturedly as Brand readied another swing. "Again."
And again Geno walked through the steps, trying not to think of them as pieces anymore. He let his arms and legs shift in one fluid motion, operating without individual direction. Icon called it the Five-point River. Frame, limbs and sword were all one connected system, passing energy back and forth like water. It seemed to be working: he could feel his arms flowing into place, the weight of the sword balanced evenly against his palms, his shoulders relaxed and ready to roll with the attack.
But before he could take advantage of his newfound peace, Geno heard a commotion from off to the side of the training grounds. Brand's strike knocked his sword aside like it were a blade of grass. He opened his mouth to reprimand his student when the distant sound caught his attention. He looked off in the same direction to stop a handful of soldiers standing in a circle around a fifth, shorter person. They were laughing as they walked, and Geno could see that the tallest of the boys was holding a strange box above his head. The person in the center of them was reaching for it desperately, but with little success. And then he heard the words crisply in a voice he knew all too well.
"Give it back!" Adkin was shouting, leaping to grab at the box, only to have the boy hold it behind him and out of reach. "You're gonna drop it!"
"So what if I do?" the boy laughed, holding the box up again and eying it curiously. "What's it good for, anyway?"
"It's a pressure gauge," Adkin muttered, not taking her eyes off the device. "It can tell us when the weather's about to change. Now give it back!"
The boy brought it down behind his back just as she reached for it. She collided with him when she landed and staggered to find her feet beneath her. The boy just continued walking backwards, enjoying the attention he was getting from the other soldiers. They were each about his age, which was half again what Adkin had in years. It made them old men by the Order's standards. It was rare to see young soldiers live beyond their teens. Adkin collected herself and sneered at the man who was holding her pressure gauge aloft with no concern for the delicate instrumentation inside the misshapen metal box. She made another hopping grab for it as he swung it around, but he swatted her hands away and held it high again to look over the contraption.
Geno flinched forward as if to dart over to her, but felt Brand's hand pressed down firmly on his shoulder. He glared at his friend with a questioning look before following the boy's eyes to his own hip, where Geno saw that his hand had already curled itself around the grip of his sword. He stared at it in wonderment, unable to recall the motion that brought it there, but there lay his hand, ready to spring the weapon from its sheath without a moment's thought. Geno drew the blade out slowly and offered it to Brand, who took it without asking for an explanation.
"Give it back!" Adkin shouted again, pursuing the boy relentlessly as he dodged her continued attempts at snatching the device.
"No," the boy mocked, "I like it. I think I'll keep it."
Adkin felt her face start to flush. And then at once a sudden calm settled over her, and her lips quirked into a playful smile. "Fine," she said, "keep it. It's no good without the generator anyway."
The boy holding the pressure gauge raised an eyebrow. "What the hell is a generator?" He eyed the box skeptically. He watched as the girl plucked open one of the hard leather pockets on her belt and pulled out a small, hand-held wooden box with a pair of cables trailing behind it.
"This," she said, handing him the bare ends of the two cables, "is a generator."
The older boy eyed the two cables in his hands, rolling them between his fingertips to feel the smooth metal caps on the end. "How does it work?" he asked.
Adkin was already turning the wooden box over to reveal a strange T-shaped plunger sticking out of the other end. "Like this," she said, pulling the plunger out to its full length before slamming it back into the box. There was a low whirr of noise from inside, followed by the pop of a spark erupting from between the boy's fingers as energy arced between the two metal caps of the cables in his hand. He let out a yelp and hopped back, shaking his hand wildly in surprise. The pressure gauge in his other hand soared into the air, falling into the waiting arms of its inventor. She heard the boy's friends starting to laugh as she hugged the box to her chest. The boy himself stood still clutching his fingers in shock, looking like a startled mouse. Satisfied, Adkin began rolling up the cables and wrapping them around the generator before tucking it away at her hip.
---
Of course, at this point, the bully decides to make an issue of his wounded pride, and Geno swoops in to get his butt kicked on her behalf, but that's all for another day :) Time to go home, and finish writing the nine other scenes I still have to finish...
---
Brand brought the blade up again in the same wide arc as before. Bending under the weight of the anticipated blow, Geno brought his own sword up with both hands to brace against the oncoming strike. He locked his elbows and waited to feel the gentle pressure of the practice blade against his own. But inches away from contact, the blade stopped and drew back along its line as Brand broke stance, already shaking his head.
"You're locking your arms again," he chided, trying not to sound irritated. "Loosen up your joints. That isn't a shield you're carrying, you're not going to be able to block something this size. Deflect." He gripped Geno's hand and rolled it forward, torquing the blade in the boy's hands. "Deflect. Let it glance off. That leaves them shoulder-forward and leaning right into your return." He shifted his body forward, bringing the practice sword around to demonstrate. "See?"
Geno nodded, straightening up with a frustrated sigh. It was the sixth time they had been over this. It didn't feel natural to train this way: a slow dance through the moves with minutes to calculate mere seconds of action, and at all points interrupted by Brand's incessant analysis. For as quiet a man as he was, Brand was the most talkative trainer Geno had ever known. Still, he was the only person in the squad skilled in the art of heavy blade, and Tracer had insisted that Geno learn to defend against the full range of opponents, despite her student's objections. Defending against the slow, predictable swings of a heavy blade fighter was so hopelessly irrelevant to fighting gunners, Geno couldn't help but wonder if Tracer had other motives in making her train under Brand, but a month of these sessions hadn't gained him the slightest insight into what it might be.
"Again." Brand shifted back into stance. Geno begrudgingly followed suit. Again the large practice blade swung around. As he watched it peak at the crest of its arc, Geno ran through the lessons in his head, drawing up a schematic around this one simple defense. Bend the knees. Bracing foot back, half-turn. Shift grip, roll the wrist. Lean back, bring the blade forward, point bent across the chest. Edge facing the oncoming strike. Elbows out. Stay loose. Roll the blade. His body began to bend one piece at a time like an actor reading lines from a script. The heavy blade was still on its way down when he reached the final page of instructions. Content in his preparation, Geno left his body to its automated rigor and let his mind wander in the empty space while the practice sword continued on its slow descent. To his surprise, the point of the dull rod suddenly picked up speed, roaring across the remaining game with alarming force. His arms tensed against the strike, and the clang of metal was followed by a ready quivering in his elbows. Brand sighed, straightening up again.
"You can't tense up like that," he said, ignoring the look on his partner's face.
"I was fine until you sped up," Geno muttered, falling back into stance for another rendition.
"You have to be ready for changes out there," Brand explained. "If you start thinking there's a pattern to things, you're going to get caught unaware. It only takes once, remember." He tapped the blunt tip of the practice sword against Geno's arm. "You're not always going to have time to think it through. It has to be automatic. That's why we're doing this."
"Could we do it a little faster?" Geno pleaded in earnest. Brand couldn't help but smile, but shook his head 'no.'
"Once you can fit it all in your head at once, we'll worry about how to pack it into a smaller space." Geno rolled his eyes good-naturedly as Brand readied another swing. "Again."
And again Geno walked through the steps, trying not to think of them as pieces anymore. He let his arms and legs shift in one fluid motion, operating without individual direction. Icon called it the Five-point River. Frame, limbs and sword were all one connected system, passing energy back and forth like water. It seemed to be working: he could feel his arms flowing into place, the weight of the sword balanced evenly against his palms, his shoulders relaxed and ready to roll with the attack.
But before he could take advantage of his newfound peace, Geno heard a commotion from off to the side of the training grounds. Brand's strike knocked his sword aside like it were a blade of grass. He opened his mouth to reprimand his student when the distant sound caught his attention. He looked off in the same direction to stop a handful of soldiers standing in a circle around a fifth, shorter person. They were laughing as they walked, and Geno could see that the tallest of the boys was holding a strange box above his head. The person in the center of them was reaching for it desperately, but with little success. And then he heard the words crisply in a voice he knew all too well.
"Give it back!" Adkin was shouting, leaping to grab at the box, only to have the boy hold it behind him and out of reach. "You're gonna drop it!"
"So what if I do?" the boy laughed, holding the box up again and eying it curiously. "What's it good for, anyway?"
"It's a pressure gauge," Adkin muttered, not taking her eyes off the device. "It can tell us when the weather's about to change. Now give it back!"
The boy brought it down behind his back just as she reached for it. She collided with him when she landed and staggered to find her feet beneath her. The boy just continued walking backwards, enjoying the attention he was getting from the other soldiers. They were each about his age, which was half again what Adkin had in years. It made them old men by the Order's standards. It was rare to see young soldiers live beyond their teens. Adkin collected herself and sneered at the man who was holding her pressure gauge aloft with no concern for the delicate instrumentation inside the misshapen metal box. She made another hopping grab for it as he swung it around, but he swatted her hands away and held it high again to look over the contraption.
Geno flinched forward as if to dart over to her, but felt Brand's hand pressed down firmly on his shoulder. He glared at his friend with a questioning look before following the boy's eyes to his own hip, where Geno saw that his hand had already curled itself around the grip of his sword. He stared at it in wonderment, unable to recall the motion that brought it there, but there lay his hand, ready to spring the weapon from its sheath without a moment's thought. Geno drew the blade out slowly and offered it to Brand, who took it without asking for an explanation.
"Give it back!" Adkin shouted again, pursuing the boy relentlessly as he dodged her continued attempts at snatching the device.
"No," the boy mocked, "I like it. I think I'll keep it."
Adkin felt her face start to flush. And then at once a sudden calm settled over her, and her lips quirked into a playful smile. "Fine," she said, "keep it. It's no good without the generator anyway."
The boy holding the pressure gauge raised an eyebrow. "What the hell is a generator?" He eyed the box skeptically. He watched as the girl plucked open one of the hard leather pockets on her belt and pulled out a small, hand-held wooden box with a pair of cables trailing behind it.
"This," she said, handing him the bare ends of the two cables, "is a generator."
The older boy eyed the two cables in his hands, rolling them between his fingertips to feel the smooth metal caps on the end. "How does it work?" he asked.
Adkin was already turning the wooden box over to reveal a strange T-shaped plunger sticking out of the other end. "Like this," she said, pulling the plunger out to its full length before slamming it back into the box. There was a low whirr of noise from inside, followed by the pop of a spark erupting from between the boy's fingers as energy arced between the two metal caps of the cables in his hand. He let out a yelp and hopped back, shaking his hand wildly in surprise. The pressure gauge in his other hand soared into the air, falling into the waiting arms of its inventor. She heard the boy's friends starting to laugh as she hugged the box to her chest. The boy himself stood still clutching his fingers in shock, looking like a startled mouse. Satisfied, Adkin began rolling up the cables and wrapping them around the generator before tucking it away at her hip.
---
Of course, at this point, the bully decides to make an issue of his wounded pride, and Geno swoops in to get his butt kicked on her behalf, but that's all for another day :) Time to go home, and finish writing the nine other scenes I still have to finish...