thecapitol | because i feel i might break [CLOSED]

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because i feel i might break [CLOSED]

Who| Éowyn and Firo
What| An encounter in training turns into a learning experience for all involved. Not to mention a good way to vent after the plotty stuff.
Where| Training gym
When| Now?
Warnings/Notes| TBD

Éowyn hated to be idle. She always had, and never more so than when she was so thoroughly shot through with anger and frustration and sorrow. She knew it was foolish to let the backlash of their mission get to her so much; as she'd told herself time and again, it could have been a good deal worse. But that doesn't stop it from smarting, doesn't stop her from that endless turning-over of what she might have done better. It's almost worse, in a way, not to have been caught. Part of her insists, even now, that it's proof she should have tried harder.

But with all that roiling away inside of her, she could no more sit idle and placid in the suite or the common areas than she could breathe underwater. Back in Edoras, she might have thrown herself into needlework or tapestry or seeing to the horses. The one advantage of the Capitol was that it offered better ways to keep busy.

That was what led her there, to the now-familiar gym, where she selected her favourite sword from the rack - a bastard sword, a little short for her but weighted just so for someone still getting used to fighting without a shield - and stood for a moment, feeling the weight of it, before starting towards the dummies. As she was fighting for her own reasons, not really for training at all, she hesitated for a moment, then picked up a shield after all.

She had been running through drills for several minutes - the dummies looking rather the worse for wear, and a thin sheen of sweat starting on her forehead - when she spotted Firo from the corner of her eye. Lowering her sword, and cautious of the easily-strained old wound, she raised her shield arm to catch his attention, turning to start towards him. Company, like work, was something she had been finding in short supply lately.

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Firo'd always had problems with anger, even as a child. Especially as a child; he'd been practically feral when the Martillos first found him, always ready to bite any hand that came near him. They'd helped him away from that, but they weren't here now. Firo had to wonder how far he'd backslide if he stayed in Panem. Even for someone like him, constantly feeling like a pot of water simmering over heat wasn't pleasant.

Recent events had worsened things even further. He was angry at every Capitolite for being blind or just plain bad. He was angry at himself for being cautious and not diving into the fight, even though he knew it was what his Family would have requested of him.

The training center was the perfect place to work it all out. Holding a knife in his hand was one of the few ways he could feel normal in this place. He approached the table with the blades and had only just picked one up when he spotted Éowyn waving.

Despite the turmoil inside him, he still lit up to see a friend. He returned her wave with the hand that didn't have the knife and trotted towards her. "Hey!"

He looked from her sword to the shield. "You're usin' both a' those, huh?" Her battles must have been far different than the ones back home; Firo'd never even seen a shield up close before coming to the Capitol.

She smiled a little, rapping the hilt of her sword against the rim of the shield. "It was how I was taught to fight," she said, shrugging one shoulder. "In any case, I ought to keep my strength up in this arm. It has never yet recovered from being broken." Shifting her sword to her left hand to free up her right, she reached up to tuck the end of her braid back into its complex knot, looking at the knife in his hand, and raised one eyebrow. "And you can use only that?"

In a lot of ways, it made more sense for what was demanded of them. If you couldn't be sure of getting good weapons, if you had to lay low and keep quiet, sword and shield would be little use. But knifework was not something Éowyn had ever learnt - it was the preserve of archers and street brawlers, and she was neither.

Perhaps, she thought with a wry little twist of the mouth, she ought to learn to be.

"In a melée," she said after a moment, switching the sword back to her right hand, "two weapons are oft better than one. For defence, and for attack. If two people come upon you at once..." She took a half-step back, and struck out to one side with the shield-edge, to the other with her sword, then relaxed back into her neutral position. "Then having both suits you well."

Firo certainly wasn't an archer--the Martillos had a thing about ranged-weapons, though they usually directed their superiority complexes at guns--but street brawler? That wasn't an unfair description, even if he'd prefer to be called a Camorrista.

He straightened to his full-yet-unimpressive height, slightly offended by her wording. He'd had his skills questioned far too many times before to shrug off the twinge of discomfort, even knowing her as a friend. "I can fight without a weapon too. Never needed anything else."

And never really had the opportunity to learn anything else. Both the hard life living on the street and the Martillos had taught him a lot, but anything beyond empty hands, guns, and knives were the limits to their experience. Swords and shields were both too large and too conspicuous for ambushes and beatdowns in small alleys.

He watched her demonstrate, paying attention because he didn't really think she's trying to talk down to him. He shrugged. "When two people come at me, I usually just throw 'em into each other."

"That does sound more efficient," she granted, with a little laugh. "And for those who can grapple, perhaps wise. But I was a girl, remember - I grew up fighting with my kinsmen, both older than me, and always bigger and stronger. And those skills I have are for armoured foes, with swords or spears of their own." She smiled, a little lopsidedly, and shook her head a little. "I doubt not your skills, Firo. Never think that. But to fight with only a knife, or with my fists... I might black a man's eye or catch a lucky blow, but I am no better at such close fighting than any meek maiden."

That wasn't strictly true. She was, after all, much stronger than many women, and had fewer qualms about violence. Besides that, her work with sword and spear had taught her some of the vulnerable points to aim for. But it was true that she had never fought seriously that way, and had none of the skill she had with larger weapons. When last she had fought with her fists, she had been a grubby-faced child rolling in the courtyard with her brother and pulling his hair. Although, she remembered with a little satisfaction, she had given Éomer plenty of bruises before he became too chivalrous and too proud to wrestle his little sister.

"Will you show me?" she said suddenly, looking up at him. "I should be glad to learn a little of how you fight."

His posture slackened as he spoke and he blinked at her. His protests and sensitivity were reflex by now; he rarely thought before he acted in the first place and he definitely didn't when he came to this. Only at her reaction did he wonder if he had been too quick to get offended. Seeing her get down on herself wasn't what he'd hoped for at all.

He shook his head quickly and help up his hands defensively. "H-hey, I didn't mean..." He bit his lip and continued more firmly. "I know plenty a' girls who fight just fine with their fists! You'd still be great at it, I bet!"

Though Firo, admittedly, had his qualms about hurting women and would cut them far more slack than a man, he believed what he said. Ennis could give him a run for his money and she was far from the only tough woman he knew. Experience, talent, and scrapping spirit all mattered far more in a fight.

Her request is enough to brighten him back up, though. "Seriously?" He beamed, then glanced quickly at her sword. "How about we make it a trade, eh? I'll show you some and you show me some a' what you do!"

She smiled back, and felt her heart lift a little at it. It was good to see a smile like that, unselfconscious and of the moment. "A fair trade," she agreed, nodding. "I should be more than glad to teach you what I know, for a little of what you do." Then, looking around the gym, "Which shall we try first, then? Mine, or yours?"

It was strange, how much of the tension in her was relieved by so small a change. She was still filled with anger and grief, thrumming with it until she could hardly breathe... but now it was a little less, put aside for the moment and hidden under a veil of something less violent and more positive. She would have been happy to teach him for that reason alone, and happy to learn. That it was something valuable to them in this place only made it better.

"Well..." He scratched his head and shrugged. "You asked first, so we can start with mine?" Though he was kind of bursting at the reins to see what she could do with her sword and shield. But fair was fair and he could manage some patience.

He rocked on his heels, unable to hide his excitement. Whichever one they did, he was pretty interested to see her fight. And getting to work with someone on this stuff was always fun; it was just natural and one of the few areas where he didn't feel completely stupid.

"We can do the knife or empty handed first, whatever you want."

"May as well start out empty-handed," Éowyn decided after a moment, putting her sword back into the rack and unbuckling her shield. Leaning it up against the sword rack - she could put it back in its proper place when they were done - she pushed up her sleeves and turned back to him with a smile. "Let us work our way up to blades and knifework. For now..."

She bowed, shallowly and only a little jokingly, as she might to a tutor or a master of arms. "Teach me."

He laughed and ran a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed at the joking. "Oh, c'mon. I'll do my best, okay? I've had some good teachers, but... I've never actually tried it myself."

Well, he'd learned the best way to learn yourself was just to do. After a bit of the basics.

"You know how to punch without hurtin' yourself, right?" He held up his own fist, thumb tucked outside the fingers. "Trick is to punch with the two knuckles closer to your thumb--hurts the other guy more and you're less likely to break 'em."

"'S important to use your elbows too, but--" He looked her up and down. That height was hard to miss. "You've gotta good reach. Would be a shame to let that go to waste."

Éowyn held up her own fist, bunched the same way as his, and nodded. She knew how to make a fist; she had learnt that the hard way when she was a child. Not that she'd ever broken her hand, but she knew how much it could hurt to punch someone with your thumb tucked inside. "Finally," she remarked, dryly, "a use for my height." Which felt a great deal more significant here than at home, for the people of this land seemed to average a good couple of inches shorter.

Shifting her weight, she dropped back into a stance that felt a little more grounded, as she would if she was fighting with a blade, and brought her fists up as she had seen people do. It felt strange, to try keeping up a guard without a weapon, but it was as good a start as any. "So?"

Firo nodded his head appreciatively at the perfect fist. The serious, teacher-ly look he tried to manage quickly fell into laughter at her comment about her height. "Hey, I bet it'd be pretty helpful in a game a' basketball."

Maybe they didn't have that where she was from. Or maybe it was yet another game the boys wouldn't let her play. A travesty either way.

He observed her stance with another affirmative nod. Hesitating, he scratched his head. "...This'd usually be the part where Ronnie or Mr. Yagu'd start throwin' me around, but how 'bout you show me what you can do first? Sorry, but I don't really know any other way to do it."

He stood back a few paces, weight centered, and waited for a hit. Though his own stance may have appeared almost relaxed, he knew better than to underestimate her--she'd already shown she was more than tough and skilled to boot. This was simply the way he'd learned when it came to fistfighting.

She frowned a little at the basketball comment, but shook it off. She could ask him about that later. For now, she squared herself up, looking him up and down and considering. She didn't want to hurt him, and although she knew on one level that he was unlikely to let a blow land fully, he still looked a lot smaller and younger than her. Then, too, she was a little frightened of embarrassing herself. She was, after all, the Lady of the Shield-Arm, hero of the Pelennor Fields. What would it say, if she was too easily beaten by a boy unused to war?

It would say, she told herself in her father's voice, that you were unafraid to bend to what was needed. Tightening her fists for a moment, she nodded. "Don't feel you must go easy on me, will you?" she said with a little smile, and swung at him.

There was a lot of force behind her punch, which came in high and fast towards his jaw, but little finesse. She swung too wide, put too much weight behind it.

With a big grin, he nodded, "You can count on--"

Wow, she got down to business quickly, didn't she? And with a somewhat surprising amount of power right off the bat.

Firo didn't risk trying to meet that with a block. It was more his style to dance around blows, which was what he did this time, flitting out of range near to the last second.

"Hey!" He chuckled, evidently not offended like he might pretend to be. "You wanna take my head off?"

He bounced back into range, snapping a roundhouse kick towards her ribs. It was relatively slow and not too solid; she could probably avoid or block without too much trouble. He was feeling her out at this point to see what she could and would do.

She laughed, stumbling a little, and ducked back from the kick. That instinct was sound, at least. She was more of an offensive fighter than a dodger, in general, but once you'd sparred a few times with any weapon you tended to learn to dodge.

"I thought that was the point," she said, her tone light, and sidestepped to aim a punch at his kidneys.

"It is." And he was pretty pleased so far. As her current attack was showing, she obviously knew good places to strike.

He sprang forward to avoid that hit and whirled around to try and sent a back kick at her.

"Just wonderin' if you hustled me with all that talk about not knowin' too much about this."

She dodged, but not far enough; his foot glanced off her hip, and she winced. She was smiling, though, laughing a little under her breath. "I guess it's not so different to quarterstaff, in some ways," she suggested, ducking in closer to try and strike for his gut. "Though I don't know what you mean by 'hustled'..."

"Quarterstaff?" A staff a quarter as long as a normal staff? A staff the diameter of a quarter? Anyone who fought with a stick where Firo was from tended to use a smaller one or a metal pipe, so the nuances to staff fighting were lost on him.

He didn't expect that strategy from her and it hit. He moved back with the blow, nodding and grinning his approval.

"It's when you pretend to be bad at somethin', which usually makes people wanna play against you, maybe bet against you too, then you beat 'em all."

"Ah." She smiled, taking a couple of steps back to circle him, trying to decide on her next move. "I can see the principle. But I've too much pride for such things, believe me." She said it with not a little self-deprecating humour. She was a strong believer in the importance of keeping your pride, but she wasn't blind to the fact that it could sometimes tip over into arrogance.

"A quarterstaff," she added after a moment, still watching him for any move he might make, "is a stave. Shorter than a spear, but we used them for training. They would let me use a stave even when they frowned on my using a sword or spear." It had been felt that, if she was going to fight, it might as well be with something that wasn't bladed.

"Nothin' wrong with pride." Firo'd had to come to hard compromise with his pride when Victor Talbot forced him into compliance back home. Even though it'd guaranteed Ennis's safety, the guilt and shame was a heck of a lot to deal with. He could imagine a lot of scenarios where it was better to stay proud.

"Seriously? What's the difference? I've seen guys do somebody in with a pipe just as easy as they would with a knife." Different strategies and damage, of course, but the end result was the same. Firo thought it really depended on the user's skill what was more lethal.

He tried to slip in to the side and behind to swipe at the back of her knee. Even if it did hit, it wouldn't cause harm hitting the joint there.

Éowyn didn't dodge in time, and his blow struck true; she stumbled forward, almost losing her footing, and cursed under her breath. "A good blow," she admitted, steadying herself with a laugh. "Well struck." She hadn't expected that. One might strike at an opponent's knees with a stave or a sword - it was a good way to bring them down with minimal resistance - but it hadn't occurred to her that you might do so unarmed. Shaking the joint out, she rolled her shoulders back and dropped back into a defensive stance.

"The difference," she answered him after a moment, ducking in to strike for his shoulder, "is that it's a good deal harder to, ah, 'do someone in' by mistake with a stave. They never did have much faith in me."

A smile sprang to his face, not to gloat, but because he felt like that compliment meant something coming from her. "Thanks."

By way of explanation, he added, "Useful if you ever need to get somebody down to your level. You could even use it sometimes--like if you wanna better shot at their face."

His eyes widened in surprise at the explanation, but he focused on her movements before answering. He parried the strike and twisted to try and return the force with a palm to her side. It was another slow, not too intense shot.

"...Huh. Well, that's just stupid. The only thing that decides whether or not you're gonna accidentally kill somebody is how much of an idiot you are, nothin' else."

This blow, she was ready for, and she twisted away, grabbing for his wrist with her left hand. There wasn't much thought behind that grab, just an instinctive sense that it was better to stop someone throwing more blows than to keep dodging.

She smiled at his words, shrugging one shoulder. "Perhaps. But I can see the need for their caution, when it was the prince I was sparring with." Even if Théodred had been more than capable of laying her out with a quarterstaff any time he wanted.

He smiled at the grab. "Nice. There's a lot you could do from here."

In fact, he was going to pause in his movements to see what she would come up with. They didn't need to simulate everything about a real fight, so sometimes it was better just to give room to explore.

"Ain't that the prince's problem? Sounds like a good test to see if he's worth botherin' with."

Because that's how monarchies worked, right?

"That's what he told them," Éowyn said, not without a twist of humour, but then the smile fell from her face. "Who knows. Perhaps if they'd listened to him when he said as much, he might have been better-prepared, and not have fallen as he did."

Of all the things she'd meant to bring to mind, Théodred's death hadn't been one of them. She had been grieved enough by what had happened here, without remembering what had happened in another time and another land. Tightening her jaw, she turned her full attention to Firo, and the grip she had on his wrist. She was sure there were plenty of moves she could do from here, just like he said, but she didn't know how to do most of them; she settled for stepping around behind him, trying to twist his arm up against his back.

"Like so?"

Oh. Oh. That wasn't the response he expected to get and he just blinked at her for a moment.

Truthfully, he was pretty glad when she went to her next move, even if he felt like something of a jerk for not saying anything right away. He moved with the lock rather than trying to fight it.

"Y-yeah, that's perfect! Most people aren't gonna know how to get outta these. Just be ready in case they try to headbutt you or kick out your knee." The latter, at least, wasn't really trouble she was going to get from Firo thanks to the fact that this was a friendly match and that he couldn't reach her all too well.

He paused as he wondered if he should keep on talking about the fight or if he should say something about the prince--though he wasn't sure how. Death didn't usually bother him all that much, but that didn't mean he liked it. Especially not when it affected his friends.

He settled just for adding something quiet, something she could ignore if she just wanted to move on. "...And I'm, uh, sorry about him."

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