[A few days after their return, Wei Wuxian finds himself in the training room late at night. It's not so late that everyone is asleep, but late enough that the usual evening training crowd has already finished and he has the room to himself at the moment. It's the only reason he puts his bow away and makes his way over to the practice swords, lifting one from the wall and holding it for a moment to feel its weight before giving it an experimental swing.
It feels heavy in his hand, a combination of the fact that it's not his own sword, and that he hasn't held a sword in something like three years.
Despite the weight and a few clumsy swings, he holds it like someone who was born with a sword in his hand. With no one else around, he slides easily into one of the Yunmeng Jiang sword routines. The movements are familiar in a painful way, and he freezes mid routine, almost drops the blade to the ground, and then decides better of it and continues on.
In the end, despite everything, it feels right, and he's too caught up in the moment to even notice when someone else enters the room.]
[ It turns out that he's not the only one inclined to seek out rooms on the station that are less likely to be occupied at this late hour; Yennefer has never kept to a set sleep schedule as long as she's been here, in part because the lack of clear shifts between day and night seem to wreak havoc on her internal ability to verify what time it actually is, and in part because her thoughts keep her awake long after Billy has already passed out snoring in the bed on the other side of their room.
The training area wouldn't have been her first instinct compared to other spaces on the station; the only reason she even so much as stops and lingers in the entryway is because of who's currently making use of it, and Yennefer finds herself stilling, silently, to watch him perform several motions with the sword in his hands. ]
I thought you said you weren't any good with a sword.
[ Her voice breaks the silence, though she tries not to raise it beyond more of a murmur, nothing uttered with the intent of startling him — especially while he's holding a blade, even a practice sword at that. When he eventually glances up he'll find her there, leaning against the frame, a robe wrapped around herself and carefully belted at the waist, her hair a soft fall worn down rather than braided back or secured with pins as so often tends to be her habit. ]
[He doesn't startle at her voice, easily gliding through the rest of his routine until he comes to a natural pause and then slowly allowing the sword to fall back to his side. He exhales deeply and then turns to her, a tired smile on his lips that looks more like habit than truth.]
I meant it. [He shrugs and goes to meet her where she leans against the wall. she looks...different than usual. Unguarded, and the feeling echoes across to him, making the smile slip from his features. It feels a silly thing to keep up in front of her now.]
I haven't touched one in years. In my world, I couldn't hold my own in battle anymore. [And carrying a sword only invited challenge so. If he wanted to keep his secrets, he had to let the sword go. He missed it though, as tonight has made more than clear to him.] You're in here late. If you were hoping for privacy, I can finish up.
[A pause and then] Or if you were hoping for company, I don't have anywhere else to be.
[ Whether he'd sensed her presence or not long before she'd made it known is unclear; it wouldn't have surprised her in the slightest if he had, with the skills she's already been made aware of at his disposal. But it isn't her instinct to interrupt him, at least if he wants to perform the remainder of the motions that are intended here, and she doesn't move away from the spot she's taken, leaving him to finish out things before he eventually lowers the blade. ]
Not picking one up in years and not being skilled are technically two different things.
[ She feels the need to point out the discrepancy there, although her tone is light-hearted enough that he should only interpret it as her gently prodding at him — but whatever his reasons for having not kept up with any training are his to share, and she's not attempting to prod any deeper than he's willing to readily divulge.
She shakes her head quietly, at least at the mention of the possibility she's looking to be alone — maybe she isn't, or why else would she have lingered in the doorway? ] Couldn't see the point in trying to sleep when certain elements made that impossible.
[He snorts in response and nods silently. It's a complicated matter for him, but one that doesn't feel taboo here the way it did at home. He thinks it might actually be nice to talk about it here actually, somewhere where there aren't any consequences to the admittances.]
Noisy roommate? [He offers with a raised brow and quirked lips. It's just as likely any other number of things including perhaps her own ruminations keeping her up, but he won't prod at something personal like that. They're all here for a reason after all. He's sure few of them always sleep soundly.]
[ It's far enough of an admission, and one that points to any heavy breathing her unwanted roommate might be participating in being only half the reason she's awake at this hour. Not that she even knows what time it truly is, since it becomes more and more difficult to ascertain without a sun taking its normal circuit unless one happens to be in the sunlight room itself, the closest approximation they have to the true version.
She finally pushes herself away from the wall and steps further into the training room, bare feet sinking into mats that manage to be both yielding and supportive at once. ]
How long has it been since you've faced an opponent?
[He remembers to the day of course, that last training at Lotus Pier before they left for the Wen re-education lessons. He remembers the last time he'd held his blade Suibian before handing it over to the Wens for confiscation. And he remembers half a year later when the war was in full swing, returning after being "missing" for so many months, and taking Suibian back from Jiang Cheng with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, his brother blind to the fact that it was entirely useless to him now.
To Yennefer though, he only smiles and shrugs.]
More than three years now. [And then a raised eyebrow and interested smile.] Are you offering?
[ There's a rack of blades along one of the far walls of the space, which she gravitates to without any real haste, hand drifting in the air over their various shaped pommels before she reaches for two of the smaller practice swords, much shorter blades that she tests the weight of first before turning them around in her grasp with a brief twisting of the wrist.
It might not be entirely best practice to spar in a robe, but they won't be clashing with real swords, and she could use the diversion. ]
Let's say I am. Winner lands three touches with the blade?
[He eyes her for a long moment before his gaze drifts to the blade in his hand. After another pause he lets out a soft chuckle and nods, meeting her gaze again.]
As if I could turn down an offer like that. [With a smirk, he moves away until he's a distance away from her on the training mat, and before he takes a stance he crosses his arms and fixes her with a curious glance.]
[ There's a sound from her that could also be categorized as a laugh — it's closer to a quick exhale, a huff of breath, betrayed even further by the dimple that rises in one cheek as her face fights an even bigger grin, and she shifts her hand around one of the swords, short movements that allow her to settle a hold more definitively around the handle. She hasn't trained more specifically with a blade like this in some time, not fought in real circumstance since Malleore. ]
Are you saying you need to make it more interesting?
[ She hasn't raised the blades to a defensive position, nor is she handling them with any real nonchalance, but they're still pointing outward in his direction from her grasp. ]
Very well. If you win, you can claim something of your choosing. If I win... I want to claim three talismans. One for every touch landed.
[Yennefer, he would literally just give you any talisman you asked for (of the sharing kind) but since the point of the stakes here is just fun and he doesn't plan to ask for anything she wouldn't readily give anyway if he wins, he nods his agreement.]
Done. Are you ready? [And now he does slide into a stance, anticipation thrumming in his veins and excitement plain on his face for her to see.]
[ At least, beyond the obvious, and as she watches him shift into opening stance she adjusts hers as well, holding one blade out across her midsection and the other positioning slightly higher, just below eye level. There's no overlooking his excitement, the expression of interest on his face, not when she's facing him head-on and preparing to engage.
If it comes down to which of them needs to strike first, she'll be the one to initiate it, swinging down toward him with one sword and then immediately arcing up from underneath with the other to try and catch him in a different place. It's all reliant on how fast his reflexes are, and she's not exactly trying to land a blow so much as she is attempting to gauge the extent of his prowess for herself. ]
[Like Yennefer, Wei Wuxian begins by feeling out how well matched they are. She's definitely fast, but the Yunmeng Jiang is the swiftest of the four major clan styles, favoring speed, agility, and adaptability over blunt force so he's used to fighting other quick fighters. Still, It's also an aggressive style, and the moment he blocks the first strike and then twists away to dodge the second, he's already countering with a swipe at her middle as he twists around to her back.
He doesn't go so hard that he can't pull back if he has to, but he didn't train the juniors of his sect for nothing. He knows how to fight with intention and still be careful not to cause significant harm.]
[ Strength will not be her reliance here; there are other tactics she can use to her advantage in assessing his skill — her own size, for instance, and the fact that even if she isn't as quick or as strong as some of the other opponents he may have faced, she makes for a smaller target to try and aim for, especially when she isn't fighting particularly aggressively.
That may be how it starts, but it isn't how she intends to continue; her moves do become more offensive, challenging. She wants to see how he'll counter them, what he'll do in fighting against two shorter blades rather than a longer one. Eventually, her stance against him becomes one less of conscious thought and decision and exists somewhere closer to pure instinct; she whirls, her hair arcing out around her, more exhilarated in her expression, complexion flushed with exertion. ]
[Once, what seems ages ago now, there had only been one man who could match him in a sword fight. The star pupil of Yunmeng Jiang equaled only by one of the bright twin Jades of Gusu Lan (and oh how it had grated and intrigued the serious and refined Lan Wangji to be equaled by such a force of wild chaos as Wei Wuxian.) But those days are long gone along with that bright golden light inside of him that made him such a force to be reckoned with.
He would lose now, to any cultivator, no matter how skilled.
But the people aboard the Ximilia are not cultivators. Yennefer is not a cultivator. She fights with study and skill, and her sweat and blood are no less worthy of a fight than the sweat and blood of someone with a spiritual core burning inside of them. It doesn't make him feel less to match her in a fight. It feels good. Exhilarating in a way he hasn't felt in years. She's fast like him—faster he thinks—and skilled with the two blades she wields. He's fought someone with two blades before, but rarely, and it shows in a few of his hasty blocks and stumbled recoveries. Where someone else might show mounting frustration or anger though, Wei Wuxian is delighted.
At one swing, she nearly catches him with a glancing blow, and he only barely dodges with a roll. When he springs to his feet, there's joy in his eyes. In his world, the loss of that bright shining thing inside of him had meant he'd never get this again. The rules here are different. Fighting Yennefer is different. He loves it. He loves it.
And so things continue on that way for a while, the two of them well matched and stepping around each other in a careful dance.]
If I'd known you fought like this, I'd have come out of retirement a lot sooner. [He shoots at her with a laugh, sweat trickling down the side of his face from the exertion of it all.]
[ The last time she'd had to brandish a weapon against anyone, it had been a feeble attempt — a stick that never would have stood up to any real blade, had it been tested, and fortunately the situation hadn't demanded she wield it when Geralt had arrived, though the look on his face had half-prompted her to think that she would've been better off trying her unmagicked hand against a sword rather than face the rage in his expression.
Before then, they had been in Barefield, where others in pursuit of the same mythical dragon had inevitably turned on them in the hopes of claiming the offered reward themselves; there she had fought side by side with the witcher who had put her on the sharp end of his blade years later, even mostly capable of holding her own against multiple foes.
It's a wholly different sensation, this time around, and she can feel the rusty edges of her familiarity beginning to dissolve in the midst of stretching muscle and sinew that she has not exercised in an unknown duration; what she lacks in precision she makes up for with her quickness, some reflexes even returning to her before she consciously has to reach for them.
They both reach the conclusion to break away from one another almost simultaneously, although she doesn't ease out of her stance as they circle; she's less conscious of how the sleeve of her robe droops down from one shoulder, mostly because she realizes she would've benefitted more from securing her hair back before beginning, because all she can do now is toss her head in an attempt to get it out of her eyes, lips stretched into a broader smile. ]
If you're trying to distract me into letting my guard down with flattery, it won't work that easily.
Is it working? [His eyes twinkle with mischief, but before he can launch another attack, his gaze slips to that drooping sleeve and he swiftly turns his face away, a light pink flush gracing his cheeks.]
Ah, your sleeve...[With his face still turned determinedly towards the wall, he gestures at his own arm to indicate what he means. He's gotten accustomed to seeing more skin than he'd ever thought he would here on the Ximilia thanks to the different styling and wardrobe choices of other worlds, but the more conservative nature of his own world means he still isn't immune to being flustered by it.]
[ For once, his sudden decision to glance away from her draws her out of her instinctive movements; if she were any more of a rule-breaker, she'd take advantage of having distracted him, even inadvertently, to land a touch on his person, but instead she chooses to take pity on him, straightening on her feet and adjusting the grip of the sword in her hand so she can use several figures to draw up her sleeve again.
It's by extension that she investigates the remainder of her person, mostly to verify that nothing else has been exposed, but the rest is adequately covered, and she finally draws his attention back to her with a quiet clearing of her throat. ]
You could at least try to earn a blow. [ Throwing out the slight tease, she hopes, might bring the focus back to the sparring at hand rather than leaving it on how much the sight of a bare shoulder had unseated him. ]
[He glances back to her slowly—just to be sure—and then hits her with a bright smile, his cheeks still lightly flushed.]
I am trying! Such sass![he laughs. The words do their job and he refocuses on the match, assured that she's done adjusting her robes, he dives in again. This time he feints towards her left shoulder before switching tactics mid strike and redirecting downward instead.]
Who isn't trying now? [He quips as he moves, eyes glittering with amusement and adrenaline.]
[ For a moment her concern is that she may have offended him — which wouldn't have been her aim — but fortunately her goading is taken in the spirit with which it was originally intended and she can only return a smile right back for the one given to her, broad and half-conjured on a laugh. ]
Merely pointing out the obvious.
[ She's breathing a bit harder now, by the time they return to their spar, but has at least enough speed left to counter his downward strike with an upward return, one of her swords catching his closer to the hilt as she leans forward, the juncture between her throat and shoulder flirtingly close to his blade. ]
One of us simply happens to be fighting in their bedclothes.
[His cheeks pink again but not as bad as before, and he lets out a little huff of laughter.]
Then next time we'll both have to be properly attired. [A pause as one of her blades slides along his and ends up closer to his own neck as well.]
Or I'll wear my bedclothes too. [He grins and laughs, offering a wink before pushing back and putting distance between them again. If she knew he wore bunny print pajama pants and a t-shirt to bed, it probably wouldn't be anywhere near as flirtatious.]
[ It's not a complaint or a protest by any means; in fact, she's pleased by the notion that he intends on following this with the possibility of more, and not solely because she could use the opportunity to brush up on her skills with a worthy opponent.
She staggers back by several steps, turning the hilts of both swords in her grasp before reasserting her hold on both. ]
So it's your intention to be bested by me again, in other words.
[ She does have some experience on her side, but she's certain she's less quick on her feet, and with his returning ability, she won't be able to correct in time even as she makes the effort to pivot quickly, the hem of her robe swirling around her ankles with the movement, and bring up one of her swords in time to counter his blade. ]
[His blade rests lightly at the back of her neck for just a moment, and then he withdraws, stepping back and wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, bright smile still in place.]
Guess it'll be you wanting the rematch next time then? [He laughs and sits down on the mat, gracelessly pulling the ribbon from his hair, finger combing it all back, and then tying it all back up in a messy bun that keeps it off of his neck and back.
He sighs happily and removes the outer most layer of his robes. His inner robe is red and lands just below his waist, and where he's from it would be scandalous to be so bare in front of a lady, but if she doesn't care, he definitely doesn't.]
I haven't had that much fun fighting like that that in years.
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Action | 2 days after the revolution on E-23b
It feels heavy in his hand, a combination of the fact that it's not his own sword, and that he hasn't held a sword in something like three years.
Despite the weight and a few clumsy swings, he holds it like someone who was born with a sword in his hand. With no one else around, he slides easily into one of the Yunmeng Jiang sword routines. The movements are familiar in a painful way, and he freezes mid routine, almost drops the blade to the ground, and then decides better of it and continues on.
In the end, despite everything, it feels right, and he's too caught up in the moment to even notice when someone else enters the room.]
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The training area wouldn't have been her first instinct compared to other spaces on the station; the only reason she even so much as stops and lingers in the entryway is because of who's currently making use of it, and Yennefer finds herself stilling, silently, to watch him perform several motions with the sword in his hands. ]
I thought you said you weren't any good with a sword.
[ Her voice breaks the silence, though she tries not to raise it beyond more of a murmur, nothing uttered with the intent of startling him — especially while he's holding a blade, even a practice sword at that. When he eventually glances up he'll find her there, leaning against the frame, a robe wrapped around herself and carefully belted at the waist, her hair a soft fall worn down rather than braided back or secured with pins as so often tends to be her habit. ]
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I meant it. [He shrugs and goes to meet her where she leans against the wall. she looks...different than usual. Unguarded, and the feeling echoes across to him, making the smile slip from his features. It feels a silly thing to keep up in front of her now.]
I haven't touched one in years. In my world, I couldn't hold my own in battle anymore. [And carrying a sword only invited challenge so. If he wanted to keep his secrets, he had to let the sword go. He missed it though, as tonight has made more than clear to him.] You're in here late. If you were hoping for privacy, I can finish up.
[A pause and then] Or if you were hoping for company, I don't have anywhere else to be.
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Not picking one up in years and not being skilled are technically two different things.
[ She feels the need to point out the discrepancy there, although her tone is light-hearted enough that he should only interpret it as her gently prodding at him — but whatever his reasons for having not kept up with any training are his to share, and she's not attempting to prod any deeper than he's willing to readily divulge.
She shakes her head quietly, at least at the mention of the possibility she's looking to be alone — maybe she isn't, or why else would she have lingered in the doorway? ] Couldn't see the point in trying to sleep when certain elements made that impossible.
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Noisy roommate? [He offers with a raised brow and quirked lips. It's just as likely any other number of things including perhaps her own ruminations keeping her up, but he won't prod at something personal like that. They're all here for a reason after all. He's sure few of them always sleep soundly.]
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[ It's far enough of an admission, and one that points to any heavy breathing her unwanted roommate might be participating in being only half the reason she's awake at this hour. Not that she even knows what time it truly is, since it becomes more and more difficult to ascertain without a sun taking its normal circuit unless one happens to be in the sunlight room itself, the closest approximation they have to the true version.
She finally pushes herself away from the wall and steps further into the training room, bare feet sinking into mats that manage to be both yielding and supportive at once. ]
How long has it been since you've faced an opponent?
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To Yennefer though, he only smiles and shrugs.]
More than three years now. [And then a raised eyebrow and interested smile.] Are you offering?
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It might not be entirely best practice to spar in a robe, but they won't be clashing with real swords, and she could use the diversion. ]
Let's say I am. Winner lands three touches with the blade?
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As if I could turn down an offer like that. [With a smirk, he moves away until he's a distance away from her on the training mat, and before he takes a stance he crosses his arms and fixes her with a curious glance.]
What are the stakes?
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Are you saying you need to make it more interesting?
[ She hasn't raised the blades to a defensive position, nor is she handling them with any real nonchalance, but they're still pointing outward in his direction from her grasp. ]
Very well. If you win, you can claim something of your choosing. If I win... I want to claim three talismans. One for every touch landed.
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Done. Are you ready? [And now he does slide into a stance, anticipation thrumming in his veins and excitement plain on his face for her to see.]
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[ At least, beyond the obvious, and as she watches him shift into opening stance she adjusts hers as well, holding one blade out across her midsection and the other positioning slightly higher, just below eye level. There's no overlooking his excitement, the expression of interest on his face, not when she's facing him head-on and preparing to engage.
If it comes down to which of them needs to strike first, she'll be the one to initiate it, swinging down toward him with one sword and then immediately arcing up from underneath with the other to try and catch him in a different place. It's all reliant on how fast his reflexes are, and she's not exactly trying to land a blow so much as she is attempting to gauge the extent of his prowess for herself. ]
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He doesn't go so hard that he can't pull back if he has to, but he didn't train the juniors of his sect for nothing. He knows how to fight with intention and still be careful not to cause significant harm.]
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That may be how it starts, but it isn't how she intends to continue; her moves do become more offensive, challenging. She wants to see how he'll counter them, what he'll do in fighting against two shorter blades rather than a longer one. Eventually, her stance against him becomes one less of conscious thought and decision and exists somewhere closer to pure instinct; she whirls, her hair arcing out around her, more exhilarated in her expression, complexion flushed with exertion. ]
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He would lose now, to any cultivator, no matter how skilled.
But the people aboard the Ximilia are not cultivators. Yennefer is not a cultivator. She fights with study and skill, and her sweat and blood are no less worthy of a fight than the sweat and blood of someone with a spiritual core burning inside of them. It doesn't make him feel less to match her in a fight. It feels good. Exhilarating in a way he hasn't felt in years. She's fast like him—faster he thinks—and skilled with the two blades she wields. He's fought someone with two blades before, but rarely, and it shows in a few of his hasty blocks and stumbled recoveries. Where someone else might show mounting frustration or anger though, Wei Wuxian is delighted.
At one swing, she nearly catches him with a glancing blow, and he only barely dodges with a roll. When he springs to his feet, there's joy in his eyes. In his world, the loss of that bright shining thing inside of him had meant he'd never get this again. The rules here are different. Fighting Yennefer is different. He loves it. He loves it.
And so things continue on that way for a while, the two of them well matched and stepping around each other in a careful dance.]
If I'd known you fought like this, I'd have come out of retirement a lot sooner. [He shoots at her with a laugh, sweat trickling down the side of his face from the exertion of it all.]
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Before then, they had been in Barefield, where others in pursuit of the same mythical dragon had inevitably turned on them in the hopes of claiming the offered reward themselves; there she had fought side by side with the witcher who had put her on the sharp end of his blade years later, even mostly capable of holding her own against multiple foes.
It's a wholly different sensation, this time around, and she can feel the rusty edges of her familiarity beginning to dissolve in the midst of stretching muscle and sinew that she has not exercised in an unknown duration; what she lacks in precision she makes up for with her quickness, some reflexes even returning to her before she consciously has to reach for them.
They both reach the conclusion to break away from one another almost simultaneously, although she doesn't ease out of her stance as they circle; she's less conscious of how the sleeve of her robe droops down from one shoulder, mostly because she realizes she would've benefitted more from securing her hair back before beginning, because all she can do now is toss her head in an attempt to get it out of her eyes, lips stretched into a broader smile. ]
If you're trying to distract me into letting my guard down with flattery, it won't work that easily.
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Ah, your sleeve...[With his face still turned determinedly towards the wall, he gestures at his own arm to indicate what he means. He's gotten accustomed to seeing more skin than he'd ever thought he would here on the Ximilia thanks to the different styling and wardrobe choices of other worlds, but the more conservative nature of his own world means he still isn't immune to being flustered by it.]
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It's by extension that she investigates the remainder of her person, mostly to verify that nothing else has been exposed, but the rest is adequately covered, and she finally draws his attention back to her with a quiet clearing of her throat. ]
You could at least try to earn a blow. [ Throwing out the slight tease, she hopes, might bring the focus back to the sparring at hand rather than leaving it on how much the sight of a bare shoulder had unseated him. ]
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I am trying! Such sass![he laughs. The words do their job and he refocuses on the match, assured that she's done adjusting her robes, he dives in again. This time he feints towards her left shoulder before switching tactics mid strike and redirecting downward instead.]
Who isn't trying now? [He quips as he moves, eyes glittering with amusement and adrenaline.]
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Merely pointing out the obvious.
[ She's breathing a bit harder now, by the time they return to their spar, but has at least enough speed left to counter his downward strike with an upward return, one of her swords catching his closer to the hilt as she leans forward, the juncture between her throat and shoulder flirtingly close to his blade. ]
One of us simply happens to be fighting in their bedclothes.
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Then next time we'll both have to be properly attired. [A pause as one of her blades slides along his and ends up closer to his own neck as well.]
Or I'll wear my bedclothes too. [He grins and laughs, offering a wink before pushing back and putting distance between them again. If she knew he wore bunny print pajama pants and a t-shirt to bed, it probably wouldn't be anywhere near as flirtatious.]
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[ It's not a complaint or a protest by any means; in fact, she's pleased by the notion that he intends on following this with the possibility of more, and not solely because she could use the opportunity to brush up on her skills with a worthy opponent.
She staggers back by several steps, turning the hilts of both swords in her grasp before reasserting her hold on both. ]
So it's your intention to be bested by me again, in other words.
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[Taking advantage of that staggered step, Wei Wuxian rolls to the side in an attempt to come up behind her as she adjusts the grip on her swords.]
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[ She does have some experience on her side, but she's certain she's less quick on her feet, and with his returning ability, she won't be able to correct in time even as she makes the effort to pivot quickly, the hem of her robe swirling around her ankles with the movement, and bring up one of her swords in time to counter his blade. ]
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Guess it'll be you wanting the rematch next time then? [He laughs and sits down on the mat, gracelessly pulling the ribbon from his hair, finger combing it all back, and then tying it all back up in a messy bun that keeps it off of his neck and back.
He sighs happily and removes the outer most layer of his robes. His inner robe is red and lands just below his waist, and where he's from it would be scandalous to be so bare in front of a lady, but if she doesn't care, he definitely doesn't.]
I haven't had that much fun fighting like that that in years.
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