[ OPEN ] Well I can't stand to be with myself, this liberation's seemingly rare

[ombranera]

WHO: Zevran and Various
WHAT: Zevran sparring and dealing
WHEN: Throughout Drakonis
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Violence, swearing, usual Zevran Content Warnings Apply. Open prompt below, poke me on plurk for a closed starter. Prose or actionspam welcome!

As much as he'd protested Alistair running off on some mission in the west- the time apart gives him that much more chance to train. He'd been doing so privately in the barn, occasionally squaring off against Settimo when they both had the time and patience for Settimo's paranoia and Zevran's over-adjustments for the blind side. Learning to fight with only one good eye is slowly driving Zevran to frustration. Settimo could not come at him hard enough to be a challenge, he could not learn his new limitations without a solid effort on both their parts.

Setting aside his vanity he takes to the training grounds- but working on stuffed dummies is only good for so much. Soon enough he is picking out soldiers and rogues to come at him in the dirt circle. Day to day it goes much the same. Zevran stands with bad eye covered and his swords, with his hands, with a single short sword and calls any that would step up to help him regain his awareness. It is, to be honest, slow going. More often than not if his opponent has any manner of skill he ends up on his ass. But he grits his teeth, stands, and goes at it again. And again. Afterward he recovers with the highlight of his training- a bucket of water to sluice off the sweat and grit of the day. Whether it's the relief the cold brings or the appreciative looks it tends to earn? He doesn't say. But thus he spends his days, training himself or wrestling with the fledglings, who will offer their own commentary and catcalling in Antivan during his other matches.

Comments

[obi_wanmanshow]

"Yes, you're quite charming," Although Obi-Wan himself is not interested, but it seems clear that Zevran has all the charisma one needs to get in real trouble, "I'm a little new, here."

The understatement of the century, that.

"I was wondering if you might like a little more variety in opponent. Not the local presence isn't enough," Take, for example, Zevran's flock of young friends, "May I?"

[ombranera]

"I would not have guessed." The strangeness, the posture that speaks of a soldier but a lightness better suited to a rogue- clipped accent that seems Fereldan or even Marcher but so much more posh? He would have noticed this man were he here before. "By all means."

He gestures to the middle of the sparring circle. "I relish the chance to test my skills and you seem....interesting."

[obi_wanmanshow]

"Very well," He vaulted the fence separating open ground from the rest of the courtyard in a simple standing leap, as effortless as breathing, "I thank you for the opportunity to learn."

It was said with an air of formality, the echoes of stern lessons and lifelong instruction. All experiences are lessons, what you gain from them is only what you allow yourself to gain-- the good, and otherwise.

"I regret that my usual form of sparring weaponry is unavailable," was a diplomatic way of referring to the nonfunctional lump of broken connections and cracked casings that was his lightsaber at the moment, "So, empty-handed?"

[ombranera]

Zevran's brows shot up at that- a considering glance was given to the man head to toe- with particular interest from the waist downward. The thighs such a maneuver required? The man had training of more than the soldierly sort. Curious.

His own blades he handed off to Vita without commentary- she and Loreto set about wiping the dust from them as Zevran returned to the center of the ring. "Suitable replacements can be found for most weaponry, at least for the purposes of training. You are..."

The stance, the shoulders, the lightness on his feet- "A duelist of sorts, yes? A swordsman. The Quartermaster might have something you could use." He said, shifting into his usual hand to hand stance all the same, light on the balls of his feet, tilted to keep this man in full view of his good eye.

[obi_wanmanshow]

"I'm sure they will do their best," He smiled, settling into his own stance, knees loose, balance forward, not dissimilar to Zevran's, "Regardless, every Jedi must be flexible, and I am no exception."

And then, noting Zevran's careful treatment of his imbalance, he nods, holds eye contact for a moment, and then very deliberately closes his eyes. If this is going to be uneven, at least let it be uneven in an interesting way; if he couldn't adapt to this, then he deserved the bruises as a lesson for his hubris. And the inevitable rebuke his sparring partner's practicality will demand of him, no doubt.

It's been a long time since last Obi-Wan trained with the learner's hood. Take a breath, reach out, trust your feelings: let's see if anything has changed.

"Whenever you're ready."

[ombranera]

For a moment he simply stared. Behind him Teresa gave a low, wondering whistle, muttering in Antivan as to the intent of the gesture that he needed to silence by snapping a glare at the fledglings.

Mockery, was it? Obi-Wan was human, held himself with a particular bearing, an air of authority and nobility that was warning enough. Teasing the one eye'd elf by insisting on doing such sparing blindfolded- it was not so unfamiliar a thing. He'd seen it before, played at it before in Antiva. Yes Ser, no Ser, let me try again Ser.

Frustration was already bitter on his tongue, but he settled. Shifted enough to unhook a scarf from about Vita's very fine neck and wrap it around his eyes. Fair is fair, if this was what the man demanded, this was what they'd do. Even if it was easier to open ones eyes when not blindfolded, his fledglings would warn him accordingly were there foul play. Tuning out the sounds of the yard took a moment, slowing his breathing, steadying it, making him still and silent as the Crows demanded of him ages ago- this was instinct.

When all the world narrowed down to the heartbeat in his chest and Obi-Wan's before him, the soft rush of breath, he moved. Light and silent, down to the left, hand snapping out at center mass.

[obi_wanmanshow]

He was as silent as the grave. It was an excellent show of ability, admirably performed, and undoubtedly deadly. Obi-Wan could afford to take neither the time nor attention to comment, focused as he was. But later, when there was time, he would find the memory of this moment like a bell-tone, which fades so smoothly away that you cannot quite measure exactly where sound ends and silence begins.

It was a beautiful skill.

But it wasn't sound that guided Obi-Wan's hand. It was a feeling, instinct perhaps, but more than old memory; precognition like flickers of light, too fast to perceive. They came and went as impulses, gut feelings, and obedient to long training and practice, he listened to them.

Obi-Wan's hand snapped out, and seized Zevran by the wrist, lightning fast and pulled him across, moving with momentum to catch the strike and turn him aside. Obi-Wan dropped as he moved, seeking to upend Zevran over his own center of balance, and flip him onto his back, like a beetle.

[ombranera]

Perhaps there was wisdom to this after all, to cut away the distraction that is sight, to being only half sighted- and focus on the motion. The muscle memory that fell into place. A hand gripped his wrist and instinct bid him roll with the momentum. Flip with it and brace with his feet on the dirt behind, following through with a grip to the very arm that held him.

And to pull.

By all rights he should be too disoriented to work but he saw in his mind's eye the circle, the dirt, the fence, knew roughly where he stood, knew the size and shape of his opponent. Crack his neck, bid the crow training- the rest of him focused on keeping his feet and hurling the man over his shoulder as he so kindly attempted to do to him.

[obi_wanmanshow]

Obi-Wan felt the pull and reversed momentum quickly, pushing off and over Zevran's shoulder as he was bid. His bootheels hit the dust with an audible snap, and he kicked again with a soft grunt of effort, bending his knees and kicking out to sweep Zevran's feet out from under him. It was a slight stretch to get low enough, given their relative heights, and must have seemed comical to anyone watching, an absurd end-over-end flip, the two of them taking turns sharing the fulcrum of motion.

Unseen, Obi-Wan grinned a smile that was half grimace. This Zevran-- He was good. He was very good. And this had been a good idea.

[ombranera]

This was familiar. This was where everything else fell aside save the grip, the mental map of the surrounding area, and the fight. This was how he learned to grapple as a crow, bound hand in hand with someone faster, someone stronger, someone meaner. Mentally kicked back to such a place he fell into old habits. Teeth grit in a vicious curve he clamped his hands about Obi-Wan's arm and lept upward, balancing shoulder to shoulder, weight against the man's next as he flipped up and over yet again, attempting to twist the man's arm along with it.

Neither of them seems to be gaining any ground- but that was not the test.

Keeping in motion, keeping from being pinned- that was the test.

[obi_wanmanshow]

He could feel it, the moment when this went from additional challenge to easy. Unfortunately, it wasn't a beneficial ease for Obi-Wan, as he was the focus of these exercises. The temptation to use the Force, to break free into the more familiar forms was strong, but he stuck with it, allowing Zevran the advantage of air and height. Move with motion, strength with strength, Obi-Wan twisted along with the pull of his arm to prevent it from dislocating: fun was fun, but there was no sense in that.

Instead of pulling down again, he leapt for himself, turning the simple flip into a double, heedless of the fence, free hand flailing for purchase. Whenever they struck, whomever was on the bottom would hit hard.

He could feel, with a wince before gravity reasserted itself, that it would, inevitably, be himself. Not all victories come without pain, it would seem.

[ombranera]

A moment of disorientation as he struggled to adjust, adapt- but he knew that feeling. Recalled enough to add his weight at the right time and braced for impact, grinning wide and vicious when he was not the one trapped under the man's bulk. A crackling of Antivan from the fence- commendation, derision, it did not matter. What mattered was that he found time and space enough to twist and pin the man properly.

With the difference in height and breadth and weight it became a matter of leverage. Finding it blind, holding him down without a hand or knee on his throat in an unsportsmanlike fashion? Took a moment. But find it Zevran did.

[obi_wanmanshow]

Obi-Wan coughed around the choking hold, letting go to hold up both hands to placate him with a strangled, "Alright, alright. You've won."

And when, if, Zevran let him go, he comes up laughing; at his own expense, and at the outcome. Not bad, not bad at all.

"Yes, that serves me right," At least he's enjoyed himself, more or less, "Going hand-to-hand with an assassin. Thank you."

[ombranera]

"If you wish to work on it-" Zevran rolled out his shoulders and patted Obi-Wan on the back as he peeled off his blindfold. "I will be resuming lessons within the month."

[obi_wanmanshow]

"Yes, I can see that," He drawls, glancing sidelong at Zevran with the sneaking beginnings of a smirk under his moustache. You're going to be incorrigible about this aren't you? "I might take you up on that. I'm used to a slightly more-- immediate form of fighting."

Blaster-bolts couldn't be parried, and in most cases couldn't even be blocked. You'd have to have Force-given prescience to use it meaningfully, and even then, without a lightsaber....

"Most Jedi techniques are more focused on getting you back to your weapon."