The First Cut is the Deepest

[Kella Greeran]

(OOC: This is the beginning of a self modded daggers/ acrobatics thread )

Darkening, 1st of Cryxatum, Summer, Era XIV

"Does anyone speak that gypsy rabble language?"

Kella lifted her head from her plaken, and looked across the tavern at the shouting bartender. To her chagrin, she felt honor bound to answer the man.

"You mean Aire?" she yelled back with little decorum.
"Whatever it's called, you speak it?"
Dropping her fork and straightening up, she responded, "Yes. I do."

Half her circus troupe was Air'riela, a colorful band of tale-spinners, artists and thieves. Gads, she loved them, save how they always nicked her earrings. She'd been unable to keep a matching pair for fifteen years.
Her tutor Massimo would mutter at her in his mother tongue, denying her supper if she didn't learn to mutter back, so she picked up enough.

"Well tell the gypsy trash in the doorway to take a long walk of Prime's shortest pier," he spied her uniform, "As a servant to the empire and its peoples."

"Bloody Aeternia." Kella pushed her chair back and threw her napkin on the table.

Slumped over the doorway like a festive sack of feed, was a lean Air'riela wearing the tasseled sashes, high boots and braids of his people. The smell of whiskey rose from him in billows.

Kella sighed and began to address him in Aire.
"Mira Didikai, the kertsheema owners want you to sherp."
A growl came from the man, bolder than he had a righ to be.
"I'll sherp when I damn well please," the man lifted up his head, revealing a bruised and cut face that turned immediately warmer on seeing her.
"Sastimos, Kells-bells. Baxtalo."
The Vagaran fell to her knees, and tried to help the man sit upright, touching him with a familiarity that was rare for her.
"Dordie Yoska! What in Aeternia are you doing here?"
"Trying to find you. Fussy Legionnaire said you were here, but I made a stop or two on the way."
"Jalat, Yoska," Kella's brow crinkled with sadness and memories, "You look worse than your old man."
The Air'riela grinned, he was still a handsome devil when he smiled. "That may be, but I have all my teeth."
His eyes softened as he looked at Kella, daring to see something through the fog of his drink.
"You look healthy Kell-bells. I've missed you."
Kella gave a bittersweet smile. That was a road she couldn't travel anymore. They both knew it and it made the phrase all the more wistful.
"Well next time, aim before you throw the dagger."
Yoska laughed drowsily and said, "You know I don't have to aim anymore. I'm too talented for that."
As he passed out on her boot tops Kella huffed a laugh.
"Yeah, talented."
Chances were he still was the best dagger handler within 200 miles. Too bad he was also one of the saddest stories within 300 miles.
Hooking her arms under his, she began to drag him back inside to the smothering air of the tavern and its yellow light.

Gods this brings back memories. At least I'm not in a corset angry over being stood up anymore.

"I'm gonna need a room for him," Kella explained to a rather cross looking proprietor-ess.
Feeling the waves of resentment from the woman, Kella dropped one of Yoska's arms to dig in her pockets. A generous heap of crowns was pressed into the woman's hands as Kella explained flatly, "Don't worry, I'll pay in advance. But I expect help up the stairs, at least."
The woman bit the coins and nodded brusquely, unashamed of her suspicious hostility. As the crowns went into her apron she walked to Yoska's ankles for their ungainly procession up the stairs.

Kella muttered at the man in her arms, "You owe me, Yoska." A quick sigh, "Again."

~*~

Yoska dreamed of a room of various colored coins, that didn't belong to him. They were in cascading heaps barring windows and filling doorways, but he did not feel the joy of a treasure seeker. He was here to sort the coins, every bloody one of them, into neat towers.
It was an infinite a tedious chore, but some force compelled him. His stacks were beginning to take a neat shape after the first three candlemarks, and he looked at them with a sliver of content. But then a white gale of light flooded his room with such force it made the towers of coin shake. He covered his eyes and tried to fumble for the source of the light as he heard his work fall with a sliding chiming song.

As Kella pushed open the shutter, dumping sunlight on Yoska's form, he began to writhe, raising his arms over his head like bracers against the morning.

With little mercy for his hangover, Kella jumped on the bed like a twelve-year-old on her birth-brightening.
"Up you lazy-arse! I've only got so much time!"

Yoska moaned and opened his eyes, they felt rimmed in salt and his head had certainly been used in a riotous game of kickball, or at least as a training tool for attack hounds.

"Feth, Kell-bells. What time is it? And where is the cat?"
"It's time for you to repay my kindness," her jumping barely slowed, "And what cat?"
"The one that crapped in my mouth while I slept."

The Vagaran laughed and gave the Air'riela a light kick to the ribs.
"Always charming, Yoska. Now make yourself pretty. I've decided how you're going to pay me back for pulling your sorry…"
"Yet well-formed," he interjected.
"…Arse from the gutter."

Yoska pushed himself up, wiping his eyes. His long black hair had a few wisps making a spider-web halo about his head.
"And what is this grand payback, Kell-bells?"

Kella stopped her jumping and grinned crookedly.
"You're going to visit the Military District and teach me daggers. Air'riela style."

"We're doomed," Yoska moaned falling back on his pillow.

[Kella Greeran]

Summer mornings were slow in turning bright in Prime, but today Kella was in luck. Standing in the archer's practice field, she arched backward and craned her body to the side making crescent shapes with her arms.
Yoska milled blearily around her, cursing the glorious suns that only wanted to embrace him in their resplendent arms. Hungover, he was having none of it.

After a quick warm up of pressing her muscles into unnatural planes and curves, Kella began to pull an array of standard military daggers from her belt. With a strange giddiness, she stabbed them into the moist sod.
The Air'riela glanced at the daggers that were springing from the grass quick and bright as wildflowers.
"Oya Kell-bell, did you pilfer some chor's den."
"Better than a thief's den, the quartermaster's stores."
"We won't need so many churi, I have my own."
Kella fell back on her haunches, a bit surprised. "I assumed you didn't have any considering your state last night. I like to believe if you had a dagger you wouldn't have received such a thorough beating."
"I was drunk."
"You're always a little drunk."
Yoska bristled at the barb of truth but continued in his swagger.
"You should have seen the gajo."
"What? Not a scratch on him?"
Yoska folded his arms in partially mock annoyance, "Don't sass me, bitti rakli."

Kella rolled her eyes with the panache of a peevish adolescent, "Then don't do anything that deserves sass, dilo."
Slipping her personal dagger from the sheath around her thigh, Kella stood and took a step towards Yoska,
"While I enjoy exchanging sweet nothings with you, I'd rather get down to business."
"Mira ozi, that's a change. Do I finally get to bed my pretty jester?"
"Ah-ah!" she warned, the tip of the blade hovering in front of his gut.
Yoska's amorous intentions deflated into a disappointment that bordered on disgust when he looked at Kella's grip.
"Amria, Kells, are you going to chop vegetables or kill a man?"
"Maybe I want to do both," Kell mumbled in a half-hearted defense.

Yoska grinned at his small victory, "Well, miri bitti amral," The woman raised an eyebrow at the old nickname, a leftover from more romantic brightenings, but Yoska kept on talking.
"If you're going to a real chingary, then hold it like so."

Yoska spun the dagger in her hand, turning it so the blade was pointed downward. When she looked at her palm, the blade pointed to her left.
"If you want to kill a stagni, then you can hold it your way. But down is for scrappers."
"What about when I want to throw it?"
"Mira ozi, bitti amral, you run ahead of yourself. Stab, chop, throw…"
"Well?" she pressed with a knowing smile.
Yoska pursed his lips and gingerly showed her how to pinch the blade, "For that we hold the sharp end." His hazel eyes danced, "If you don't know, that's called the blade."
Kella never missed a cue.
"What a shock. They've been making us fight with long loaves of bread all this time. I've never seen this strange bla-ade you speak of."

Yoska grinned at his "little pear" but didn't flinch at her scratching.
"Arvah, that's better."
Releasing her forearm, the man stood back and looked at her from toe to crown.
"Now show me the stance you take before a fight."

Kella turned and froze in the posture of one about to flee.
Yoska gave a light reprimand, "Kek. That's not right. A non-gaje stance."
"Non-gaje?"
Kella made an obscene gesture and added, "To your Baba."
"So astute."
With a wicked grin the woman adopted a balanced pose that spoke of her military training with a longsword. This made Yoska flinch in surprise.
"Well they are teaching you something. Lacho, lacho. But a little looser bitti amral. With the dagger you use speed. I want you to be able to hop between your toes or spin in a pretty dance."
He took out one of his own daggers, tied with distracting bits of persimmon ribbon, and took a frighteningly swift step towards her. With a quick sweep of his left arm, he gripped the inside of Kella's forearm, pushing it away from her body. The armed hand plunged toward her gut, but froze inches away.
Disregarding the woman choking on her breath and swears, he maintained the pose and spoke.
"Dik, Kells?" He spoke softly, as they stood intimately near. "The daggers are not the swords. You must know a grappler's tricks as the distance will no longer protect you. Quick and messy, the knives are, bitti amral."

[Kella Greeran]

Kella pulled herself away and Yoska released her a bit reluctantly.
"I jumped a bit ahead to prove a point, bitti ambrol. But first thing first."
"A novel concept for you."
"You ought to learn the pretty parts of your new toy."
Yoska wandered a space away and picked up one of the daggers Kella had plunged into the ground. He idly twirled it in his hand, but Kella refused to look impressed on sheer principle. It didn't seem to deter Yoska from being a show-off in the slightest.
Stopping in front of her he sheathed his ribboned knife and balanced the military dagger on his palm.
"This handsome fellow, the dagger not myself," Yoska explained with a barely restrained grin, "Started showing up when armor got thicker, and harder for a longsword with its extended reach to do as much damage. So we have this pretty little stinger. It slides between armor better and is good for grappling."
His finger tapped the disk and the base of the grip.
"Now dik this bitti disk here, the guard for your fingers, this is a rondel. I think the term is from the prissy Jaedaxienne gaje."
His nose scrunched in disgust as he thought of the stuffed shirt farts he'd met in Jaedaxia, but smoothed as he continued to rapture over his favorite inanimate object in the world, apart from maybe a bottle.
"This disc guard means you can stab point up or down with great power through pads and mail."

Kella raised her own dagger, running her fingers across the edge of the rondel.
"And here I just thought it kept my fingers pretty."
She turned away and methodically stabbed at a ghostly set of armor, thinking where on the body steel plates would not cover flesh or where a blade could be slipped between overlapping layers of steel.
"You're a violent little thing now, Kell-bells," Yoska observed.
This was rewarded with a raised eyebrow and a curious, "Oh?"
"Or perhaps not," he amended, "You've always been piss and vinegar. Now you can just do some damage with more than your mouth." He chuckled, "It is likely not in my best interests to make your scratches all the more potent."
"Don't be silly, Yoska," Kella countered, a little flattered, "You'll have the upward hand on me for a long while yet."
"Vortimo, likely because you're an awful student. Wandering around, not listening, making lewd advances on your instructor."
"Lewd advances!" she managed to sputter indignantly.
"Vortimo, Kella you should be ashamed of yourself. But I will take pity on you and oblige if you insist. I find the average looking girls make better bedmates anyway, so present, so grateful."
Kella was betwixt a laugh and an attempt on his life, "Son of a …!"
"See, you are so overcome with passion, it has become violence." A sly look possessed his features as he guided them back to the lesson.
"Let us channel your repressed passions into something more useful, bitti ambrol. A little lesson on where to stab, not quite as obvious as one might think."
Jerking his head to the left he continued, "Av akai and mirror what I do, starting in that sword stance, but keep your left hand dangling on the left side of your thigh, and your right hand on your dagger at your hip to start."

With a curt nod, Kella fell into place, dancing between her feet a bit, testing the weight, but was jettisoned into motion the moment Yoska began to wield his dagger.
The Air'riela stepped forward into a downward stab freezing in place as he commented on each gesture.
"This is not the safest position, but this is where you will do damage to the shera and everything from a mush's elbows up."
He retreated and Kella trailed his actions with her own, then surged outward again in a diagonal stab to the right side.
"Kai you can cover yourself a little if you have forearm armor, and you can strike from the elbows to the temples. Same coming from the left," he shifted stances to demonstrate, "But kai it will be harder for you to block his blows."
The dance continued as he took an upward sloping stab to the invisible foe's middle.
"This is where you strike to hit anything below a man's chest, but he might be able to block you with his left hand."

Yoska's posture relaxed as he observed Kella continuing to mimic his movements, moving through them with growing speed. She had always been more of a dancer in her acrobatics than a pure gymnast. It seemed her fluid tendencies bled into her combat style, but these swimming and swift motions were punctuated a bit savagely as the blade was thrust into airy foes.

"Miri oza, ambrol, you need a bit more zor, power in your moves. The mush you are about to stick might hold still just to watch your rinkeni moves. If you haven't the raw zor, build it with speed."
He absently tapped the flat of the blade on his thigh.
"Remember, it will never be as rinkeni as all this. Your mush moves and swings back, shuffle a bit more and watch more than your own aim."

[Kella Greeran]

Yoska craned his neck left to right with a light popping sound and rolled his shoulders loosely.
"See, Kells, you dance around to much before you start. Old Massimo has you spelled."
The woman quirked her head, "A bit of flexibility wouldn't kill you Yoska." A devilish smile, "The ladies like a little flexibility. Things go much smoother when you relax."
Indignant, Yoska stabbed the air with the tip of his dagger.
"Hookamens! I am relaxed plenty."
"Relaxed and drunk are two different things."

An indeterminate grumble came from Yoska. Not wanting to leave him in poor spirits, the little jester, Kella, drew her foot up her leg until her pointed toe tapped the side of her knee. The foot rose to meet her grasping hand until the arch was in her palm. And then she stretched it out in a deliciously slow move over her head so her leg was almost pressed against her ear.
"Look what I can do!" she declared with purposefully childish pride. Any trace of youthful naivety was swept away with a lascivious smile.
"I give you permission to imagine what else I can do, limber as I am."

Keen to her game Yoska gave his rumbling laugh and swept his arms back as she folded into a partial bow.
"Today, chavi, your dancing makes some sense. Now quit playing," he beckoned her with his finger and adopted an attacker's pose, "And try to take this dagger from my hand."

Kella slowly let her leg furl back to the earth and considered the situation.
"Trade you the dagger for a bottle of good gin."
Yoska's head quirked suddenly.
"Ha!" Kella grinned and pointed, "You thought about it."
"Amria, atch it, what am I to do with you?"

A softer look, "Adore me, I suppose." Sad little smiles tickled her face, "But then we already tried that."
Yoska stammered with her feet shifting position a formless apology began to pull at his mouth and crease his face.
Entering the circle of his attack space, Kella grabbed the inside of the gypsy's bangled wrist with her left hand and raised her right finger to her lips in a gesture of silence.
"Nanti." A passing laugh, "That was unfair."

Yoska looked at her hand, sensing an old forgiveness. She had bestowed it long ago, he could tell. His wrist twisted, passing the dagger under her arm and pressing her grip away.
"See, it is easy to break a grip."
Kella withdrew her arm, "Yes. A little art and you can release many things."

Breathing in the role of teacher, the Air'riela went on.
"But if you wanted to do some real damage. You'd combine an attack with that gesture. Step back to observe my little trinity."

Fast as sight, Yoska cut the blade down in what would have disabled the offending arm, slashed across the throat and jabbed toward the eye.
The severity of the attack made Kella hiss her breath.
"This is a fight, no? The daggers are only as quick and savage as the intent of who carries them. Do not dance too much. Remember you mean to kill the gaje."
He gestured to the garden of daggers around them, "Now you try."

Plucking up a silver flower, Kella nodded. Her motions were slow at first, considering the style of the motion so it would not be lost in the speed. Unlike most fighters, she made no sound as she executed each dash of the tactic. The pace grew until the woman had torn the air into tatters, making her strange cross. It resembled a holy gesture until the final stab towards her faux opponent's pulpy socket. There was little nobleness in this weapon, unlike the sword. Perhaps it suited her better.