The stomp of Sinead's protective boots splattered a chunky spray of brown onto her new trainer's chest plate. The sword fighter's confident stances faltered with each humiliating tactic Sinead jabbed at him. First, it was tricking him into thinking she had no clue how to initiate a charge, then it was standing completely still at the climax of a duel to completely throw him off. Now, she resorted to the childish option of splashing him with the muddy contents of what ground they stood on. She had only briefly experienced the actual challenge and the learning aspect of sword training about a century ago until she soon after mastered the skill. Now, it served as one of the many meaningless parts of her routine nobody could bother altering for her.
"You think me a fool!" the faceless swordsman panted.
"No," she responded with sincerity. She did believe him to be talented at his craft; however, she'd been conditioned to the art of dueling almost before she could pray to the holy matron.
"Do not test me ye noble titled brat," he sneered in return.
"You forget yourself, I suggest collecting your mind before we continue any further," she said with poise.
This comment apparently did not have the soothing effect Sinead hoped it would and instead aggravated the man more. Now he made brash charges forward without calculation, and instead, with a potent saturation of rage. His slender sword missed all of Sinead's crevices by a long shot, and eventually, she grew tired of dancing with herself as she repeatedly avoided his stabs.
"C'mon fight me," he rasped with desperation.
"That wouldn't be fair," Sinead stated as a matter of fact.
The man dropped his elven-crafted sword into the stack of hay behind him, his breath uneasy and his deep blue eyes aglow with fury. A vein in his neck pulsed as if he had swallowed too much of his own thought.
"I quit," he started. "No amount of Gold, no amount of platinum for Irene's sake could ever make me teach yer ungrateful arse again. Many have had the honor of witnessing my skill, but you... you have not a respectful bone in yerself!" he licked the sweat off his upper lip as he finished. Sinead winced at his poor hygiene habit.
"There is no need to feel as if my behavior is personally motivated. I admit you are a very skilled swordsman," she proclaimed. "And you, sir... sir..."
"Sir Talaklin. She doesn't even fucking know my name," he muttered to himself.
"Yes, Sir Talaklin! You have endured my endless wrath of bullying, I apologize for this outburst; however, you must come to an understanding that there is only so much to learn, and I do believe I've exceeded this limit, and therefore, you can only pity me for having to put up with the same routine every day."
"Do you hear yerself child? I feel no pity for the overprivileged snobs that think they know Irene better than those who pray to her every waking hour hoping for a better life. I have spent the last five decades working my way up with this skill and this skill only."
"Yes well, one could argue there's less freedom the higher your status is. Never mind that, Sir Takitak, would you do me the honor of attending my second-century birthday ball? It will be the first in my life and most definitely in yours. It will begin the first day of the summer solstice and I will be sure to have a seat set aside for you at no cost." Sinead stressed the last bit of her sentence hoping it would sway the brute.
"Well, that is a bit of short notice considering it's in four days..." he squinted at her."Did I mention, you are more than welcome to bring, say, four other guests? If you don't have enough guests then unfortunately you will have to find a way of getting rid of their dinner platters!"
"Gah, what's the harm in celebration? It's just in time for the summer solstice so if anything it's killing two birds with one stone. Be sure to include my guests in the venue," he caved.
"Of course! And, now that you are no longer my training instructor, I suppose I have two whole hours to kill doing as I please--"
"But yer father..."
"Good sir, you have no idea how much this freedom means to me. Irene be with you."
She drew a cross with her thumbs onto his palm hoping it would sell the image of innocence to him, and with that, she twirled around and skipped into the barracks to eventually change into an unused guardsman garment she would disguise herself with.
