Disconnected Ramblings

Part 8: The Fifth Of a Million Yuris, With Fighting

(I don't know what it is about this one, but it makes me cringe especially. I swear we're getting close to the good stuff, though.)

Here I stand, locked at swordpoint yet again. I'd call this the fourth time this week. All of our sparring sessions end in the same result.

She looks at each of our blades in turn – mine against her throat, hers against mine, each locked perfectly still, a flick of the wrist away from death.

"You're throwing these, aren't you?"

I shake my head – carefully - and laugh. "No, don't even try to lie to me. You are. I know it."

"There's no way I could arrange something like this to keep happening."

"And I would never hold back against you."

We both search each other's eyes, looking for evidence of deceit and finding none. Neither of us can break out of our positions without being released by the other. Just like the last time. And the one before that.

Oh, well. At least, if it's mutual, that means I have her too.

"In what world was that a parry, anyway?" I smirk at her. "There's no excuse for that kind of form."

"I can think of one excuse," she replies, a scowl to my smirk. "You never stopped to defend yourself. I was floundering under your ludicrous onslaught."

"Oh, so you were trying to fight back? I thought you were expecting me to give up out of exhaustion while trying to break through you."

"It almost worked, didn't it?" She looks me over, her face now sprouting a grin of its own. "At least I can speak full sentences without pausing for breath."

"I could've kept going," I lie. "Certainly longer than you," I lie further. "At least I actually hit you before we got to this point."

"What, these?!" She barks a laugh, every part of her body bleeding from at least one cut, only a few of them superficial. "I could've killed you twice if this was the best you could do!"

No, she's badly wounded and it's obvious. If we didn't have a healer close to hand, there would be no room for lighthearted banter right now. She'd be gone by dawn.

"Babe, I can see right through you. Literally, almost."

"Well, you're about to faint on my sword."

"Hardly," I retort. "But you might. You're dripping all over my shoes."

We share a moment like this. I lower my sword. She returns the gesture.

"But I'm still never going to wake up from the nap I'm going to have to take after this. I hate you so much."

"Who, me?" She laughs. "At least you can sleep this one off."

"At least you could actually pay attention to the fight. I was so busy ripping you apart I didn't get to see how you moved."

"Oh, this is new. You, taking notes from me? I know you have a lot to learn, but I thought you were above that."

"Like I have anything to learn from you?!" I try to laugh, but can only wheeze. "No, you're just fun to watch when you're losing."

"Liar. You just like to see me work up a sweat."

"Ah, yes, of course, nothing like the sight and smell of sweat glistening off of your so-close-yet-so-far-from-fair skin."

"Just because you're being sarcastic doesn't make that sound any less like you're flirting with me."

Her reply is devastatingly accurate. I really did mean that, kind of. I mentally stumble. Perhaps that's why I bother to entertain this line of conversation.