Quentin Boone
05-21-14, 07:55 PM
This was a 'battle' done in the Silver Pub between Philomel and myself. I know it isn't strictly a battle, but it has enough back-and-forth between the characters it should qualify. (That and we wanted it as a battle, so tough :P) Notes:
*All minor bunnying has been approved.
* Occurs as a side-quest of Inability To Forgive (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?27282-Inability-to-Forgive)
(17:27:35) Quentin_Boone: Quentin walked into the snow-covered clearing he'd spent the night in a week ago. He continued his lecture-like rambling to the much smaller woman at his side, "Y'gotta be able t'fight a' a distance as well as close up, Phi. If we're t'go aft'r these brigands, ya need to ge' be'er with yer knife. See tha' tree wi' the square kno'?" The bearded brawler nodded towards an oak before he snapped into action.
His right arm moved swiftly and smoothly as one whistle became two became three. A second later, three thuds broke the quiet of the winter-covered forest and the throwing knives vibrated against the tree, trapped within its bark less than an inch apart. "Try to hit it as well."
He hoped to show the girl how to be more effective in combat. While he had every intention of helping her, Quentin also wanted to make sure he had someone covering his back. He wanted to die here even less than he wanted to in Salvar. "Let's see 'ow good y'are."
(17:35:20) Philomel: She looked at the tall human, her eyes narrowing slightly. Much of her life she had spent on her own accord, surviving by her own will and skill. It was not necessary, in her mind, to subject herself to "lessons," and by a human no less. Humans were, after all, the most common beings in Althanas, and she was a citizen of one of the rarest.
In a way the purest, the faun thought to her. Purest of heart, purest of mind. Excepting yours truly of course.
But then she had not been raised the faun community. Indeed, she had lived far away from the likes of Paradisia as possible - in the brothels of Radasanth, the mixed race slum-pit that it could be. Therefore her eyes rolled, yet she kept her temper from directing any of her actions. As she reached into her fabric belt to pull out the throwing knife she had kept there for a number of years, she spoke openly and abusively.
"You could at least talk properly."
Her arm flicked back, then forth, in a direct line. The steel knife spun out of her hand - and sailed straight past its mark. It dug into the earth a measure away, carving an earthworm in two.
(17:49:33) Quentin_Boone: The bearded brawler ignored the shorter woman's remarks and instead watched her throw the knife. As it flew and sped past the tree, he let out a little chuckle. "Was worth a try, lass."
He walked up to the tree and pulled his own three knives out of the knot with a sharp tug on each and deftly placed them back in the holster on his left forearm. He then walked past the tree and picked up Philomel's knife and walked back to her. "A nice weapon ya 'ave 'ere. 'll be even be'er once ya learn t'use i'."
He threw the knife into the air and caught it by the hilt a couple of times. "Good balance."
He scraped the blade against an itch on his cheek before throwing it. Like his own knives, the blade landed with a thunk into the tree. "Do y'know wha' yer doin' wrong?"
(17:56:44) Philomel: Philomel watched with a disgruntled expression.
"I am throwing it. It is being thrown. If the knife does not want to respond to my request then it can be melted down and turned into another life this."
Her hand moved to cup the pommel of her keris dagger. The start of the smoothly waving blade gleamed at her belt, made of the same material of the other, now deadly secured into a tree. For a moment she looked as if she would succumb to despair, then she straightened. Infuriated slightly with herself, and the fact that this man was bettering her, her determination simply gained strength.
Lifting her chin, she twisted and spoke to him directly.
"The force, the angle? My footwork? What is it?"
(18:06:45) Quentin_Boone: Quentin looked back at the peculiar woman. He'd never seen one of her kind before, and while he was curious, he kept to the matter at hand. It was better to not get too attached: The job was only to ensure safe passage through Salvar. He walked back across the snow, his footsteps crunching snow and foliage alike, and pulled Philomel's knife from the tree. He knew that not immediately answering her question was likely to annoy her, but he wanted to make sure she could throw in any situation.
The white outline of the girl highlighted her figure and despite the horns and hoofed feet (correct me on this if I'm wrong) Quentin had to admit she was attractive. Far too pretty to die in what was probably a fruitless mission of revenge. The bearded brawler didn't want to get involved emotionally, but he also could not let a woman die. "None'a those things, actually."
He took hold of the knife in the full-handed grip Philomel had used. "Y'eld yer knife like this." He made sure she was paying attention before continuing.
"An' ya wanna 'old it like this." He shifted his grip on the hilt so only his thumb and first two fingers gripped it. The fingertip grip was a loose one, and he let a smile cross his scarred, bearded face.
"If ya grip i' wi' all yer fingers, knife's gonna 'roll' as ya release the throw."
(18:16:02) Philomel: The next breath of hers came out short, and clearly irritated. She did not care to disguise it. If the human chose to react, then that was his problem. Clicking her tongue behind her teeth and couple of times she reached over and plucked her knife from his hand. The other hand, that had been resting on the hilt of her keris dagger, joined it in the air also. Her fingers of both hands held the blade together for a moment, before flipped it into her right.
Softly, delicately, quickly, she switched her hold to the one he had demonstrated. As she tried to remember his name she surveryed her thumb and various finger positions. Quirky ... Quarrelsome ... Quen-something.
The angle of her head shifted slightly to the side as she lifted the knife to throw it. She smiled subtly as once more, she flung back, then threw. This time the weapon landed into the tree - off its mark, yet in the wood. Satisfactory enough.
(00:28:01) Quentin_Boone: Quentin watched the peculiar girl with amusement barely showing on his face. Something told him she wasn't happy with the idea of being taught something, but he kept his mouth shut while she threw the knife for a second time. She was a quick learner, that much was certain. Quentin ruffled her hair as he spoke his praise, "Well done! Yer a quick learner, lass."
He'd observed her throw, and now it was her turn to watch. "Tek a look a' me throw. What do I do extra?"
He drew the iron knife and clasped it in his fingers before throwing, deliberately so Philomel could see what he did. He whipped the blade through the air and left his hand where it was upon release of the knife, his first two fingers pointing straight at the knot. Once more, the knife hit home.
(00:38:58) Philomel: She let out an extraordinary sigh.
"I have no idea. You prance?!" she threw her hand up to high heaven in an action not unlike dismissing a servant.
Her feet, indeed, his stance and movements seemed to her suddenly like some sort of rancy jig. She considered, for a moment, showing her own version of what a "dance" was, but that might be a little inappropriate. After all, the plan was for the two of them to work together, not immediately have intercourse. Although the potential was still there. Just not necessarily immediately.
Vehemently she marched up to the middle target and heaved her knife from the tree. Taking the hilt of the other embedded there, she loosened it also - and then proceeded the action with the rest. Returning back to the Quen-boy once more she let them fall, clattering, near his feet.
"You follow it through," Philomel said, in a perfectly bored tone.
Then she turned and looked straight at him, a peculiarly arched eyebrow on her face.
(00:45:16) Quentin_Boone: Quentin returned the arched eyebrow as the much shorter girl looked up at him. Once more the outline he saw, from his red-light clear glass eye, of the girl did a great job of highlighting her figure. The bearded brawler winked with his artificial eye before feigning irritation, "I'm tryin' t'help ya, if ya keep throwin' tantrums, ya can sod this lesson an' forge' 'bout any bloody 'elp from me an'all!"
He let it sink in to the girl. He wasn't annoyed per se, but if she continued acting like a child, he would seriously reconsider his offer of help; Boone simply did not have the time or patience to deal with her like this for much longer. He nodded to her, "Right. Extend yer first two fingers as ya release, point 'em at 'target. Pick up yer knife an' try again."
(00:54:31) Philomel: "I am not throwing a 'tantrum,'" she responded abruptly as soon as he spoke. "You barely know, me, human. You were the one who insisted on teaching me to throw knives as well as apparently you can."
With a firm flick of her wrist she sent her chestnut and violet plait over her shoulder, down to rest against her spine. A smooth tongue ran across kissable lips, yet she knew this man would not be amused. He was a common pub crawler, that was the suggestion by his gruff appearance and lack of ability to speak. That was her conclusion, in any case, and for now this conclusion was suiting her.
Thus, she acted towards him as she might towards any drunkard.
She turned her back slightly upon him, treating him with indifference. Bending down she snatched up a simple knife, not her own. Remaining in a low-down crouched position, she arched her arm again. Her fingers snapped, her wrist flickered. The knife flew.
And it thudded into the beautifully opposite tree that she aimed at.
(01:06:06) Quentin_Boone: Quentin's eyes widened as he found his patience start to be tested. The woman clearly didn't care, which meant he didn't either. He grabbed Philomel by the shoulder and spun her round to face him with a thick, heavy hand. He placed the other on her opposite shoulder and with the slender woman's slim shoulders in his grasp he raised his voice slightly. "Ya think I wanna risk me life fer ya, eh? Ya think yer owed this 'elp?! Well, y'aint owed nothin', lass! If ya can't be arsed enough t'learn 'ow t'cover me back, then ya can fuck off."
He picked up his own throwing knife and sheathed it as he turned away1. He had no time for ungrateful whores when there were people in Radasanth that both needed and wanted his help and guidance. "I'm goin' south, deal wi' yer friend's killer yaself. I'll be sure t'send flowers t'yer boss."
His march was hampered somewhat by his limp, and the bearded brawler's lurching gait hinted at the pain he'd long since become accustomed to.
(01:14:41) Philomel: "I can cover your back well enough, Quentin, with a sword well enough," she shouted at his back. "It is your insistence in me learning the skills you apparently require."
Leaning down she grabbed a knife from the pile, folded her fingers around it. Throwing her anger into her movements, into her body, she followed what he had precisely done not a few minutes previous. Her wristbones cracked slightly together as she threw the knife, and it whistled through the air. It thumped, dead in the centre of the tree, where she had first aimed, and vibrated there for a while.
Her eyes blinked, then her brow furrowed.
"Right, okay that was a little better."
(01:20:14) Quentin_Boone: Quentin stopped when he heard the familiar thud of a blade hitting a tree's knotted bark. "See? Y'can do i'."
He walked back to the girl and offered one of his own knives, hilt first, to her. "Do i' again."
(01:25:41) Philomel: The ferocity in her soul was reflected in her grey eyes, but she doubt he saw, or cared. In perfect control of her actions she took the knife from his hand, held it in thumb and forefingers, positioned it upwards, prepared - all the while looking straight at him.
"I may be a whore," she said, "Yet I am not a child. Not anymore."
Philomel spoke the final phrase with a slight despondancy to it, a thickness. Her throat felt dry suddenly, harsh, heavy. Roughly she turned away, her passive elegance beginning to slip away. She flung the knife and it fell deep into the wood, around three inches below the previous.
(01:29:13) Quentin_Boone: "I di'nt say ya were a girl." The tall brawler softened his tone a little. "Did ya know 'er long?"
He walked once more across the clearing to pull both knives from the tree. As he walked back, he watched the girl closely, something was bothering her, and he wanted to know what.
(01:36:48) Philomel: Her throat tightened a little. Her wet tongue ran across her dry lips. Her hand clenched slightly around the favoured pommel of her keris dagger.
"Not very, no," the assassin-whore replied, honestly and openly in a quieter voice. "But it was the situation that bothered me the most. I was simply visiting, as it were. There are not many of my kind around."
Passionately her chest rose and fell with the unsatisfied sigh.
"What happened to her was not right. Perhaps I am blind to logic, but I know the taste of revenge, and to me it is the sweetest dish the chef of fate has to offer."
She took up her throwing dagger, then firmly stowed it away.
(01:37:10) Philomel: "We should leave here before it grows dark."
(01:40:04) Quentin_Boone: Quentin only nodded, he knew well the pain of death; he had seen it many times as a kid in war-torn Salvar. "Aye, ya've made progress. We'll 'ave a' i' again t'morra."
As the two headed back to the brothel in silence, the bearded brawler put a comforting arm around the peculiar whore's shoulders.
If logs need to be checked, the battle took place across 21st and 22nd May 2014. Timestamps are in GMT+1.
*All minor bunnying has been approved.
* Occurs as a side-quest of Inability To Forgive (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?27282-Inability-to-Forgive)
(17:27:35) Quentin_Boone: Quentin walked into the snow-covered clearing he'd spent the night in a week ago. He continued his lecture-like rambling to the much smaller woman at his side, "Y'gotta be able t'fight a' a distance as well as close up, Phi. If we're t'go aft'r these brigands, ya need to ge' be'er with yer knife. See tha' tree wi' the square kno'?" The bearded brawler nodded towards an oak before he snapped into action.
His right arm moved swiftly and smoothly as one whistle became two became three. A second later, three thuds broke the quiet of the winter-covered forest and the throwing knives vibrated against the tree, trapped within its bark less than an inch apart. "Try to hit it as well."
He hoped to show the girl how to be more effective in combat. While he had every intention of helping her, Quentin also wanted to make sure he had someone covering his back. He wanted to die here even less than he wanted to in Salvar. "Let's see 'ow good y'are."
(17:35:20) Philomel: She looked at the tall human, her eyes narrowing slightly. Much of her life she had spent on her own accord, surviving by her own will and skill. It was not necessary, in her mind, to subject herself to "lessons," and by a human no less. Humans were, after all, the most common beings in Althanas, and she was a citizen of one of the rarest.
In a way the purest, the faun thought to her. Purest of heart, purest of mind. Excepting yours truly of course.
But then she had not been raised the faun community. Indeed, she had lived far away from the likes of Paradisia as possible - in the brothels of Radasanth, the mixed race slum-pit that it could be. Therefore her eyes rolled, yet she kept her temper from directing any of her actions. As she reached into her fabric belt to pull out the throwing knife she had kept there for a number of years, she spoke openly and abusively.
"You could at least talk properly."
Her arm flicked back, then forth, in a direct line. The steel knife spun out of her hand - and sailed straight past its mark. It dug into the earth a measure away, carving an earthworm in two.
(17:49:33) Quentin_Boone: The bearded brawler ignored the shorter woman's remarks and instead watched her throw the knife. As it flew and sped past the tree, he let out a little chuckle. "Was worth a try, lass."
He walked up to the tree and pulled his own three knives out of the knot with a sharp tug on each and deftly placed them back in the holster on his left forearm. He then walked past the tree and picked up Philomel's knife and walked back to her. "A nice weapon ya 'ave 'ere. 'll be even be'er once ya learn t'use i'."
He threw the knife into the air and caught it by the hilt a couple of times. "Good balance."
He scraped the blade against an itch on his cheek before throwing it. Like his own knives, the blade landed with a thunk into the tree. "Do y'know wha' yer doin' wrong?"
(17:56:44) Philomel: Philomel watched with a disgruntled expression.
"I am throwing it. It is being thrown. If the knife does not want to respond to my request then it can be melted down and turned into another life this."
Her hand moved to cup the pommel of her keris dagger. The start of the smoothly waving blade gleamed at her belt, made of the same material of the other, now deadly secured into a tree. For a moment she looked as if she would succumb to despair, then she straightened. Infuriated slightly with herself, and the fact that this man was bettering her, her determination simply gained strength.
Lifting her chin, she twisted and spoke to him directly.
"The force, the angle? My footwork? What is it?"
(18:06:45) Quentin_Boone: Quentin looked back at the peculiar woman. He'd never seen one of her kind before, and while he was curious, he kept to the matter at hand. It was better to not get too attached: The job was only to ensure safe passage through Salvar. He walked back across the snow, his footsteps crunching snow and foliage alike, and pulled Philomel's knife from the tree. He knew that not immediately answering her question was likely to annoy her, but he wanted to make sure she could throw in any situation.
The white outline of the girl highlighted her figure and despite the horns and hoofed feet (correct me on this if I'm wrong) Quentin had to admit she was attractive. Far too pretty to die in what was probably a fruitless mission of revenge. The bearded brawler didn't want to get involved emotionally, but he also could not let a woman die. "None'a those things, actually."
He took hold of the knife in the full-handed grip Philomel had used. "Y'eld yer knife like this." He made sure she was paying attention before continuing.
"An' ya wanna 'old it like this." He shifted his grip on the hilt so only his thumb and first two fingers gripped it. The fingertip grip was a loose one, and he let a smile cross his scarred, bearded face.
"If ya grip i' wi' all yer fingers, knife's gonna 'roll' as ya release the throw."
(18:16:02) Philomel: The next breath of hers came out short, and clearly irritated. She did not care to disguise it. If the human chose to react, then that was his problem. Clicking her tongue behind her teeth and couple of times she reached over and plucked her knife from his hand. The other hand, that had been resting on the hilt of her keris dagger, joined it in the air also. Her fingers of both hands held the blade together for a moment, before flipped it into her right.
Softly, delicately, quickly, she switched her hold to the one he had demonstrated. As she tried to remember his name she surveryed her thumb and various finger positions. Quirky ... Quarrelsome ... Quen-something.
The angle of her head shifted slightly to the side as she lifted the knife to throw it. She smiled subtly as once more, she flung back, then threw. This time the weapon landed into the tree - off its mark, yet in the wood. Satisfactory enough.
(00:28:01) Quentin_Boone: Quentin watched the peculiar girl with amusement barely showing on his face. Something told him she wasn't happy with the idea of being taught something, but he kept his mouth shut while she threw the knife for a second time. She was a quick learner, that much was certain. Quentin ruffled her hair as he spoke his praise, "Well done! Yer a quick learner, lass."
He'd observed her throw, and now it was her turn to watch. "Tek a look a' me throw. What do I do extra?"
He drew the iron knife and clasped it in his fingers before throwing, deliberately so Philomel could see what he did. He whipped the blade through the air and left his hand where it was upon release of the knife, his first two fingers pointing straight at the knot. Once more, the knife hit home.
(00:38:58) Philomel: She let out an extraordinary sigh.
"I have no idea. You prance?!" she threw her hand up to high heaven in an action not unlike dismissing a servant.
Her feet, indeed, his stance and movements seemed to her suddenly like some sort of rancy jig. She considered, for a moment, showing her own version of what a "dance" was, but that might be a little inappropriate. After all, the plan was for the two of them to work together, not immediately have intercourse. Although the potential was still there. Just not necessarily immediately.
Vehemently she marched up to the middle target and heaved her knife from the tree. Taking the hilt of the other embedded there, she loosened it also - and then proceeded the action with the rest. Returning back to the Quen-boy once more she let them fall, clattering, near his feet.
"You follow it through," Philomel said, in a perfectly bored tone.
Then she turned and looked straight at him, a peculiarly arched eyebrow on her face.
(00:45:16) Quentin_Boone: Quentin returned the arched eyebrow as the much shorter girl looked up at him. Once more the outline he saw, from his red-light clear glass eye, of the girl did a great job of highlighting her figure. The bearded brawler winked with his artificial eye before feigning irritation, "I'm tryin' t'help ya, if ya keep throwin' tantrums, ya can sod this lesson an' forge' 'bout any bloody 'elp from me an'all!"
He let it sink in to the girl. He wasn't annoyed per se, but if she continued acting like a child, he would seriously reconsider his offer of help; Boone simply did not have the time or patience to deal with her like this for much longer. He nodded to her, "Right. Extend yer first two fingers as ya release, point 'em at 'target. Pick up yer knife an' try again."
(00:54:31) Philomel: "I am not throwing a 'tantrum,'" she responded abruptly as soon as he spoke. "You barely know, me, human. You were the one who insisted on teaching me to throw knives as well as apparently you can."
With a firm flick of her wrist she sent her chestnut and violet plait over her shoulder, down to rest against her spine. A smooth tongue ran across kissable lips, yet she knew this man would not be amused. He was a common pub crawler, that was the suggestion by his gruff appearance and lack of ability to speak. That was her conclusion, in any case, and for now this conclusion was suiting her.
Thus, she acted towards him as she might towards any drunkard.
She turned her back slightly upon him, treating him with indifference. Bending down she snatched up a simple knife, not her own. Remaining in a low-down crouched position, she arched her arm again. Her fingers snapped, her wrist flickered. The knife flew.
And it thudded into the beautifully opposite tree that she aimed at.
(01:06:06) Quentin_Boone: Quentin's eyes widened as he found his patience start to be tested. The woman clearly didn't care, which meant he didn't either. He grabbed Philomel by the shoulder and spun her round to face him with a thick, heavy hand. He placed the other on her opposite shoulder and with the slender woman's slim shoulders in his grasp he raised his voice slightly. "Ya think I wanna risk me life fer ya, eh? Ya think yer owed this 'elp?! Well, y'aint owed nothin', lass! If ya can't be arsed enough t'learn 'ow t'cover me back, then ya can fuck off."
He picked up his own throwing knife and sheathed it as he turned away1. He had no time for ungrateful whores when there were people in Radasanth that both needed and wanted his help and guidance. "I'm goin' south, deal wi' yer friend's killer yaself. I'll be sure t'send flowers t'yer boss."
His march was hampered somewhat by his limp, and the bearded brawler's lurching gait hinted at the pain he'd long since become accustomed to.
(01:14:41) Philomel: "I can cover your back well enough, Quentin, with a sword well enough," she shouted at his back. "It is your insistence in me learning the skills you apparently require."
Leaning down she grabbed a knife from the pile, folded her fingers around it. Throwing her anger into her movements, into her body, she followed what he had precisely done not a few minutes previous. Her wristbones cracked slightly together as she threw the knife, and it whistled through the air. It thumped, dead in the centre of the tree, where she had first aimed, and vibrated there for a while.
Her eyes blinked, then her brow furrowed.
"Right, okay that was a little better."
(01:20:14) Quentin_Boone: Quentin stopped when he heard the familiar thud of a blade hitting a tree's knotted bark. "See? Y'can do i'."
He walked back to the girl and offered one of his own knives, hilt first, to her. "Do i' again."
(01:25:41) Philomel: The ferocity in her soul was reflected in her grey eyes, but she doubt he saw, or cared. In perfect control of her actions she took the knife from his hand, held it in thumb and forefingers, positioned it upwards, prepared - all the while looking straight at him.
"I may be a whore," she said, "Yet I am not a child. Not anymore."
Philomel spoke the final phrase with a slight despondancy to it, a thickness. Her throat felt dry suddenly, harsh, heavy. Roughly she turned away, her passive elegance beginning to slip away. She flung the knife and it fell deep into the wood, around three inches below the previous.
(01:29:13) Quentin_Boone: "I di'nt say ya were a girl." The tall brawler softened his tone a little. "Did ya know 'er long?"
He walked once more across the clearing to pull both knives from the tree. As he walked back, he watched the girl closely, something was bothering her, and he wanted to know what.
(01:36:48) Philomel: Her throat tightened a little. Her wet tongue ran across her dry lips. Her hand clenched slightly around the favoured pommel of her keris dagger.
"Not very, no," the assassin-whore replied, honestly and openly in a quieter voice. "But it was the situation that bothered me the most. I was simply visiting, as it were. There are not many of my kind around."
Passionately her chest rose and fell with the unsatisfied sigh.
"What happened to her was not right. Perhaps I am blind to logic, but I know the taste of revenge, and to me it is the sweetest dish the chef of fate has to offer."
She took up her throwing dagger, then firmly stowed it away.
(01:37:10) Philomel: "We should leave here before it grows dark."
(01:40:04) Quentin_Boone: Quentin only nodded, he knew well the pain of death; he had seen it many times as a kid in war-torn Salvar. "Aye, ya've made progress. We'll 'ave a' i' again t'morra."
As the two headed back to the brothel in silence, the bearded brawler put a comforting arm around the peculiar whore's shoulders.
If logs need to be checked, the battle took place across 21st and 22nd May 2014. Timestamps are in GMT+1.