Fencing--Day 1

Sellar pushed open the double doors of the gymnasium and their groan echoed through the emptiness, as if the despair of non-jock students haunted the space. The stale scent of old sweat soaked into the walls, floors and ceiling stung Sellar’s nostrils but yet reminded him of home. No matter where one went in life, a gymnasium was almost the same everywhere: hard wood floors, polished to a gleam, though sometimes he’d come across tile in some other places, marked with paint to mark the field of play for at least a dozen different sports; bleachers compacted against the walls, ready to be unfolded for fans to take a seat and cheer on the home team; basketball nets suspended overhead, waiting to be winched down into place for a game; mats piled off to one side, biding their time until someone would strew them on the floor in preparation for a wrestling match or gymnastics. In another corner, Sellar spied the equipment closet, where he was certain even more pieces of gear were stowed for student and faculty use.

He breathed deep, chest swelling as he took in the smell of home. The man lifted onto the balls of his feet, arms out, body stretched like a bow, eager to release all the pent up energy. Travel did murder to Sellar’s mood, denying him the meditation of good old fashioned exercise. Already, he’d taken a few runs around campus in the early morning, but it wasn’t enough.

Sellar swung the duffle bag slung from his shoulder off and onto the floor. It landed with a soft fwomp, muffling a clatter of metal on metal inside. For the first class, Sellar had opted to dress casually, or at least casually for him, and had left his fencing uniform stuffed in a suitcase. He knew what got kid’s attention, and to be honest, there wasn’t much difference between college-age and high school-age—and it wasn’t that long ago that he’d been in the former. Lifting a hand, Sellar combed his fingers through his obsidian locks before glancing around the gym. “Now… I thought they said I’d have a student assistant for this class, one who knew some stuff.”

January weather was always cold and dreary, the kind of weather that made you want to sleep in and miss the morning classes for no other reason than it was sickeningly depressing to leave the comfort and warmth of the bed. However, some people did not have this luxury, some people had an annoying conscience with a cell phone. And even though James swore he had turned his cell phone OFF to prevent this exact thing from happening right on schedule there was a loud beeping noise indicating that he received a text message.

[xxx - xxx - xxxx : Octane]
Hey! Must be morning where you are. I heard you were taking a fencing class! = D Don't forget everything Julius and Serah taught you before you left.

With a gruff sigh, the dark haired eighteen year old slumped out of bed and fell onto the carpet floor with a *thud*. Groggily getting to his feet, he shuffled over to his bathroom to get ready for class. Some twenty minutes later, he came out in his staple white long-sleeved dress shirt with black slacks and a large black coat with matching gloves. He had put on long socks and shoes as he drifted out of the dorms and to the Physical Education compound.

As he was walking, another loud beeping noise indicated that he had received an e-mail on his phone from someone. This was strange as Octane never really sent e-mails so James wondered if it was the school confirming his position in the Fencing Class.

[xxx - xxx - xxxx : 4$@k3n]
RE: Fencing Review
- Attached Files - [Advanced Tech] [Circle Parry] [Disengage] [Epee] [Foil] [Four Pronated Parries] [Four Supinated Parries] [Sabre]
Review.

Just like that girl to be straight to the point. She didn't say any more than necessary to him but gave him all the information he needed to know. In the attached files were the information that he had learned previously from two fencers he had met. All the basic techniques of Italian and French styles of fencing as well as other less common strategies and tactics used in tournaments.

James skimmed through most of it on his way to class, figuring he would remember most of it but he was quite surprised just how much information that girl had put into this....

Finally arriving at the gym, James tucked his cell phone back into his coat pocket and pushed open the door. There was one person there before him, though whether or not this person was the teacher was hard to say. James simply waved at the unknown person and looked around the gym.

The air here was rather stale and James could feel the heavy weight of fungi and other micro-organisms on the right side of his skin beginning to percolate. Even though it was currently in a suppressed state, thanks to 'Alice's little brother', James still thought of himself as a 'ticking time bomb' especially in microbe-ridden areas like this one that had seemed to fall into disuse. Still, the black haired, blue eyed student needed to repeat to himself that the medication would prevent his 'ability' from getting out of hand.

"Well, if I'm going to be doing physical activity, I best be prepared." James thought silently to himself as he began to internally activate his "Right Hand of the Devil" ability. There was no telling what other students here would be capable of and a boost to his physical attributes would allow him to be on par with the participants in the class who were of the 'non-human' variety....

equipped runes:
red / Warrior rune.
yellow / Wall rune.
blue / Fortune rune.
white / Fire rune.

Insight. It was something he had never lacked in any way, shape or form. There were those who would call his methods harsh, his nature merciless or uncaring. Such was the folly of men. He could feel, he did feel...everything. Despite his displeasure at their ignorance, he could comprehend why they couldn't understand, why they didn't want to understand. To embrace the truth, to learn the way of things, would send most men into madness. Luckily, Distol was not like most men.

Physical fitness, muscularity, athleticism --whichever you called it, he had it. Caislin Hallows, though in some cases had great pedagogic skills, was not exactly the common university which everyone agreed on. Distol arose from his less than comfortable bed earlier than most. His morning routine was strict; condition, a reduced breakfast, more conditioning, and a brisk shower to greet the events of the day.

A thursday -- an odd day to kick off a class, but after the Mathematics tragedy Distol welcomed a new responsibility and not to mention one he was directly involved with. A note had been tucked under his door a few days ago and when opened it read as follows . . .


The remaining portion of the letter addressed the locations and times, but it was Distol who imported a dossier of Sellar Chevalier and educated himself on just who the man was. His learnings: a far cry from the womanly Foras.

He carried his weapon in the style of a 'yoke', wrists lay bent and fingers curled over each of the ends, the curve of the blade landing with an almost awkward precision atop his shoulders. The sword was meant for training-- a wooden Sundang with a slight reconstruction that produced a curve in the twenty inch double-edged saber.

Locating the gym was completed with ease and truthfully required no real sense of direction. It was the large building 'over there', basically. At a distance Distol watched the swaying door which produced a self-satisfied smirk. A shrug, his shoulders in which the imitation wooden blade wested lifted, his left right hand flipping the Sundang upward and then down to his side as he neared the entrance. Left hand outward he pushed the gymnasium's door ajar, glimpsing within before he propelled it off the latch and entered.

Inside his eyes detected two men. The first was Sellar Chevalier who was his elder and acting instructor and the other was clearly a fellow student who had most likely been assigned to the class.

"I don't know how much capacity I should keep for this but I'll keep it stable here for now." The black haired, blue eyed student thought quietly to himself. The class was quickly filling up even though he had been the first to get here. The two others who joined the class just after he arrived both seemed interesting in their own ways.

The other man who joined the class seemed eerily similar to the 'professor' in stature and methodology. "Maybe he's done fencing more than I have." James thought to himself. Though it was possible that the two individuals simply had the same 'body type', 'ability' or at least similar 'fighting styles' which in this case would be fencing. Or at the very least this was what James could infer from their body type and 'presence'.

The woman on the other hand, she was a different kettle of fish altogether. Then again, the pot shouldn't be calling the kettle black. She was a woman who reminded him of those insane little 'casters' and 'shadows' back home. James never did like 'magic'. Parlor tricks sure, but anything more than that was a bit 'too much' for his taste. At least she didn't have the smell of death on her; so James was semi-sure that she wasn't a necromancer of some kind. In any case, those 'powers' wouldn't really be of much use during a fencing bout. And yet, without knowing her abilities, her form of 'magic' could be nearly anything. That was slightly aggravating.

It was only then that James realized what he was doing, it was the same thing he did throughout high school. The same thing that got him involved with those 'street gangs' in the first place. He was analyzing people to determine who was a 'threat' and who was not. He had promised himself he would stop doing that, but in the spirit of self-preservation, old habits die hard and James did not like 'feeling pain' very much. That was probably why he continued to analyze people. Or maybe, just maybe James was bored waiting for class to begin and since he really had nothing else to do, nor did he know either of these people that he would simply analyze students after all....

Before the first student had stepped into the gym, Sellar had turned to watch the door. One by one, his pupils arrived and he gave each a quick wave with a flick of his wrist as he began rummaging through the duffle he’d brought. Among the students, he knew one had to be his aide, but he hadn’t a clue who it was. All he had was the young man’s name: Distol Beoulve. The fact that there were two gentlemen and one lady narrowed it down to a fifty-fifty shot, but Sellar wasn’t in the mood for taking a gamble to start the class, even one as unthreatening as guessing a name.

Sellar approached the trio of students, wrinkles of his suit shifting across his body like dark waves, but before he could ask for their identities, the young lady stepped forward to introduce herself. “Yes, I am,” the older gentleman assured her with a dazzling smile. When his lips parted in the perfect Hollywood Grin, Sellar’s entire face sold the expression with lifted eyebrows and twinkling eyes. “Well, I’m not sure if anyone else is coming—I was told that there might be last minute additions to the class—but according to the clock, it’s about time for us to get started.” Slate-blue eyes flitted up to the caged clock on the wall as he spoke, checking the time one last time before returning to his students.

“As I said, I am Sellar Chevalier. You can call me Mr. Chevalier, or if you’re in a hurry, just Mr. C is fine,” he offered, still smiling. “I’m the instructor for the Fencing Class on campus and if you’re not signed up for it and want to be, see me after class, otherwise, you’re probably in the wrong place.” It was the standard announcement made at the start of any class, just to make sure the students were where they were supposed to be.

“Now, before we start with today’s lesson, what are your two’s names?” he asked, slicing a finger through the air with a pendulous motion to indicate both of the young men.

Lia was known for wanting to learn new things and with the note she was passed under the door before she left her room about the new fencing class, she knew she couldn't pass it up. Though this sort of class was normally out of most angel's minds, it was a new opportunity to help her sister out when she was in need. Ligiatha still slept away and Lia was content to still be alone. Wandering all about the school, it was her first day there and biting at her lower lip, she feared she'd be late for class. Something very much against her normality. Her large feathery wings were folded upon her back and as she ran about the corridors she finally saw the large building outside a window and recognized that as a gym. "There it is."

Out the next nearest door, her long white boot like shoes would click lightly upon the stone pathway. She was wearing the shorts and rather large shirt that Riley had allowed her to borrow and creating a new look with it from ribbon she had found, it didn't look that bad. Not at all matching, but her dress was back in the room and would not work well with this class. Once she found a job, perhaps then she could get herself a new outfit just for Fencing. Her heart told her that she would enjoy it, though her mind, hers, feared the offensive moves it would cause her to use. It wasn't like herself to fight... very much so she normally did the opposite.

Running up to the door, she pushed it hard and with a loud bang the door swung open hitting the wall and started to swing back at her. Seeing this, she jumped to the side using her wings to flutter her safely down again away from it. Her red curly hair floated about her shoulders and as her green eyes looked about the room she noticed that she was late indeed. With a frown she lowered her head and her wings to touching the ground. "I do apologize for being late sir. I had a hard time finding the gym. It's my first day here.. though perhaps looking at the map I was given would've helped me get here much sooner."

With a slow breath, she folded her wings up and stepped forwards towards the rest of the students. Ligiatha would be laughing at the entrance she had just made, but thankfully she was still asleep. Lia wanted to learn this... without her.

During the small interval it took him to decamp from the entranced and actually accomplish a sequence of footfalls toward the two original occupants it seemed two more penetrated and escaped the cold. They either found the course riveting or required. Distol was a mixture of the two.

Enthusiastic digits fondled the equipped and customized Sundang –the gripping hand would release the handle and transition into a reversed grip, which resulted in fortunately seizing the wooden grip yet again simply in a different style. This class marked the first time Distol had extracted any type of sword from his personal armory which of course would require tutoring, but he was quite the expert and a praised prodigy in many aspects and the master rank of Guro even which was moderately important to Distol, and other experts of the art.

Triangular structure of footwork, single yantok, yantok and kalis, disarming, kicking, empty-hand and sparring techniques. All mastered techniques that he was unparalleled in.

Sellar Chevalier was an outlandish man. Distol knew very little about him, but he judged that there was little to actually be acquainted with. From Sellar his eyes rolled to James Ayers who he identified as a man with many uniformities to himself, but he was immediately a skeptic when it came to his know-how in such a field of martial arts and fencing. After the analysis his eyes carried on to MerisaAnne Labelle whom he had briefly stumbled across in the Math class. Seemingly desired by the majority of the men in the campus— he overlooked her and modified his vision to the apologetic female who was not only the final specimen, but also someone he had yet to encounter.

Lia.

She was cute, but Distol had always preferred redheads so it was rather biased. Well-mannered, charismatic and potential interest in such a field? A twinkle wrestled over his serene and boyish features before he took the initiative and returned his eyes to the honorable and irregular instructor with powerful body language. “I am Distol Beoulve, Sir Chevalier, your assistant.” Distol’s hand became sprightly as he spun the saber in a revolution and directed it so it was downward facing. His eyes adjusted to James Ayers who had also been questioned, however, he snuck a concluding stealthy look at Lia before officially settling on James.

With the same soft smile pressed against paling white cheeks, it took only a moment for the head to bow towards the aforementioned Sellar Chevalier. With a whispered tone, right before the others would come to speak, ''Greetings, Rein Chevalier.'' With the words spoken, and others in class taking over if it seemed for even a moment the body would move from it's stalled position. Gathering against the creased walls slipping by the darkened shades of aged walls and torn papers.

It was here the woman could see the entireity of the room that laid before her, the gym mats that laid against the floor and a few spotted along the walls. With the high yet dampened ceiling that seemed to fall in at the breaking points. The group of four that huddled closer together, yes it was true Merisa did seem to have a certain touch with her fellow combantants. But nothing that wasn't deserved, hands stretched upwards as the finger tips tugged against the soft colored gloves tugging them close to the skin before allowing the digits to uncurl and force towards thin air. In this moment not minding the rest of the class, she had picked a spot furthest from the group against the wall for a reason.

The body stretched, knowing all to well that even in the slightest of composure a sudden jolt could tear the muscle. Knowing this the form started to stretch, the body curved from left and right and forced the muscles to lean and press letting the body relax just a bit more before standing straight once again. Holding the position against the wall as she only leaned and watched the small group of others within the classroom.

While one student stretched in preparation for the class, the others spoke up and provided Sellar with either an excuse or introduction. Finishing with Merisa, he gave her a nod to excuse her so she could ready herself for the class. For the briefest of moments, he examined her stretching techniques. Inwardly, he chuckled to himself at the notion of them all already stretching when he had no intention of having them fence, perhaps not even work out just yet.

“Don’t worry about it, not a problem. It’s my first day, too, and it’s not always easy finding ones way their first time on campus,” he clucked, chiding her more for her apparent need to apologize unnecessarily than for her tardiness. As the girl turned and walked away, the instructor studied her attire. It was hardly well suited for the course, which was all the more reason for them to not actually do any of the exercises on the first day. A quick lesson, perhaps a demonstration, and then they’d probably be out before the bell. Sparing a glance at the caged clock on the wall as the second male in the class approached him, Sellar affirmed that it was likely the students would be out early.

Sellar lowered his gaze to Distol who announced himself as the assistant. “And just why do you have that?” asked Sellar as his eyes drifted to the mock weapon twirling in the young man’s grasp. It seemed that before class began in earnest, the teacher needed to have a little discussion with his aide. Stowing his hands the pockets of his wrinkled slacks, Sellar nodded to indicate an area a few steps further from the already dispersed group of students. The soles of Sellar’s shoes clacked quietly across the floor as he walked. Turning, shoulders hunched forward just a little, Sellar waited for Distol to join him.

She hadn't noticed when she was looked upon by another student. Her mind was still set upon the fact that she was late. With her teacher's words, she felt a tad better and relaxed, lifting her wings and folding them tightly to her body. Tucking her red curly hair behind an ear, she looked to the other students and was happy to see she was not the only female in the room. Perhaps she would get to learn by fighting a female at first, and then move to males. Though the thought of fighting still had her uneasy. She wanted to help her sister and learning ways to protect her better were needed. Necessary acts such as learning this would only add to that protection she needed.

Staying where she was, she felt out of place. No one here seemed like they had no idea how to do this. As if they were just reminding themselves of the steps to do it right, though everything about this class was completely different and new to her. No angel she knew knew how to fight like this, nor used weapons. They always used magic, but no spells class had opened. Not that she knew of anyways. Folding her arms and hugging her loose shirt close to her body she waited as it seemed the teacher needed a moment with the assistant.

“And just why do you have that?”

Such an invoking would enkindle Distol and banish his wavering mind that had become lost in thought as it usually had. The boy could simply stare at the ceiling and something would activate an assessment which would then of course lead to a recognition or judgment which eventually forced him to analyze and evaluate –genuinely a very convoluted affair he dreaded. But fortunately the uppity instructor had request his presence to address the matter of the mock-up Sundang that returned to the initial place of rest on his shoulder.

His powerfully built physique was prompt as he own shoes struck the full-pour surface of the gymnasium and following the lead of Sellar Chevalier he was lured form the group. Exhaling; sighing, the student arrived next to the senior and with a lighthearted motion he pushed off of his left heel and adjusted so he was in front of Sellar and facing the fellow students whom they had distanced themselves from.

“This?” Distol questioned as he elevated the ligneous weapon and presented it to Sellar. “It’s a practice sword –more to the point a Sundang. I’m not exactly a professional fencer, but in Eskrima I am a master.” His mood was more good-humored than usual in fact the persisting smile may have offended Sellar as if he was displaying ignorance, but it truly was the opposite. "When this class is finished I intend to refamiliarize with the weapon. Do you find this disagreeable, Mr. Chevalier?" Distol investigated the man with a raised brow as his eyes swayed beyond Sellar and reviewed both MerissaAnne and Lia before their unavoidable return to the taller instructor.

“Yes, well, I can see that,” commented Sellar when his assistant explained that the thing he held was a practice sword. “That’s fairly obvious.” When the student dropped a term that the teacher didn’t know, he stared blankly at Distol. Two and two make four, so he gathered that it was another form of sword-fighting, most likely from the orient by the sound of it, but beyond those two obvious guesses, he hadn’t a clue. Sellar cleared his throat and spoke again, “Well, a little, yes. Fencing is rather… formalized, standardized, I suppose. Broken into three kinds categorized by the weapon one is using, which also determines the ‘target area’. I have no idea what… Eskeema was it?,” Sellar butchered the term,” is exactly. I don’t know if we can really cater to its style in this class.” With a shake of his head, Sellar glanced over at his other pupils.

None of the other three, the two ladies and the one young man still stretching to the point that Sellar thought he might strain something, carried any kind of fake sword. Were there expectations for his class that he was unaware? “We really probably should have met in private in advance,” breathed Sellar, more to himself than to his aide. “Alright, I guess we’ll get things started. Go with the others for the time being,” instructed the fencing master with a flick of his hand towards the trio.

“Everyone, take a seat on the bleachers,” directed Sellar, giving a nod towards the collapsed metal framework. Of course, the final tier of seats extended beyond the wall of stacked metal benches, so that if needed, students could sit during their gym class. Once they had taken their seats, Sellar smiled and looked them over. “So, let’s start with a discussion. Why don’t each of you tell me why you’re taking this course and what you want to get out of it? If you have any experience with fencing or fighting, mention that, too.”

Lia would turn as soon as she heard the instructor ask them to take a seat. Her movements were graceful almost to the point of floating on her toes now that she wasn't in trouble. Her hips swayed and her boots gently tapped the floor until she chose to sit. Hoping no one would sit too close beside her. She was used to space and not having to cramp her wings in too close to her body. Sitting down, lowering her hand to the bench until she was comfortable enough on the hard wooden planks of the bench. Tucking her legs to the side as if she was still wearing her dress like she normally did, a habit hard to stop doing when someone is constantly wearing dresses everywhere she goes, her hands moving to her lap. Her back was rigid as she sat up straight. Not sure who would speak up first, and hearing no voices she took the turn in doing so.
"My name is Lia, and I was glad to take this class to learn how to fight and defend. It interests me by the formality and the movements I've heard that it could contain. I have never fought before nor have I done anything like this, but I am very willing to learn anything you can teach me."
She smiled kindly, feeling again out of place, but she threw it out there and She wasn't going to take it back, nor leave this class. She couldn't possibly tell them the real truth in why she was taking this class. It was her secret, and one she knew she had to keep. Whether or not Ligiatha would force her way into the class was unknown right now. But so far the option of both of them taking this class was there.

For something good.

Gloating was not promoted, but Distol was not in favor to the present degradation this fencer accidentally implied.

“Eskrima is trapping, limb destruction, and weapon or empty hand techniques. Also I’m interested as to what type of fencing you intend on instructing, Master Chevalier? I’ve practiced very little in the art, however, but I’m going to assume you will be teaching the French school?” A meeting would have deducted such relevant questions, but when one who was as educated as Distol involved himself with something he would quickly become the type who required absolute knowledge, but he was currently unsure if he was going to be granted such a thing --a teacher’s assistant, but with very little actual true involvement.

He would let his question diminish when the man instructed the group to journey to the bleachers for a brief introduction and to also learn their purpose for enrollment. Distol was unlike the others. The unknown male student who arrived before him had appeared to be a mute and certainly exhibited no ambition to trot to the bleachers which Distol himself now walked to. The boy’s eyes addressed one of the more elevated benches amongst the bleachers and sat two rows behind the females, his body sprawled out and in avoidance of Lia’s irksome wings. His left hand still clutched the sparring saber whilst the other dug into the pocket of his worn jacket. As he had shifted and declared the bench his property he had listened to their declarations. While Merisa was emitting her statement he had sat up, playfully and inaudibly jabbed the sword into the wooden structure and in a fast-paced method revolved the sword in circles, forcing it to rotate by striking the blunt wood.

“Fencing is not something I particular cherish or desire to learn amongst other styles, however, it is offered and it has always been a personal pursuit of mine to acquire knowledge of anything I can. Also my name is Distol Beoulve.” And with that the inauguration seemed to be at its climax unless the dwindling male student returned to conscious.

“Is there any other?” chuckled the instructor in response to Distol’s question. Sellar’s answer wasn’t one born of ignorance but instead a playful indication, with a hint of mock arrogance, of his preference for the French style. With a wave of his hand, the fencing master dismissed Distol to take a seat before any follow-up questions forming in the young man’s head could reach his lips.

One by one, Sellar listened to the trio answer his question. After the three explanations had been given, Sellar assessed that while none of them had any direct training in fencing, MerisaAnne and Distol both had fighting experience which would probably allow them to pick up the art a bit faster than the third, who had no history with a blade. Merisa’s initial statement of “I love knives” unsettled Sellar, unease seeping into his expression as it sapped the enthusiasm from his smile. He labeled her as ‘potential trouble’ in his mind, before turning to listen to Distol’s disappointing but at least respectful answer.

“Well, since it seems that everyone is giving a second introduction, I’ll give mine again. I am Sellar Chevalier, a recent hire here at Caislin Hallows. I was brought on to be the school’s fencing instructor. I have worked at several prestigious Academies over the years, despite how young I might seem to be. I am one quarter-elven, while it gave me access to a few scholarships to help pay for school, it didn’t give me much else.” Sellar’s smile had faded and the mirthfulness had evaporated from his voice, replaced by a stern seriousness. “Everything I have, I have earned. I do not believe in free rides. If you want something, you will work for it. That way, when you get it, the reward is even sweeter because you know that you have earned it.” His slate-blue eyed gaze drifted across the trio and then he gave a shrug and laugh.

“Anyway! Enough of my boring lecturing and life lessons. Let’s start talking about what we’re here for: Fencing!” Bending at the waist, Sellar reached down to the duffle at his feet. Lithe fingers danced across the zipper as they pulled the tab. His other hand dipped into the opening and retrieved a sword. “This is a fencing weapon. Can anyone tell me what weapon exactly and what region it originated from?” asked the instructor as he stood and presented the object. Holding the weapon by its blunt ‘blade’ just above the bell guard, he twirled it so they could see its every feature. The air hummed across the long, thin blade, and if a student paid close attention, they might note its rectangular cross section which would hint at the answer to the first half of his question. The other answer lay in the design of the grip with its curve contoured to nestle into the wielder’s hand and lack of a crossbar. In truth, he figured it was probably an unfair question to ask given that they all seemed ignorant of the subject, but it was worth a shot and he hoped that it would engage them for a moment.

“To help you out, there are three kinds of fencing weapons: the foil, the epee, and the saber. Each has its own style, techniques, and rules for a bout. As for regions, there are also primarily three choices: French, Italian, and Russian. As a clue, my father was French and I learned to fence from him.” Sellar hoped that with a list of possible answers, they might at least start taking guesses, and in all honesty, the second answer was a ‘gimme’ after he’d given the tidbit about his past.

The other female as she saw her and listened to her introduction almost gave her that same vibe that her sister gave her. Uneasyness. She held back the flench as she joined and sat nearby, Distol taking the seat behind them both and his intro caught her ears as well. If this was the class she was going to be sitting in, she already felt WAY behind. Perhaps fencing wasn't the class she should have entered. It would take her much longer to understand the teachings of this fighting skill than the others who seemed to already know so much more than herself. Biting at her lip she listened to her teacher's words. Rubbing at the side of her arms she wondered his question.

What was the weapon and region it was from? Well his hint seemed quite obvious. French. But the type... that would be tricky. Her eyes gazed upon this weapon he held and swung slowly about. She had no possible idea what kind it was. She wasn't used to being around weapons... unless it were guns, but even then she had no idea what types they were. They were always pointed at her sister trying to kill her rather than someone trying to teach her about them. Licking at her lips slowly she rose her hand. A guess was better than silence.

"A... French Saber?" She stayed seated. Her hand was raised just to grab his attention, though it was probably rude to have talked before he allowed her to. Perhaps she wasn't taking a good start in this class thing. She wasn't used to this. Lia was the type to go to elderly and just allow them to talk, and if she had questions, she would have them describe it as best as they could rememeber so she could picture it and learn from their wisdom. Though Ligiatha tended to make things hard for learning purposes... so them running into this school seemed to be a nice change. Even if it were a hiding place for the two of them.

“Half right,” answered the instructor with a nod and his practically trademarked smile. Sellar extended his index finger and deftly twirled the weapon around his digit. The metal whistled softly as it sliced through the air. Given the shape of the implement, with the narrow blade and heavy bell and handle, it had taken quite a bit of practice and familiarity with the specific weapon to be capable of performing such a seemingly simple feat. As the blade lay horizontal across his finger, he flicked it upward. The weapon continued to rotate in the air, though as the guard and handle sunk, he snatched its grip tightly in his hand.

“That leaves foil and epee—a fifty-fifty shot.” Sellar’s slate blue eyed gaze chased James out of the room as the boy fled to attend to some apparently important call. Little did Sellar know that he’d most likely never see the young man again. The teacher returned his gaze to the three that remained, though his aide had descended into a silent stupor. In short, it seemed only the two girls remained, and one kept drifting into la-la land. With a slight huff, Sellar shook his head, his features drawn in disappointment. “Seems I don’t really have your attention. Guess this isn’t quite interactive enough, hm? What can I do to make this lesson more appealing? I generally like to start off with a little trivia and history on fencing, but I suppose we could forgo that.”

A French foil.

He didn’t say it as that was not his particular style. And yes, he had unintentionally submit himself to dumbness and sat there as the posed question lingered, however, even if it was not one of his characteristics he simply could not tolerate yet another struggling classroom. So Distol stood and stretched, releasing a drawn out groan and engaged the instructor in a stare. “It’s a French foil, Mr. Chevalier. A decendant of the small-sword and identified by the bellguard,” as he spoke he had stepped down the series of bleachers and onto the gymnasium surface, “It’s the most common weapon and recommended choice for novice fencers and it’s Italian counterpart is widely abandoned.” Distol crossed his arms over his chest as his footsteps came to a ceasefire and his eyes were no longer set upon Sellar Chevalier, but instead they browsed the ceiling of the construction the group occupied. Distol’s bottom soon returned to the uncomfortable seat and he glanced towards Sellar with moderate interest.

Fencing was something he actually desired to learn. He knew the elementary fundamentals of the sport –no, the art, but Distol was not satisfied until he was the master of something. He wanted a flawless flèche, he craved to learn the Italian art moreso than the French and he wanted the evasive and parrying skillset for future strife, but such a thing was not normal. When most aspire to learn something they do not immediately require to be the greatest at it, but Distol is not exactly normal. Even in this academy for the damned and unthinkable he was unique.

Watching Distol talk about the sword that their teacher held she bit at her lip and silently wished she had something to take notes with. If they were going to learn all about the swords and not just how to use them, it would have been nice to get some way to help remember the history about them. Lia was always about learning, but this was out of her area of expertise. She was usually helping.. not fighting.

Playing with the ends of her shirt she continued to bite at her lower lip. Unsure of what would come next. She knew they had plenty of time.. well kind of. Ligiatha would sooner or later need to feed and she knew they weren't allowed to eat off of those who lived here. It wouldn't be a great thing to let Ligiatha loose here. She'd have a buffet of people to choose from... animals from the woods nearby.... anything she could catch. But what Lia feared the most was when Ligiatha did get loose... what would happen? Would she come to fencing and cause trouble? Technically they both were going to this class. Only time would tell... and as for now, she remained bored of this history lesson while Lia felt intrigued.

-Exits.-

(Distol is scheduled for death in a different thread.)

“Correct!” rejoiced the instructor when Distol finally spoke up with the correct answer. The historic factoid that followed was an even bigger bonus. Unfortunately, before the teacher could elaborate, the sage exited the gymnasium in a hurry. Sellar quirked an eyebrow before giving a shrug and returned his attention to the two remaining students.

One stayed silent and the other spoke up, offering a question of her own to quiz the teacher on the curriculum. “Well, in modern fencing, the ‘style’ isn’t determined by the ethnicity but by the weapon itself. French, Russian, Italian are simply used to categorize the kinds of grips that exist for fencing weapons, particularly the foil but also the epee. The saber has a separate grip all of its own. The ‘style’ of combat relies on whether the weapon is a foil, epee, or saber. First, I will start you out using French Foils. If you have difficulty with the grip, you may switch over to the Russian or Pistol-grip which is more ergonomic. After this class, there will be upper level courses that teach advanced foil, beginning epee and beginning saber.”

“Unfortunately, it seems that people keep changing their mind about actually taking this course, so the administration might cancel the class given the lack of enrollment.” Under his breath, Sellar added, “which is a real bummer since I came all this way.” Sellar’s shoulder lowered in a disappointed droop. “Well, class dismissed.” With nothing more to say, the instructor turned and began heading to the equipment closet.

[Exits]