houseofcards_rp | [ota] always tests

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[ota] always tests

Supposedly, it was just sparring. That's what the young Seven had said he was interested in, to learn. But Julien could see the gleam in the younger man's eye that suggested it was more than that. More about seeing if the Ace who was now proven to be fallible could fall even further.

At least, in sparring among Spades, it's not unheard-of to beat your opponent black and blue. Bruises to remember the lesson by. More unheard-of is Julien helping the young Seven back to his feet, apparently all courtesy. Though the hissed come back when you're worthy is rather less than courtesy, but for the boy's ears only.

Of course, it was only the first of many such tests and lessons Julien expected he'd be getting in the near future, looking for weakness. And in this particular case he was fairly certain the boy had been put up to it by a supposed friend to be the punching-dummy, as it were.

He shakes his head, flexes his hands, wipes the sweat from his face. Then he raises his eyebrows at the small audience that seems to have gathered in the practice room. "Anyone else? Because I'd really rather go have some tea."

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It was easy to slip in the Castle now, what with all the comings and goings and bustlings and rustlings. Juliette didn't really care about the nuptials; but she did take the opportunity to filch a few pieces of fruit from the trays already stored away in the fridges.

Now, she sat down in the knife-room, watching while she nibbled on a carrot stick. And giggled every time someone's back smacked the floor. So funny, these Spadies. They didn't really know how to move, how to kill, how to open up tummies so that all the insides came out.

Pft, amateurs.

But she did hold out a clean towel, waggling it suggestively.

When she had been slightly younger, Lancelot had sat beside her while she watched Julien sparring. He had leaned his head down close to hers, rested a hand between her shoulder blades and murmured softly what to look for and what to discard. Watch his form; leave out his brutality. Watch his balance; leave out his underhanded cuts.

It's different, watching without that tempering voice in her ear. Different watching him now she's thirteen. Different watching since Zoe pointed her thoughts in the direction other girls this age tended to wander in. Different now he isn't an Ace.

It all boils down, in the end, to her rather jumping to her feet when she's certain he's finished. "Haven't you got one more round in you, Julien?"

It's one of those Days where a person needs something to remind them to breathe. The wedding will be upon them in an Instant, and his own carefully planned day is completely Shot ensuring that that goes off without a hitch.

There are only a discreet handful of Moments to be stolen. Most will, inevitably, go to the kitchen, but a few will be spent doing what's actually Lovely.

Like standing at ready with a glass of water and cup of tea when his former Ace is quite ready to sit down a few heartbeats.

Julien looks at the towel curiously, then at the one that's already slung around his neck from where he wiped his face.

"What, miss Joker, is that for?"

He'd seen Eileen watching, out the corner of his eye, but during the lesson, he had had to leave it behind. Something to consider when he wasn't focusing on making an example of the man in front of him without going so far as to bring down Royal attention yet again.

So it's only now that she speaks up that he turns to look at her fully, gives her a considering look. "I suppose I might have, Eileen. What did you have in mind?"

"Much appreciated, Chives."

The water first, then, and he could follow it with the tea. "Perfect timing, as always."

He'd long ago stopped wondering how the Butler always Knew when he was needed.

"Anything." Odds would throw them to knives, swords, his hand up to take hits from hers. Odds would throw to training rather than actual sparring. That wasn't the point. "While you're still--"

The clench of her jaw is brief. The word is murderous. The word is fired up. The word is actually capable of destruction. The word is genuine and raw and in pain of anger.

"--like this."

"One does try to be on time, sir."

A little Strange, to go with 'sir' rather than 'milord.' Necessary. Establishing Things. Absolutely still spoken with a warmth of silent Devotion.

"Will you be remaining long, sir, or taking your meal?"

He looks at her again, more closely, interested in what wasn't said. And, since she came prepared, he just gestures out to the training mat, drops the towel he'd used a moment ago.

"Show me how you've been practicing, then."

It is entirely possible that he will expect more out of her now that she's older and in this moment when his mind is on how people will try to take advantage of any perceived weakness.

Eileen can't have that.

It's a little strange to hear Sir instead of Milord. The last time he would have been Sir with a Chives would have been well before this Chives was Butler.

And he'll shake his head, slightly. "I imagine I ought get cleaned up first, mm?"

Lest he fall out of favor.

Her hair's getting far too long to be practical. It requires actually tugging down and then bringing up into a tight, proper bun while she follows him, detours briefly toward the rack on the wall.

He's taught her to carry a knife, true, but tanto isn't at all the sort of thing one casually brings along in one's back pocket.

"Kevin's been working me on disarming."

Alive, yes, but nowhere Near being Butler yet. Certainly not Old enough to get anywhere Close to a 'sir' of this rank.

But here they were. Here they were Learning.

"Expect you'd be far more comfortable, sir. Shall you require any assistance?"

"Has he." Julien's tone is carefully neutral. "Then let's see what you have learned, hm?"

And when she approaches, he'll accept the blade. He's always been her teacher, it's true, but now she might begin to be something more than student. If she proves she's worth the time, if she can begin to keep up.

So when they begin to move, it will be almost entirely like he actually intends on slashing her open with the tanto if she doesn't move fast enough.

You're going to get a slight flash of amusement from the former Ace, Chives.

"I believe your intended might frown upon that Chives."

Even if that hadn't been what Declán had meant to imply at all.

There are so many hands molding the way she holds herself in a fight. Lancelot's all over her defensive tendencies, Elisha's in the clarity of her motion, Kevin's in the stability on her feet.

But it's still Julien in her eyes. It will take the world to get him out, even if he never becomes Ace again.

Aikido is meant to help swallow a height disadvantage. She can't quite pull off any side-stepping. That means she's got to catch the slash--below the elbow, at the pinch nerve of the wrist--before tugging the motion around toward disarming. There's almost a misstep, but it's in her footwork rather than her hands, at least.

"...upon the performance of my duties, sir?"

Because things had always been so Civil with Julien. Surely that hadn't been Changed by the shifting down a few ranks.

Declán had Faith.

He'll let her disarm him. It is, after all, a good method.

But the faltered misstep makes her unstable enough that he'll also push her down to the floor.

"Again."

"Perhaps. If they removed you from her presence for too long, maybe."

But he'll shake his head and shake off the momentary humor. "I think I can manage by myself, thank you. But if you would bring the meal up to my room?"

It's not entirely a request.

It's good, to be pushed down. It's good, to have someone who won't hesitate to bring a knife down on her or shove her to the ground.

It also hurts. Hurt is good, right?

Up she goes, tossing the tanto back to him to run through it again. Less hesitation this time. Firmer footfalls. A slightly higher grip on the wrist. Better?

It doesn't need to be a Request. Does, in fact, sit better Not being a request.

"Very good, sir. It shan't be a moment."

Except, of course, that it would be Delayed just enough for the man to comfortably shower, change, become settled into being Suited Up again. Timed Perfectly.

If she asked Julien that, he would agree. Pain is a teacher too. Reminds you what was done wrong. Reminds you to do better.

And they'll keep running through it, until its perfect.

Which is when a rhythm has been established and he changes it, angling his attack differently. Seeing if it puts her off balance again and how she responds. It's really not fair to give her no warning like that.

But someone trying to kill her wouldn't give any warning either. Not if they were worth their salt, anyway.

That, at least, isn't a surprise. She's had good teachers--himself included.

Adjusting for the change isn't the most elegant thing in the world, although she's steady on her feet. The larger problem is likely the quick flash of fear that's visible through her eyes even as her body moves properly to keep her upright and him disarmed.

He'll halt as the blade drops, step back slightly and out of her grasp. "Why," his tone is almost conversational, "were you afraid."

Certain amounts of fear for oneself could be healthy. It was a reminder to take care, to be mindful.

Too much, though, unhandled, and you shut down.

She looked at the towel, back at Julien, back at the towel, then back to Julien. And scoffed.

"It's clean. Better than dirty, right?"

"And you think I need another one?"

What he needed was a shower. And that tea.

Being cordial about the favor has not occurred to him.

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[ota] always tests

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