Dreadlords Shooters Shoot

[Colt Pirian]

It was fifteen till midnight, and Colt was bundled in a coat at the old chapel. He could see his breath as winter had come to the Academy. Around him were a small assortment of candles, creating a not-quite geometric enclosure. Colt himself was playing the guitar. Normally the sound would echo and give him away, but Colt was the Aero Vaquero, master of the winds. A couple meters outside the array of candles the noise of the guitar would be drowned out by the wind. Anyone close enough would hear the same song he opened Natalis with not long ago.

He had cast a wide net, asking different girls that caught his fancy to meet him here at the turn of the day. It would probably be a catastrophic evening if they all showed, but he wasn't bold enough to assume he'd catch the starry eyes of every maiden in the academy. Perhaps back at home he was a looker, a noble of a great house, a powerful aeromancer. But the academy was full of powerful mages, and nobility, which seemed to be the best determiners of magical talent in the kingdom. In fact, Initiate Gilgax had once proposed in class that magical talent was most positively correlated with brassiere sizing. From Colt's understanding Harkenov was chosen as his discipliner to emphatically discourage any further discussion of the topic.

What this all amounted to was that the academy was a rather large pond, and Colt knew it despite also knowing he had the properties of a decently sized fish as well. There were no guarantees in life, but he did know a couple of saying from folks wiser than him. Namely "You miss every shot you don't take" and "Shooter's Shoot".

Now all he had to do was wait.

Blake Norah Avery Lucinda

 

[Blake]

Getting a letter on Heart and Hearth Day wasn't something Blake had ever expected, even less so from Colt Pirian. He was chummy, sure, and a bit of a smooth talker, but the letter sending type? That seemed off-kilter.

Of course, once Blake had unraveled the parchment and given it a read things became a lot more clear. A formal declaration of challenge! Now that made more sense. A bit late at night for a brawl, but the scenery would surely make it memorable.

And so Blake arrived in a timely fashion, dressed in her sparring gear plus a warm, fur-lined overcoat to keep her from freezing in transit, and carrying her tote bag full of all her usual gear and supplies.

"Oooiii!" she hollered as she approached the chapel. The candles were a bit of a dead giveawaythat someone had disturbed the old place, as was the sudden onset of guitar music.

"Guess I'm at the right place," Blake commented, tossing her tote bag down with a grin. "You really like that guitar, huh?:

 

[Avery]

She had already talked herself out of it the moment she could see the Old Chapel up ahead, but Avery did not dare to step into the moonslight.

Avery's first Heart and Hearth Day letter had been from Colt Pirian, an Initiate she had steered clear of as best she could due to the charm and smiles he gave often. Must be a noble thing, to be that charismatic. She thought herself a fool for even being curious, now leaning against the tree she used to hide behind to stare in the opposite direction of the Chapel. Her gaze was looking back to the dorms, where she should be in her room and sleeping soundly instead of being here and awake so close to the witching hour.

What if this was a trick? Was Kael right in saying that many of the boys in their class only wanted to chase her skirts?

Cathaoir frowned, but began to sink down and cross her arms as she debated what to do for a few minutes.

 

[Norah]

Norah sat in her room happily eating the chocolates Kilien Basmarc gave her while she worked on mimicking the hand-written script of Proctor Grodt and Pillock.

 

[Colt Pirian]

"Oooiii!" she hollered as she approached the chapel. The candles were a bit of a dead giveawaythat someone had disturbed the old place, as was the sudden onset of guitar music.

The guitar stopped as Blake spoke. It was still a little earlier than midnight far as Colt could tell, which made sense. Colt was often described as “farmboy strong”, but Blake looked like she was carved out of marble, and people generally didn’t get that way without timeliness. He did expect of anybody to show it would be her, but he wasn’t quite out of the woods yet. Still, it was a promising start.

“It’s a way to keep me humble.” Colt replied, with his tone much lighter than his words. “Academy’s not bad, but this instrument is probably the only thing that would stay the same if I wasn’t here. A little connection to the outside.” Colt continued, his words a bit more direct and honest than he typically used. He looked the girl up and down. She was . . . A bit overdressed? And brought a bag? Of what?

“Can I get your coat?” He asked, heading over to her. Perhaps she was hiding a surprise to be unwrapped?


Elsewhere Colt has no recognition of Avery being outside. She might notice the wind was particularly active tonight around the chapel.

 

[Blake]

Blake shrugged, eyeing the instrument. It probably made for a good pastime, but she'd never been much good at music. The guitar suited Colt quite well, though.
"Hey, I'm not judgin'. Sounds nice, and everyone needs a hobby."

She noticed the Pirian boy size her up, and her grin widened. Looking for openings, no doubt. Colt might've had a keener mind for brawling than she'd initially given him credit for.

"Straight to the point, huh? Alright, I like it," she commended him, pulling her coat off herself and tossing it aside. Beneath was just her usual training gear, and her skin prickled a bit as the cold night air brushed against it. "Y'know the letter was a bit much, but I appreciate the formality."

 

[Colt Pirian]

The woman took off her coat and threw it, revealing Blake 's . . . normal self? He supposed she wasn't really the type of girl to have a closet hidden and full of lace, but he was a bit disappointed. Colt himself took off his jacket and hat, laying them off to the side before beginning to grab at the buttons on his shirt.

"Really? You mean you'd have been good if I just asked you?" Colt said, loosening buttons as he spoke. "Here I thought you might want a little massaging into the idea. I'm sorry I didn't ask you sooner." Colt continued down the shirt and looked over at Blake somewhat expectantly.

 

[Blake]

Throwing an arm across her chest, Blake began stretching, looking rather relaxed.

"I thought it was pretty well known that I'm always good for a a quick throwdown. Don't have to get fancy about it," she said nonchalantly before switching which arm she was stretching.

Then she noticed Colt unbuttoning.
"Uh...don't you think you might get a little cold?"

Not that it was particularly strange to take one's shirt off before a brawl. Many of the male initiates did it when they were forced to participate in hand-to-hand sparring, and she'd seen it many times. The view was pretty nice, usually. But, that was during the day, and usually during the warmer seasons at that.

 

[Colt Pirian]

Colt noticed the woman was stretching, and then the word ‘cold’ hit the Pirian like a bucket of water. The witching hour had come and gone, and the Pirian had pretty decisively struck out. Blake didn’t read the subtext, or refused to acknowledge it. She had come here for an actual fight. One that Colt had thrown the gauntlet for. Colt trusted his fists generally against common tavern rabble, even some of the other initiates, but against Blake ? Even if it was a misunderstanding, Colt was not without honor. And honor demanded that he’d be quite sore tomorrow, at a minimum. Colt finished unbuttoning the shirt and put it down next to his jacket and hat.

“I know a few ways to stay warm. You’d be welcome to help.” Colt said with a grin before assuming a fighting stance.

“But aren’t we here for a dance?”

 

[Blake]

The double entendre caught Blake off guard, but it earned a laugh out of her.

"Pfft! You're lucky you're cute," she commended him. Not anyone could get away with flirting with Blake, at least without a bruised shoulder or two. Colt was nearly as naturally flirty as Lux, or even Blake herself, though, so there was some degree of forgiveness to be given there.

Plus he was about to have plenty more bruises anyways.

"Sure thing, Tiger," she snapped back as she took up her own stance. "Let's say we keep this magic-free, huh? Don't wanna break this place apart."

 

[Colt Pirian]

Cute.

It wasn’t the most flattering way to describe a man, but neither was it flatter-less either. Tiger was a bit better. A playful smirk hit Colt’s face. Not all was lost.

“Magic-free it is.” Colt replied. If it were any other lady he’d offer her the first swing, but Blake didn’t need it, and would probably be insulted. Colt raised his arms and curled his fingers into a pair of fists, entering a stance Blake would recognize instantly. The normal fighting stance every initiate trained in for hand-to-hand combat, but not anything particularly advanced. He stepped forward with purpose and opened with a quick jab from his right hand. As a southpaw it wasn’t his dominant swing, intended to press her defense. He was a bit taller than Blake with a slight reach advantage, but only slight.

He didn’t expect to keep it long, but he’d press his advantages. If only he could think of a second . . .

 

[Blake]

Recognize the stance she did. A fighter's mind is most active when doing what they do best, and Blake was no different. Options, tactics, counters, all sorts of pathways forward began to tumble through her head.

"Bit of a plain Jane approach," was her first thought, and her first inclination was to grin about it. "But don't underestimate him. He could have something up his sleeve."

Colt did have the better reach, those Pirian genes giving him a nice height and long arms that Blake would have to circumnavigate. When he stepped in, so would she, deflecting the jab with her left palm.

"That felt funny...not much weight behind it."

Blake smiled.

"Ooo, a southpaw. Didn't know you were a lefty, Tiger," she said, pulling back and bouncing on her toes. "Good that you're tryin' to keep me out. Think you can make it last?"

Then forward again, ducking, fists up. She wanted a body blow. If there was one thing she knew about brawling with guys it was that even the middling fighters had a big advantage in overall strength. Blake had conditioned herself well, but her nimbleness was her biggest edge.

 

[Colt Pirian]

The jab was batted away by the girl’s left hand. Colt recovered quickly returning to stance as his opponent pressed forward. Colt shuffled to his right and a half step back, keeping distance but not taking a full backpedal. He further enforced the space with a pair of jabs. The first, his right, would come at about the same speed as his fist punch. The second from his dominant hand would come much quicker, aiming to hit her torso as he deflected his first blow. Not the most complex play, but Colt didn’t want to overplay his hand or overextend his capability. Colt had learned more than once with a lass that fumbling an ‘advanced’ technique half mastered was a sure way to embarrassment.

 

[Blake]

More straight jabs! What was he playing at?

In came the right again, that same light blow that tested Blake's defense. She rolled, slipping the shot. One more step forward. Here came the left now, and had she not felt the weight of the first punch when she'd deflected it, she wouldn't have been ready for the strength and speed behind this one.

Her arms went up, and rather than hitting her chest, Colt would hit her forearms with a thud. It hurt, but it was nothing she wasn't used to.

A third step, quicker, and she'd use the momentum she gained for a right hook aimed at his kidney.