Jack Puts Me Through My Paces [open post]

[summerdude]

"Señor, you really should practice more," Jack says, as Magnus rearranges his mental notes and sighs.

(Anyone else might think Magnus is just lying back on a bench on the grounds, staring at the sky, lost in thought. And technically, he is. But he's working hard!!! He's trying to sort out everyone he's encountered so far!!!)

"You're right," Magnus groans. Being in a weird Mansion with no way out, no established Battle Practice, and no pressing quests to go on is not an excuse to let his limited fighting skills fall by the wayside. He hauls himself upright and shoves his (still largely blank) notebook into his backpack.

Twenty minutes later, he's secured a practice sword from some random closet or another in the Mansion. It's dull steel, not sentient, and heavy in his hands.

"Perfect," Jack decides, so Magnus tramps back out to the spacious lawn, one sword in each hand. Checking to make sure no one is directly in harm's way, he releases Jack and brings the dull training sword up, ready to parry whatever attack Jack decides to throw at him.

Comments

[timebethine]

"Clearly no match for an einherji," Laertes admits readily. "But little pleases me so well as crossing blades with an able foe."

[summerdude]

Magnus is uncomfortable with the compliment -- he's pretty sure it was mostly luck -- but he swallows the discomfort in favor of a smile. "I don't have a lot of practice just fighting other people for fun," he says. At least, not before the Mansion. "Also, usually my opponents are wielding, like, battle-axes or chunks of masonry or really sharp sickles or -- you get the picture. Not swords. So this was great."

[timebethine]

"Fencing is nothing like battle," Laertes agrees. "I would make a poor soldier indeed; I have no training in surviving when my life is at stake."

[summerdude]

Survival isn't the primary interest of most einherjar -- dying gloriously is -- but Magnus appreciates the sentiment nonetheless. "That's good," he says, and means it^*.


*Magnus, who still has not made the connection about where Laertes comes from, has interpreted this to mean that Laertes has never had his life at stake.

[timebethine]

"Wouldst like a sparring partner?" Laertes asks. "I practice often with Sagramore, but soon we'll grow used to each other's cuts and thrusts; I'd welcome another blade to cross with mine."<sup>1

1</sup> That would be a reasonable assumption, given what Laertes has said before about having watched his agemates go off to war--he himself has never been imperiled.

[summerdude]

"That would be awesome," Magnus enthuses. "Literally anytime." Something occurs to him, and he adds, "Actually, I had a bit of a fun little bout with that boyfriend of yours earlier today. If both of you ever wanted to do a three-way, I'd be down for that, too."

He pauses as his words catch up to him. Face flaming, he corrects, "Like, a melee fight. Free-for-all type deal. Not, uh, the other thing. I'm very committed to Alex."

[timebethine]

Laertes makes a face like his stomach just tried to crawl up into his mouth. "Yes, a melee," he manages. "Let me not scold thee about the other thing; I am no fit model to instruct thee."

[summerdude]

"Yeah, sure, great, uh-huh, yep, mhmm, absolutely," Magnus says. His face is absolutely still burning. "Sounds good! It's a date! I mean... gods."

[timebethine]

"Magnus," says Laertes, holding in laughter by a single fraying thread, "stop, ere thy mouth o'errun thy brain."

[summerdude]

Magnus gives in to his most base and primal urge: he groans, loud and long, resting his forehead in his free hand a teensy bit dramatically. What is wrong with me??? he thinks. "I've been training too hard," he says, adapting a self-deprecating tone. "It's making me hemorrhage brain cells."

[timebethine]

"Then rest, and recover thyself--and I'll train at this style of blade, that next time I might match thee."

[summerdude]

"Yeah, man, dude, sure, sounds great," Magnus says, as he flops bodily down onto the ground. To 'rest.' A thought is dislodged with the impact, and he clings to it to recover from his utter embarrassment: "Oh, hey, you do a different style, right? Can you teach me that, too? Someday?"

Imagine Valhalla if they heard him ask to learn more about fighting. The thanes would be so confused at a son of Frey fitting in like that!

[timebethine]

"I will," Laertes promises. "Only say the word, and my rapier is at thy disposal." He makes a last, flourishing salute, then turns to head back to the boat shed.