Crimson Dawn (part 3)

The Redmond Barrens were rarely quiet, even in the dead of night. The streets were usually just as lively after sundown as they were during the day, echoing with the sounds of life on the edge. More than just the usual hustle of day to day traffic, there was so much more that could be heard.

The roar of engines, the blare of music, raucous arguments, the distant wail of sirens, honking horns and, more often than anyone from Seattle's better districts would be comfortable with, the sounds of gunfire.

In among the cacophony that was Redmond, there was one rather odd noise. The irregular but at the same time almost rhythmic sound of wood striking wood, punctuated by cries and shouts. This odd sequence was coming from the roof of a run-down apartment block, one seemingly otherwise no different from the numerous others of its kind around it.

The source of the noise were a pair of figures, a man and a woman, both sporting the lithe and sleek forms of the Elven Metatype. They were dueling, using practice swords to practice their art, neither holding back as they fought. Their blows were deliberate and focused, ones that would be lethal save for their choice of weapon.

However, the execution of those actions was so very different between the pair of them. The man had a certain economy of motion, each stroke or parry very deliberate and measured for maximum impact or effect. Conversely, the woman was far less restrained, lashing out in a frenzy of motion, striking as fast and often as she could. On the surface, the man's patience and practice seemed to be winning out, allowing him to evade or block the woman's attacks while striking more 'killing' blows of his own. But at the same time, the woman seemed to have no lack of drive, and each time seemed to be inching the man further back, slowly turning the battle onto her terms.

-----

Shabby workout clothes, perfect for
working out on a shabby roof

"Again!" Crimson shouted, her voice more enthusiastic than anyone who had 'died' as many times as she had so far tonight had any rights to be.

With a sigh, Slicer picked up his practice sword and once again faced off with his sparring partner. As always, she made the first move, a vicious, lunging blow filled with power and energy, one that he was hard-pressed to match. Their blades locked for a moment, allowing him a look into her eyes for just a second before they broke contact, each readying their next move. Even then, that was enough for him to see the fire in her eyes, that all-or-nothing, go-for-thre throat instinct that seemed to propel her forwards.

The pair of them were on the roof of his run-down apartment block in the Redmond Barrens, which had been converted into a makeshift target range. It was where the pair of them trained; Slicer doing the best he could to impart his years of knowledge and experience to her.

Twenty years ago, Slicer had been fast. Naturally good reflexes, honed by training and then augmented with then top of the line Cyberware made him superhumanly agile with reactions that were hard to match by anyone, through magic or tech. And even today, between atrophied skills, alcohol-dulled reflexes and Cyberware that was well past its used-by date, he still was capable of his moments when he could capture some of what he had once been.

And even then, there was something he had come to realize about his apprentice (or whatever she was). Even given that she was clearly inexperienced and still learning to fight, as well as the clear disadvantage that she had no Cyberware or other augmentations, Crimson was fast. Her reflexes and reactions were at the very edge of what an unaugmented Metahuman could do. She moved with a gymnast’s grace and mobility, and with hair-trigger reactions that had her go form standing still to a blur of motion in nothing flat.

In short, she was where he had been when he first started. In fact, the more they worked, the more he began to realize that she was something of a natural at this. It wasn’t just the reflexes and agility that had him impressed; it was the level of drive and fury that she displayed, a combination of an urge to excel and a desire to become the best she could be.

No, not an urge. A hunger. That was what he had accepted as they fought. Crimson didn't want this as much as she needed it. For whatever reason, this training and all that came with it was vital to her, and he could only imagine why. There were numerous reasons why someone would chose this lifestyle, but only a few would be as determined to do what she was planning, and pursue it with the same level of naked aggression. His attempts to discern just what it was had been somewhat rebuffed, leaving him with very few answers and maybe even more questions.

Of course, that only made him want to find out more. And maybe that was as much of a part of why he put up with her barging into his life and making demands of him, dragging him out of bed when he tried to retreat back into it and making him come up to the roof to teach her how to wave a sword or shoot a gun or whatever else. She gave him something, which was more then he'd had for longer then he cared to think about. Her motivation, whatever it was, had become his.

Oh sure, a cynic could point out that she was actually pretty hot in a crazy way while also being young enough to be his daughter (something that he regularly hoped he didn't have) as being his main interest in her. He'd have replied by saying that it's hard to feel that way about someone who's primary form of communication seemed to be angry shouts and who's preferred method of address was to make shrill demands. If there was any physical attraction, then her personality killed it dead.

A fact made even clearer by the sudden, sharp pain in his side as her training sword hit home. For a moment, Slicer stood there, shocked by what had just happened. For the first time since he'd started sword practice with her, Crimson had 'killed' him. And he couldn't even claim that he was drunk as an excuse.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Not that she gave him an option.

"Again!"

-----

As she pressed forward with her latest assault on Slicer’s defense, Crimson’s mood could only be described as elated. In all their training, she had never once ‘killed’ Slicer in a practice duel. She had come painfully close on several occasions, but only ever that. Oft times it had been her own fault; aggression and eagerness fuelling her desire for victory and letting it over-ride her sense, causing her to make some mistake that had cost her the match. Those times, Slicer had stopped to lecture her on just what she’d done wrong, each little bit of advice taken with grudging respect.

On other occasions, it had been Slicer who had turned the fight around. Many times he’d back-step or feint, pulling out a sudden reversal or unexpected move that would throw off her offence. On more than one occasion, her seeming victory had been him deliberately letting herself overextend as a way of teaching her a lesson. Those ones had been easier for her to accept on many ways, teaching her never to underestimate an opponent or never to assume a victory.

But now she was even more driven then before, riding high on elation and excitement with the knowledge that for the first time, she’d managed to get the better if her sensei. That in and of itself was enough to cut through the pain from numerous ‘killing’ blows, as well as the fatigue that ten hours at work followed by countless more on the roof had bought on. She’d barely given Slicer a chance to compose himself before she had called for another round, driving at him with a marked aggression fuelled by her hunger for another win.

She surged forward, her blows coming hard and fast as she used that energy and drive to its fullest. Each strike was accompanied by a screech that sounded less human as it did a predatory bird diving on its prey, a reflection of the fervor behind her offence. His response was purely defensive, moving fast enough to stop her strikes, but giving ground each time as they danced around the roof of the apartment building. Crimson was winning and she knew it; and given the way he was backpedalling, Slicer knew it too.

Their practice blades met with another loud retort, the pair of them pushed back a moment. Crimson seemingly recovered faster, coming around for another blow only to be met by a sudden, sharp hit to the ankle that caught her completely by surprise. The next thing she felt was the back of her had hitting the rooftop, pain shooting through her skull, shattering her focus for just an instant.

And in that instant Slicer was over her, blade pointed down at her.

“Your opponent will never fight fair,” He began as he put his weapon away, instead helping her up. “You got way too overconfident there, Crimson. Your whole offence was one giant opening that was screaming at me to exploit it”

“If I was wired you wouldn’t have had the chance,” She shot back, her tone somewhere between defiant and almost petulant. “I’m still only baseline here”

“And if you give an enemy an opening like that, then you won’t live long enough to get yourself wired up,” He replied, heading over to where he kept his water bottle. “Last I saw you still weren’t exactly flush with cash. Otherwise you wouldn’t be working a crappy day job"

She glared at him, her green eyes burning holes into the back of his skull. “I don’t see why we need to do this anyway. Do people really have sword fights on Runs?”

“More often than you’d think,” Slicer replied as he took a swig from his water bottle, then passed a second to her. Crimson opened it and took a small whiff before she sipped. “Trust me, there have been times when kenjitsu was the only thing that kept me alive.”

She looked doubtful but continued. “But-”

“And it’s not just about practicality,” Slicer cut her off. “You said you wanted to be a Street Samurai.”

“Yes,” She admitted

“This is a part of that, and I don’t just mean the physical skills,” He offered. “It’s also about focus and discipline, two things that you don’t exactly have a lot of, and yet will be vital to keeping yourself alive. Any idoiot can pick up a gun, a sword and some ‘ware and call himself a Runner. But if you really want to be somebody, a real Samurai and not just some cheap gun for hire, then you need this. It’s more than just a job, Crimson. It’s a tradition, a code of honour and above all else, a way of life.”

She wanted to say a million things back to him, but all of them stopped short of her mouth. Instead, she offered a small, perfunctory bow. “I am sorry. Forgive me, sensei”

Slicer nodded. “It’s okay. These things take time, and you have a lot to learn. Trust me, I have been where you are now”

“Were you…” Crimson paused a moment to collect her thoughts, and find the best way to say what wasa on her mind without making it sound completely insulting. “How was your training?”

There was an awkward silence, before Slicer gave a small, melancholy chuckle. “Sensei Kabuto was a very patient and forgiving man, and we’ll leave it at that.” He turned back to her. “Now you go and think about what we’ve done tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“It’s well into tomorrow already,” She finished with another bow. Internally, she was already processing what he had said, while at the same time trying not to think of just how awful another day at Vendor Mammoth would be.