Sparring with others was different from sparring with Sebastian. The first problem was that these people only knew and used one set of sword play rules.

Well, there were three options épée, foil or sabre, but they kept those three strictly separate and everything was governed by so many rules. There were rules about right-of-way and where you could and couldn't hit in order to score a point... and the fact that they used points was in and of itself sort of lame.

Really, it was very tame compared to her previous multi-century tromp through martial styles and technique. That was a complete work out with real sword edges and real wounds.

Which brought up the other down side of sparring with non-healing unicorns. When people got hurt, they went down. No heal up and go again and certainly no healing for her.

Double lame.

She was currently trying the épée style where the rules seemed loosest (they allowed body to body contact so long as she didn't outright slug the opponent). Also, they allowed any target area and the foil she had rented had a pistol grip which made her feel more at home than anything else.

Geared up head-to-toe in her ill fitting rented sparring gear, she followed tradition as she remembered it from Sebastian's memory and greeted her similarly anonymous opponent with a nod and flick of her sword.

Nate had been enjoying a quiet new life, a day removed from a great first date and a few hours removed from cutting ties with a fence who did not understand how to handle "no." Fortunately, he knew well enough not to rest on his laurels; getting too comfortable led to sloppiness. It had been a while since he had taken up a blade and he was wary of getting out of practice; there was no telling when the skill would be necessary again.

There was a place Nate heard about through the few connections he had remaining where he could arrange a duel with another fencer in his favorite conditions: anonymous, masked opponents crossing swords.

It was unfortunate, but with his nomadic lifestyle, Nate lacked his own sparring gear, so he rented a suit. It felt off, but the size was close enough, so he could only give thanks to little victories. The one purchase he made for himself before making any choices was his épée; as antique as it seemed, he felt comfortable with an italian grip. He rested his finger on the ricasso of his sword and returned the polite introduction to his opponent. With formalities out of the way, he took his stance, preparing for her first strike; for better or worse, Nate was more reactive than proactive, leaving him to analyze his counterpart's move. This would be most convenient if the masked swordsman took the offensive, but individual styles would be revealed soon enough.

'Remember to move your feet like pistons,' a frenchman explained to her... well, to Sebastian many years ago. She was trying to remember specifically the rules of this game, but things were hazy. The best she had to mull over was technique.

And from what she could tell as she observed, this opponent's stance was as good as her own.

The longer she waited and observed, the more her arm trembled. Noel had been practicing swordplay and working on her stamina day in and day out. Her arms were sore, but it was a good sore. It just put her at a little less than her full potential.

No point in delaying. She moved in small, measured steps to close the gap between them. Tip first, feet second. She tried not to overreach and tried most of all not to over extend her balance. She started with a simple maneuver that begged for a simple block. She couldn't be bothered to know the name of the thing, the actual coordination of hand, arm, foot and balance was enough.

Thankfully, the opponent made the first move. The little things to remember kicked in like instinctual knowledge; relaxed, weight balanced, foot pointing forward, arm and blade extended. His wiry frame was accompanied by a moderately lengthy wingspan, often giving him the edge with range. His opponent certainly did not match him in either category; he was somewhat short, it would seem.

The attack was a simple one; his opponent was prepared for a defensive move; that, or he was inexperienced. It was safest to assume the former. Nate chose to play into this script, but was cautious of his opponent's next move. He parried the first strike, with enough force to move the attacking épée aside, before moving with a riposte, making his first offensive move, keeping some of his thought on the blade he knocked away, awaiting its next move.

She wanted to try a flick. That was pretty much the whole reason she'd chosen a fencing gym. That and no one else these days outwardly practiced swordplay besides the fencers and the people who played pretend. At least the fencers stuck to proper forms even if they only allowed a narrow range of forms.

He knocked the sword away hard enough that she felt the force move down her sore arm and he had a reply ready for after her testing attack. That required a counter-perry. She remembered a man with a mustache calling a move like this a "sassy retort" or something like that. It wasn't the initial comment or even the reply. It was the sassy closer that confirmed who had the sharper wit.

That's where the flick came in. If she had the proper distance, and could get that counter-counter attack off... Noel jerked her hand to a stop abruptly. The sword caught her opponent's sword and the momentum carried her sword further, bending the metal... had she gotten the distance right? If so the tip would gently tap the hand of her opponent behind the bell guard.

The flick. Many people contested the validity of scoring in such a way and contested who would have right of way with such a maneuver.

It was like a sort of "ping," or a "thwip." Regardless, Nate knew what it meant; his opponent had achieved first contact, which meant Nate conceded the point. He was clever, if not a little cheap, but regardless, the stranger pulled off something unexpected and one-upped him. There was no shame in losing one point to a move like this.

This did not change the fact that it was a clear, catty attack on his pride.

Nate backed away; he was not going to pretend the attack did not connect. Point! Very good." Nate pulled away his mask, shaking his hair back into place now that it had escaped confinement. "Though in the beginnings of épée, the fight was to first blood, and I'm not quite sure a hit like that would have drawn blood," he said slyly, getting his mask ready to put back on. "Just sayin."

He backed off, acknowledged her point and left Noel feeling a little bit better about all this rules stuff than she was before. He pulled his mask off, this was a friendly match so she figured that was fine and followed suit. Noel's brown braid spilled out of her helmet and lay like a snake across her shoulders. Sebastian was good at braiding too.

If he wanted blood, he should try fencing with an actual saber. None of this silly pokey-poking stuff. With more blade there was potential for deeper slashes. She'd seen and received many these last few weeks, though not usually from anything in this fighting style. "The caps do come off these things, you know." Noel did not joke. She was simply asking if that was what he wanted to do. If he wanted to go all out with the safety off, she would gladly follow suit.

He didn't know the beginning of anything until he'd tasted the memories she'd tasted. "Do you know any other style?" Because working through the memories of centuries was more fun than sticking with a single era or teacher. But if that was what he knew, she would have to stick with the rules. Priority and all that. Bleh. As if that actually happened in battle.

Holy hell, she was a woman.

Not that Nate had the delusion that women did not fence or something like that, but as sexist as it may be, his first assumption when he was fencing was admittedly that his opponent was a man. The serpent-like trail of hair falling out of her helmet was certainly a wake-up call that he was thinking far too old-fashioned. Truthfully, with her height, it was stupid that the thought never crossed her mind. His cheeks pinkened slightly as he felt like an idiot.

He had a habit of subconsciously holding back when he knew his opponent was a woman, but then the woman spoke. There was no nonsense in her voice; if he wanted blood, she seemed more than willing to play along. If he was not careful with a girl like this, things could end very poorly for him. "The typical styles you get taught dealing with rich people, but if you've got something else in mind, I'm more than willing to learn on the fly." The fact that she was a woman did not change his nicked hand and his bruised honor.

She rolled her neck until it gave a satisfying crack. "If you don't mind, I'm more used to something less structured."

Noel flicked her blade in something more reminiscent of Kendo rather than fencing. It didn't have the same effect one handed. Katana had longer hilts for a reason. It also didn't help that she had to juggle the helmet also so she tipped her head into the space and tucked her braid back up and away.

"Tip on, contact of any type counts as a hit, anything goes. The priority stuff makes my brain hurt." Talking in the helmet made it steamy in there. Ick. There were far better ways to work up a sweat.

She raised her arm again this time with a less traditional stance. Did he still want to play?

Nate tried not to chuckle given the atmosphere of combativeness, but it was like the woman was either new to fencing or far, far too old. "Less structure certainly makes things simpler. By your tone, I'm guessing we're keeping physical contact allowed?" He returned to his helmet, his eyes not leaving his opponent. His focus was on the match now. (Well, there was the one distracting thought of what his opponent with the pretty face looked like under all that equipment.) (Bad Nate! You have Quin now; behave!)

He resumed his stance, still following most of the guidelines of balance and relaxed knees. This time the first strike would be his. He led off with a strike against her blade, with the intent of following with a lunge. He was ready for her to defend herself and he kept his mind open to any sneaky tricks.

Alright. Helmets on. It was time to play.
 
Noel nodded to his question, though she wasn't entirely clear what he meant. She'd said anything goes. If he wanted to throw a punch at her, that was fine. She didn't intend to leave an invitation for anything like that. If he got one off, that would help her know that she had something left to correct.
 
She brought her front foot in and tapped her toe against the ground. 1, 2, 3, 4. If there had been music, it would have been like the beginning of a formal dance. Instead, it was swords flowing to a fast paced rhythm of steps and swings, blocks and counter swings. 
 
High, low, side, opening? Block. Noel was not the fastest, though she was trying more for speed now than she usually did. Her natural talent lent itself more to accuracy which worked brilliantly for defense and was a lot less helpful for offense.
 
Speed, strength, move those feet, maintain balance. Hit, hit, hit, hit, hit, hit, hit. After a while it wasn't so much about thinking, it was about the rhythm. 

They were both very conscious of one another's reach, so their blades were meeting often, keeping the beat of the fight. With their footwork in sync, it was more like a dance than a battle. Rather, it was the one dance Nate did not feel like a fool taking part in.

The fight was getting nowhere as they both kept their distance. He decided to take a chance; the worst that could happen was it would fail and he would get hit. Instead of meeting a sharp rap against her blade, he stepped in closer, attempting to bind the blade closer to the guard. His hope was now to get the first strike in quickly before she could break out of the bind first.

The disruption in the rhythm was jarring and almost made her overbalance. She had been counting on her counterweight to be there.

He was there. He just showed up late to the party. That meant their bodies were a lot closer than either of them were used to. Despite her threat of anything goes, this was a friendly match. She didn't really want to take out an ankle or a knee joint as would be her typical response.

Her hesitation cost her. She was hit! Well, she had only one answer for that. Noel threw her fist at his face guard.

Nate could feel the contact between the tip of his blade and the material of her gear. His hit was successful!

This was the short list of positives in his current situation. The negatives were interrelated: the first being the proximity the combatants now shared with one another. If Quin was not planted firmly in his mind, this could have been a moment of opportunity, but at the moment, there was no real silver lining, especially in the face of the second negative: a fist rapidly approaching his face. Face guard and padding aside, this was going to catch him off guard. He had no time to react at this range, and this was going to hurt.

It was a fight-or-flight moment, and Nate's subconscious chose "fight," even if he could not. His shadow erupted from his feet like a wave, pushing the woman back. Unfortunately, as quick as his shadow could be, it fell short. Her fist caught his mask, which hit him above the eye.

There was some distance now, allowing reality to set in. His shadow crept back, but he could not explain it away. "Wasn't expecting a left cross," he joked, accompanied by a weak laugh. He was not even sure if it was a cross, or even her left hand. The moment was a blur in hindsight. He felt a bruise where his face and mask collided, but he chose not to take the face guard off; now was not the time to give her a better look at the face of the shadowmancer.

She got tossed back by a tidal wave of... ink? Shadow? Soul sucking amoebas? It didn't matter. One minute she was punching him in the face, the next moment she was surfing on solid ground in order to get her balance back from whatever had shoved her back.

Noel tossed her sword away with clear frustration in her body language. "Is everyone's mutation more useful than mine?" She scrabbled with her helmet until it came off. She needed the air.

"What was that?" Noel huffed and the arm that held her helmet trembled. She was too tired for this.