He takes a quick breath, feeling the restorative flood of chroma like a warm flush beneath his skin. It's a little like downing a tint, a bloom of energy that has him bouncing on his toes, sword and pistol both held loose and easy in his hands. He feels good, and he gives a quick laugh before darting towards Lune, shoulders low and arms outstretched.
She's floating, a difficult target, and he knows how fast she can move, but he's fast, too, attacking in a swirl of pistol and blade, a rapid-fire series of strikes that ends with him pushing off the ground into the air, sword sweeping down in a hard overhand slice. It's a familiar sequence to anyone who has dueled with him or fought beside him in the past; he knows he's not going to be able to surprise either of them with new skills, not in this first sortie.
But it feels good, his body following the old familiar pathways, like falling into a well-worn dance. He lands lightly on his feet back at Sciel's side, sword lifted and ready in case of a counter-attack, but there's a new light in his eyes and an ease to the line of his shoulders, his back. It's good. This feels good.
Lune grins back, a trill of exhilaration running through her as they set up, primed and ready. Sciel opens up, and Lune can almost feel the sensation of All Set herself even though it isn't applied to her. And then Gustave lunges at her, quick and precise and determined just like always, the familiarity of his moveset gratifying.
Feet hovering inches off the ground, Lune moves into parry; with no physical weapon to fight with, she gathers her chroma to her, the sweeps and slices of Gustave's sword turned away with bare hands buffered by chroma. She knows the finisher to this combo, sliding backward into a quick, smooth dodge as Gustave's sword arcs through the air and comes down, cracking the ground as it hits before he slides back to take his position.
She smiles; nice. Her turn. Why not turn on the heat in the chill?
Lune twists her body, one knee going up; her foot comes down in a hard stomp and the ground beneath her feet melts into something molten and red-hot, a briefest warning of what's to come. Live flames wreathe her arms and hands and trail through the air as she moves seamlessly into a pirouette, rising into the air once more, hands lifting above her head— then pointing as she releases Wildfire. A cloud of fire roars forward, lunging at them both like a wild beast gnashing its teeth.
What a delight to see them both in motion again, an echo of a different time. They’d never been cleaner, tighter and more efficient in combat as they had been in the final weeks of training, when most of their stress was anticipation and the unknown. Combat, then, had been fun, and that surges back now in a way that puts a glee on her face profoundly unsuited to the focus required.
(She promises she’s taking this seriously.)
Rangeson is a good weapon for this, lighter than most of her dual scythes, easier to spin. It’s second nature to twist the weapon into a quick spin, dissipating the flames before they can lick her with anything more than their extreme heat, and because she’s Sciel, she doesn’t stop moving, letting the momentum of the carry her into into a twirl of her own.
It’d be easy to rotate that force right back around and into Lune, but she doesn’t. Instead, she twists the scythe behind her, and with her free hand, she produces two cards and sends them slicing through the air to Lune, one-two.
Lune's flames come curling around his feet and he dances away from them as well as he can, though his clothing gets a little singed and he can smell burning hair. Sciel's motion beside him is fluid and familiar; he can feel the breeze from Rangeson's spinning blades as it dissipates the tongues of fire. He swings his sword arm back, cutting through a last sly flare and finds himself laughing.
Sciel's delight is infectious, but he doesn't think that's all it is; he's having fun, too, playing with his friends. Sparring had become a serious thing, of course, like everything during their training — if they couldn't fight, they wouldn't stand a chance against the Nevrons, Lumina converter or no — but he remembers this, too, the joy of movement, of standing shoulder to shoulder with a friend and testing the strength of another. It hadn't always been so serious. There were times when they all simply tried to out do one another with ridiculous moves, getting more and more outlandish as the duels went on.
And, of course, they learned to work together. Sciel sets a mark, and Gustave acts instantly to try and press the advantage. He twists away from Lune, chroma gathering in golden sparks and crackles over his sword and pistol, tracing along the pictos lines in his arms. The energy builds and builds until it's nearly at its breaking point, and he untwists in a quick, efficient motion, arms flying wide to send a shattering wave of electricity at Lune, the sharp smell of ozone filling the air.
The first marking card slices the air just past Lune as she dodges but the second one clips her, drawing a little tsk as the invisible fingers of the mark latch onto her; that was sloppy of her. But it's hard to feel chagrined for longer than a moment as their bout gains smooth momentum, the three of them moving like cogs in a well-oiled machine. It's satisfying, beautifully familiar.
Lune's laughter rings out, short but earnest, as she dances out of the way of that hot wave of crackling electricity Gustave sends at her, fingers grazing the short lawn beneath her as she slides back into a dodge, feeling the heat of the energy passing over against her skin. This is fun, a long way from those rigorously controlled training sessions of the Academy. They know each other's moves intimately, are able to work together seamlessly as a team; now they're just showing off, an almost playful cast to the whole thing. So far, at least.
Grinning broadly, Lune moves back into formation and into her own offensive. Two can play that game.
They both ought to recognize the opening strains of Thunderfall as Lune opens her palm, electricity crackling in the cup of her hand; that same hand shoots up toward the domed sky, currents wreathing her entire arm before she makes a fist and brings her arm down in an arcing swoop, nearly dropping to one knee as her hand strikes the ground, fingers spread. Lightning... strike! More ozone flavors the air as Lune calls down cracking bolts of white-hot lightning, exploiting the fire stain generated earlier by Wildfire— but who they target and how many times is anyone's guess.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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She's floating, a difficult target, and he knows how fast she can move, but he's fast, too, attacking in a swirl of pistol and blade, a rapid-fire series of strikes that ends with him pushing off the ground into the air, sword sweeping down in a hard overhand slice. It's a familiar sequence to anyone who has dueled with him or fought beside him in the past; he knows he's not going to be able to surprise either of them with new skills, not in this first sortie.
But it feels good, his body following the old familiar pathways, like falling into a well-worn dance. He lands lightly on his feet back at Sciel's side, sword lifted and ready in case of a counter-attack, but there's a new light in his eyes and an ease to the line of his shoulders, his back. It's good. This feels good.
no subject
Feet hovering inches off the ground, Lune moves into parry; with no physical weapon to fight with, she gathers her chroma to her, the sweeps and slices of Gustave's sword turned away with bare hands buffered by chroma. She knows the finisher to this combo, sliding backward into a quick, smooth dodge as Gustave's sword arcs through the air and comes down, cracking the ground as it hits before he slides back to take his position.
She smiles; nice. Her turn. Why not turn on the heat in the chill?
Lune twists her body, one knee going up; her foot comes down in a hard stomp and the ground beneath her feet melts into something molten and red-hot, a briefest warning of what's to come. Live flames wreathe her arms and hands and trail through the air as she moves seamlessly into a pirouette, rising into the air once more, hands lifting above her head— then pointing as she releases Wildfire. A cloud of fire roars forward, lunging at them both like a wild beast gnashing its teeth.
no subject
(She promises she’s taking this seriously.)
Rangeson is a good weapon for this, lighter than most of her dual scythes, easier to spin. It’s second nature to twist the weapon into a quick spin, dissipating the flames before they can lick her with anything more than their extreme heat, and because she’s Sciel, she doesn’t stop moving, letting the momentum of the carry her into into a twirl of her own.
It’d be easy to rotate that force right back around and into Lune, but she doesn’t. Instead, she twists the scythe behind her, and with her free hand, she produces two cards and sends them slicing through the air to Lune, one-two.
She calls out, playful: “Your mark, Gustave!”
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Sciel's delight is infectious, but he doesn't think that's all it is; he's having fun, too, playing with his friends. Sparring had become a serious thing, of course, like everything during their training — if they couldn't fight, they wouldn't stand a chance against the Nevrons, Lumina converter or no — but he remembers this, too, the joy of movement, of standing shoulder to shoulder with a friend and testing the strength of another. It hadn't always been so serious. There were times when they all simply tried to out do one another with ridiculous moves, getting more and more outlandish as the duels went on.
And, of course, they learned to work together. Sciel sets a mark, and Gustave acts instantly to try and press the advantage. He twists away from Lune, chroma gathering in golden sparks and crackles over his sword and pistol, tracing along the pictos lines in his arms. The energy builds and builds until it's nearly at its breaking point, and he untwists in a quick, efficient motion, arms flying wide to send a shattering wave of electricity at Lune, the sharp smell of ozone filling the air.
no subject
Lune's laughter rings out, short but earnest, as she dances out of the way of that hot wave of crackling electricity Gustave sends at her, fingers grazing the short lawn beneath her as she slides back into a dodge, feeling the heat of the energy passing over against her skin. This is fun, a long way from those rigorously controlled training sessions of the Academy. They know each other's moves intimately, are able to work together seamlessly as a team; now they're just showing off, an almost playful cast to the whole thing. So far, at least.
Grinning broadly, Lune moves back into formation and into her own offensive. Two can play that game.
They both ought to recognize the opening strains of Thunderfall as Lune opens her palm, electricity crackling in the cup of her hand; that same hand shoots up toward the domed sky, currents wreathing her entire arm before she makes a fist and brings her arm down in an arcing swoop, nearly dropping to one knee as her hand strikes the ground, fingers spread. Lightning... strike! More ozone flavors the air as Lune calls down cracking bolts of white-hot lightning, exploiting the fire stain generated earlier by Wildfire— but who they target and how many times is anyone's guess.