golden_anvil (
golden_anvil) wrote2021-10-13 07:13 pm
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scrub the deck
Lysandra’s voice, at its peak, might be considered more sonorous than anything. She cannot hit particularly high notes. Cannot credibly say she would pass even for a half-rate opera singer. Her talent and skills have always lied within crafts best done with her hands, and so she had let her voice gain a quality better suited to projecting and singing in the comfort of a shower.
Nestled among the many warehouses of the industrial section of Nexus is a smaller building echoing with song and smelling vaguely of cleaning products. Lysandra is bustling between budding stations in her new workspace occupied by looms of varying size, a desk brimming with packages of sewing supplies, and tiered supply boxes all over the place. A corner with a smelter and anvil is already covered in the beginnings of shaped metal pieces. In the middle of it is dear Lysandra with a bucket and broom going around the floor.
She doesn’t look nearly as glamorous as on her initial foray into the Nexus. Elegant skirts had been traded in for plain cotton pants and a shirt, and she’s even fastened an apron over the whole outfit. All her curls were tucked away into a braid that trailed down her back and was further protected with a scarf tied around the very top of her head. Nay, she honestly viewed herself like a scullery maid or a low-ranking sailor upon a ship.
“Óró, sé do bheatha abhaile… Óró, sé do bheatha abhaile…” Grime loosens itself from the floor as she keeps up her scrubbing, even twirling a bit as she goes from one spot to the next. “Óró, sé do bheatha abhaile…”
Whether one recognizes the song itself or another that shares its melody, you might have to be direct in catching her eye and attention. She knows more than a few folk songs and sea shanties, and you may yet hear something familiar in a language you know. She’ll be here all day, all week, and possibly all year depending on her projects.
Nestled among the many warehouses of the industrial section of Nexus is a smaller building echoing with song and smelling vaguely of cleaning products. Lysandra is bustling between budding stations in her new workspace occupied by looms of varying size, a desk brimming with packages of sewing supplies, and tiered supply boxes all over the place. A corner with a smelter and anvil is already covered in the beginnings of shaped metal pieces. In the middle of it is dear Lysandra with a bucket and broom going around the floor.
She doesn’t look nearly as glamorous as on her initial foray into the Nexus. Elegant skirts had been traded in for plain cotton pants and a shirt, and she’s even fastened an apron over the whole outfit. All her curls were tucked away into a braid that trailed down her back and was further protected with a scarf tied around the very top of her head. Nay, she honestly viewed herself like a scullery maid or a low-ranking sailor upon a ship.
“Óró, sé do bheatha abhaile… Óró, sé do bheatha abhaile…” Grime loosens itself from the floor as she keeps up her scrubbing, even twirling a bit as she goes from one spot to the next. “Óró, sé do bheatha abhaile…”
Whether one recognizes the song itself or another that shares its melody, you might have to be direct in catching her eye and attention. She knows more than a few folk songs and sea shanties, and you may yet hear something familiar in a language you know. She’ll be here all day, all week, and possibly all year depending on her projects.
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"I wanted to thank you. For the gauntlets you made earlier. But the kind of thanks I offer isn't just money." Ben smiles a little, with a hint of ferocity. He knows Lysandra is a warrior. So is he. "I wanted to challenge you to a few rounds. Best two out of three. To keep things fair, I won't use any of my more exotic powers. I'll keep the enhanced strength and speed. That'll be all."
"Now, it's not a proper fight if there aren't stakes. If I win, you owe me dinner for the next couple nights. My choice. If you win..." Ben meanders off, then turns to Lysandra. "How about you set the terms for what happens if you win? It's only fair."
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"I like these terms that you have already brought to the table." Indeed, she's already glancing at her smithy and some of the blades she's already started. "Two nights of dinner for you, and if I win...you help me finish cleaning around my workspace for two days."
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Ben licks his lips, though he knows better than to take her skill for granted. It's a little friendly psychological warfare. He wonders if Mantis and Lysandra have met, and if Lysandra has been warned about his tendencies. If he wins, it would be rude not to take advantage of the terms.
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"It's strange when you meet someone for the first time and then someone else who knows them. I met a peculiar and anxious bug who seemed convinced that your stomach contains and astronomical anomaly. You should be careful of your reputation."
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"How do you feel like a little test? I'll admit I'm a little hungry. I want to fight on a satisfied stomach. It's only fair." Ben grins just a little wider. "Mantis clearly told you all about me. What did he say, beyond that little rumor - which I will neither confirm nor deny?"
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"You can't swing that fist worth any kind of damn. Did no one teach you defensive stances?"
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Ben coughs a little. He likes to think if he had tapped into his powers he would have won. But he thinks that's just his brain trying to ease the loss. As things stand, she beat him handily. He should be humiliated, but he's impressed. Thankfully, he doesn't vomit, but he is badly winded, and speaking takes a little effort.
"I surrender. You win."
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Lysandra rises to her feet with a little grunt. She braces herself on her knees and looks down at Ben's prone form. Her braid slips over one shoulder and she winks at Ben. Then she stands fully and walks away to pick her broom back up.
"You can try that again any old day. I might have had you at a real disadvantage with the hand to hand. Your stances were a bit more suited to swordplay."
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He's had much worse injuries. He's impressed with Lysandra, even if he wasn't fighting with the weapon she herself acknowledged he was used to and better with.
"I'm a swordsman, you're right. I wanted to keep the fight fair, so I limited myself. Didn't use my powers." Ben shrugs a little. "I'll have to challenge you to a rematch. But a deal's a deal."
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"Come have a sit. You must be a fair bit bruised after that toss and tumble."