golden_anvil | scrub the deck

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.

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Lysandra has a visitor. Ben finds himself whistling the tune she's singing, though he doesn't know the words. He admires the workmanship, then it's time for business.

"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."

Her head whips around quickly hearing his voice. She ends the chorus as he approaches and settles into a smile between the praise and the proposal.

"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."

A hand is offered to seal the bargain. "I think we have ourselves a deal. Dinner for me if I win, I help you around the smithy. I've been in the mood to try a little Greek dining, and I'm feeling a little thin."

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.

She grabs his hand and gives it a solid shake and a squeeze. Of course Ben Solo would want to make a wager involving food. After taking her hand back, she leans on her broom and smiles at him.

"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."

Ben smiles right back. He knew he liked Lysandra for a reason, and he smiles when she confirms that Mantis has told her about him.

"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?"

"You're a bad guest and need to actually bring over some food to replace all you take from his kitchen." She stands up straight and hefts the broom up in one hand before swinging it in an arc around her body. The business end of the broom ends up pointed at Ben as she shifts to a defensive stance. "Didn't anyone teach you manners? The least you can do is bring over some alcohol or a kind of food he likes to eat. My kin would eat you alive."

There's a wicked smile. That's the kind of thing Ben likes to hear, and he quickly nods. He may be trying to goad her into giving him a better fight, though he won't admit that. "If you win, let's sweeten the bargain. I'll start going to his place on a full stomach, or at least food to offer in trade." Fuller, at least. He chuckles a little, but the look in his eyes is fierce. "I'm taken, so don't get me wrong, but I like the way you talk."

Is the bait obvious? Absolutely. Does she care? Absolutely not. Ben needs to be punched and she's got two hands poised to do so. One eye twitches just slightly at that smile. "Welcoming Hestia and wise Athena, deliver my blows to this disgrace of a house guest." She smiles at Ben, but it's the same cheeky kind of grin he's giving her. "I hope they can deliver to you the kind of beatings you so richly deserve. You will learn manners if I have to send you to within an inch of your life."

"Good. You want to punish me, do you? Give me what I deserve. Show me what you can do - I deserve it!" Ben throws his head back and laughs, darting back when he sees her move into position. He's trying to reform, but there's a kind of fun in playing the heel, even just pretending. And it seems to be getting the result he wants. "We'll have to see what happens. Go ahead. Show me your best."

"You should have been a wrestler." That's all the warning Ben is going to get before Lyandra swings hard at him with the broom. No matter how he dodges or blocks it, she will get a stronger measure of his skills as a warrior. Her aim is towards the side of one leg, but she's already preparing her next move.

Ben is nimble - he dodges the broom when she goes at him, but it's a closer call than he would have liked. He lands on all fours for a moment to avoid the blow - then it's on his feet again. Even with a warning ahead of time from the Force, it almost hit him, and he's displeased with that. He watches her closely, waiting to time his own strike.

It's a good dodge, she will give him that. Her gaze follows him as he goes from crouched to standing. He has the skill, but there's a certain lack of grace to it. The broom stays between them as Lysandra starts walking in a circle around the man, only to jab out quickly with her aim towards his lower back.

Ben darts back from the broom, but again it's more narrow than he would have liked. He scowls a little as he lashes out himself with a closed fist. This is a vulnerable point for him, but he's already figured he won't win by circling and dodging. He has to strike back sooner or later, and he decides to take the chance.

What a stance! He clearly has little close quarters training if he's exposing so much of one flank. Lysandra turns into a wide step and drops the broom, kicking it aside as her back connects to his body. If she's fast enough, she can grab his arm and his side and give him a good turn over her shoulder.

Ben's great flaw as a fighter is that he has a tendency to let his temper and impulsive nature get the better of him, especially when he's excited and enjoying a fight. And he's enjoying this one. He's too caught up in his own move to notice her grab. So Ben, to his own embarrassment, finds himself flipped.

He can give up on whatever plans he had to get up quickly. Lyandra does an old school, but usually devastating tactic of leaping quickly over his prone form and sitting hard on his lower stomach. Even if he doesn't vomit from the pressure on his intestines, he'll be knocked clean out of air. She laughs at him from her new throne and shakes her head.

"You can't swing that fist worth any kind of damn. Did no one teach you defensive stances?"

A wheeze. "Yes - as a matter of fact. But I wasn't thinking clearly."

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."

"That's a good dog. You've learned not to get too ahead of yourself."

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."

Ben coughs again and pulls himself to his feet. His pride is hurt worse than anything else.

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."

She's seen all types and worked with all kinds. Everyone carries themselves just a little bit differently when they have a particular weapon that they enjoy the most. She smiles at Ben and draws a couple of chairs up and away from the wall nearby.

"Come have a sit. You must be a fair bit bruised after that toss and tumble."

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scrub the deck

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