Sparring session for Nick

[1stmacleod]

For some reason, Connor never expected the holidays to be this hard. Thanksgiving passed by without much notice, he's never really celebrated that, but Christmas has had him on a private roller coaster. One minute he's blissfully happy to have a home and a woman he's in love with who loves him back, even knowing the truth of what he is, the next minute he's remembering holidays with John and Rachel and even Brenda and he just wants to go bury himself in a dark corner with a bottle of whiskey. All the scotch he's been given as gifts is going at a distressing rate. It's not even New Year's yet, and then it'll be his birthday soon after that, which he just hopes nobody will notice at all...

Just a few days after, and he's pacing, resisting the urge to crack open the next bottle. He needs a distraction. He needs to get out. He needs something to do.

The message that comes on Nick's pinpoint is typical Connor, brief and brusque and to the point.
Want to spar?
There's coordinates attached, and he's got the sense to have picked somewhere it's night. Connor's waiting in a grassy field on a quiet world he ran across in a Nexus guidebook. There's an almost full moon that gives him enough light to see by, and it's not the dead of winter, here, so he can stand around in t-shirt and jeans and sneakers without freezing his ass off. He swings the katana slowly, working his way through kata. There's a couple of rapiers and a western broadsword on the ground nearby... and a bottle of scotch, because his willpower gave out already.

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[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

The best reward he gets is a quiet grunt as Connor pushes his blade away. He's a few inches taller than Nick, but he can't match his strength. Connor keeps on the move, face stony again, grey eyes flat, but he willingly attacks. He's sliding out of the more traditional fencing style again, slipping back to more of the Eastern teaching. When he attacks he's not just fast, he's also as fluid as water, slipping and moving in ways that are hard to anticipate. As into the fight as he is, any touches he makes are still light, but his style is getting a little more vicious.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

Nick's starting to slide into his own old style, using the rapier a little less like a fencing instrument, and more like the other sword he brought. There's more force behind his deflection and attacks, but even then, it's all carefully controlled even as Connor starts to step up his advances. Nick, in his own way, is starting to do the same. While his technique may not be improving, his strength and speed seem to be making up for that, a little.

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

The shift in style doesn't bother Connor, because he's used to fighting such a wide variety of opponents, but after a long exchange of blows, he parries and watches Nick's Rapier whip and flex to tap his shoulder anyway. He circles the blade away from himself and moves swiftly to put a safe distance between them. "You're going to break it if you keep using it that way. Wrong style for the sword." He's forcing himself not to pant, but his voice comes out a little breathless, anyway. He's also sure his arms are going to ache when this is over. Immortal healing doesn't compensate for everything, instead it allows him to push himself past what he should do, and pay for it when it's over.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

Nick watches Connor back up, then takes a step back himself.

"You're right." He frowns slightly, though he seems to be breathing a little more than he was earlier, it's not as much. "Perhaps we should take a break, and begin again with something more suited to us." He gives a salute with his blade, hoping Connor will do the same so they can put their swords down for a moment or two.

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

Connor mimics the salute casually, and manages not to shake doing it. He hasn't had many lessons with Jelani around the holidays, and he hasn't been taking care of himself as well, either. Now it shows and he's cursing himself for it, inwardly.

He takes the lead in going over to the swords, and crouches to put the rapier down. Then he frowns, because he brought the bottle of scotch, and left the bottle of water at home.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

Nick places his sword down as well, and looks over at Connor from his crouch, hearing the sound of his heart. It's been a while since he worked out with an immortal who needed something other than blood, so the thought of water doesn't even cross his mind.

"Is something wrong?"

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

Connor's heart is definitely working a little faster now, but that's to be expected. He's trained too long and hard to give in to hyperventilating or driving his heart rate up unnecessarily. "...Nothing. I just... forgot the damn water." He remembered the scotch, though, and he's annoyed at himself but somehow pinpointing home for water feels more embarrassing. So he opens the bottle and takes a swig of whiskey instead.

"You want me to switch to the European broadsword, or the katana?" His arms won't last as long with the broadsword and he knows it, but it's good to practice with other weapons, anyway.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

"I don't mind waiting a few minutes." Nick offers a friendly smile. He doesn't want this to end early on account of dehydration, or something else preventable. "And it's your choice. Whatever you want to use next, is up to you."

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

For a long minute Connor scowls thoughtfully at the swords. It's not that he's not intelligent, but Connor spends a lot of time deliberating things. Any conversation with him is full of silent pauses. "...I'll be fine. Katana, I guess. My stamina isn't what it used to be." The last part is a reluctant grumble.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

Nick doesn't interrupt him as he looks at the swords, he simply looks up, studying the night sky which is completely unfamiliar to him. When Connor speaks, he nods.

"We can start whenever you're ready." It's not meant as an insult, and Nick sits still, waiting for Connor to make the first move this time to start again. He's content to relax for a moment.

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

"You're not as bad at this as you led me to think." He adds, which is a slightly backhanded compliment, but that seems to diffuse a little of his tension. Connor picks up the katana and strokes the handle, giving it a thorough looking-over. It's well maintained, more consistently than anything else he owns. The original ivory carvings have gotten worn down where his hand flows naturally around the grip.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

"I didn't think it was going to come back to me quite like it has." He smiles, watching Connor check the blade. It shows the care it's been given, and Nick worries a bit about how his own blade will weather the Japanese steel, but there is only one way to find out. He doesn't reach for his sword quite yet, once Connor finishes and moves to start again, he will.

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

Connor shrugs, taking his time finishing the inspection. "Didn't we spend a lot more of our lives living with swords than with guns and... other things?" That's partly his way of trying to gauge Nick's age, but he's already pretty sure the vampire is at least as old as he is. He doesn't know how much older...

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

Nick smiles at Connor's fishing and stretches a little. He picks up his blade, and gives it his own inspection, though its hardly as thorough as Connor's. He's gone over it already, and he's just reviewing techniques in his head while he talks.

"We did." He flips the sword, inspecting the opposite side. "But I put more time into learning the arts once I was immortal. Swords became secondary."

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

It's only half fishing, and half reminisce. Connor gives him a sidelong glance, though. "...The arts? What arts?"

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

"Anything that caught my interest. I've dabbled in quite a bit, but I prefer painting, and playing the piano." Nick smiles and sets the sword in his lap. He's not at all adverse to talking about something unrelated to warfare.

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

Connor gives a noise that is very definitely a snort. "...You were some kind of... noble, weren't you?" He gives Nick a sidelong look, eyes glinting. "You're not English?" That's a little bit of a give-away, if Connor's old enough to take the feud between the English and the Scottish personally. His expression is hard to read, a smirk that's both amused and a little ugly.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

Nick shook his head with a smile at the snort. He could guess what Connor thought of nobles, particularly Englishmen.

"My family was from what's now known as Belgium. Knights, my father and I." Which meant in the grand scheme of things, his family had very little political power at all, but they may still be called nobles.

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

"Ah. Well. As long as you're not a bloody sassenach." He grins, teasing. That's probably a word Nick hasn't heard in a long time, and Connor's brogue is showing. He stands, and rolls his shoulders a little, readying himself for round two.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

"Hardly." Nick stands, smiling and stepping away from their spots of rest, though he stays facing Connor as he backs up into the open area. "Though I did spend a little time in Wales." He salutes Connor with a smirk as he briefly adopts a practiced British accent.

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

Connor paces with him, just out of sword's reach, finding his own position. He rolls his eyes a little, though. "Show off. I never was good at accents..." Which probably explains why his own default is a bizarre European muddle. He's not sure how to fake anything else.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

"I had a good teacher, and a world war to help." He squares off, his voice having returned to normal again since he doesn't want to be obnoxious. Now that he has a sword that feels more natural in his hand, he falls into an older European stance, something more fitting for a man in armor, perhaps. He's loose, and ready to go again.

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

"...Just one?" He hesitates, frowning a little. "Languages are no trouble, it's just the accents..." Connor hasn't really stopped moving, but it's growing more fluid, smoothly controlled. He's pacing and shifting across a small patch of ground, moving like a tiger. That's just warming up.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

"Just the one I spent time in London." Nick watches Connor's pacing closely. He remains defensive for the time, but the predatory motion leaves him uncertain whether he should strike first. He decides to wait for a moment more. "I was encouraged to blend in, as much as possible."

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

"That's the trick, isn't it..." His raspy voice gets softer, and any smile fades away. "Blend in, look normal, but you can't... live like they can, because you can't settle down, or get attached, or else..." He pauses, shakes his head, and suddenly he's dropped low and whirls in, a snakelike movement that, if it works, will smack Nick in the legs with the flat of the blade. One advantage of a single-edged sword is he can turn it if he needs to and keep from cutting him, that way.