Jun 23 02:52:24 105 PA
From Chronicles
The current game time is: Tue Jun 23 02:52:24 105 PA.
The morning is early, the sun just dragging itself upward from the horizon. With the time of day and the dusting of cool rain that falls, few are lingering in the park. Desmond is one of those few who braves the dreary elements and cool temperature to make use of this place. Though what he does keeps him warm despite the moisture that has come to moisten his garb and cling to his fur. The big male has chosen an open spot of ground within the park and is currently moving through a series of well practiced katas. His features drawn into a tight, intense sort of focus as he moves steadily through combinations of hand strikes, kicks, movements and shifts of position with the occasional parry tossed in. But it is easy to see that this style that he practices is heavy on offense, light on defense. The strikes forceful and destructive, ho doubt complimented in real use by the obvious power that flows through him with each mock blow.
The park is somewhere that Monique will likely forever consider to be an interesting place. It has it's own unique mosaic which shifts and changes with nearly every passing moment simply dependent upon the people who are within it. Quietly, the small Inuit woman wanders into the park, the great white bear walking peacefully at her side. A few steps within, the great beast stops and lifts his head, scenting the air, his ears turning to catch what noises are within his range. He rumbles softly, then lowers his head to nose softly at Monique's shoulder, and then the two of them continue further into the park. The rain doesn't seem to be causing either of them a bother or harm, and it would almost seem that they ignore it... or look past it. As fate happens to bring them nearer to the practicing male, the small woman's curiosity gets the better of her. They come close enough to watch, but hopefully not close enough to intrude. And once that close, they stop, and Monique comes to stand in front of the bear, leaning a little against one of his front legs as she watches, both intrigued and curious.
Watching Desmond would reveal much about him as he steps through the practiced motions. Not just the strength in him, but the speed. Though deliberate in speech and thoughtful of mind, the large feline's hands snap out with speed and accuracy that may rival those of a normal juicer. A pause at the end of one routine, the big male snapping in a turn, one balled fist swung in a hard backhand, His other lifting to strike forward, as if to capitalize on that powerful stroke. The two observers off to the side unseen as he goes into another series of smooth movements. The aggression of his learned combat style remaining in a series of quick blows with closed and open fist and even the rake of claws, ivory slivers flashing from their retracted state in moves that might drag across the face or swipe across one's belly. Blows to disable or cripple. The theme of the rest of the series of movements remaining the same. As he moves through them steadily, effortlessly after having practiced them so often in the past.
Whether or not Monique notices all there which lies revealed in the movements that Desmond makes in his practice, it's difficult to say. The strength in him becomes obvious, though, and that finds it's way to being noted somewhere within her catalogue of limited information about this particular person. Quickness and grace are also duly noted and will likely bear a certain amount of future consideration, for she often spends quiet moments in thought about things that she's seen people do or heard them say. Watching, it is more than once that she blinks a little in surprise drawn from the movements, and the great white bear standing next to her is keenly observant as well. There are, it would seem, perhaps better ways of protecting his petite shaman, and if he can learn something of the movements of another, then all the better.
At the tail end of this most recent pattern of attack and defense, Desmond seems to come to an end as he snaps his hand forward and grasps at the air, as if snatching some part of a foe. Turning in a snap, arm yanking and thrusting to the ground as if to throw down this phantom enemy. Des descending with the foe, his other arm rising even as he dips into position, thrusting the heel of his palm down into the ground hard, though a faint, moist thud is all he gets, save forming a shallow divot in the ground itself. No doubt the move would be far more impressive with someone there to intercept it, but alas, it is only practice. A low, hollow growl rolls in his throat amid that final strike, slowly drifting away as he lingers in that posture for two heartbeats. Finally noticing that someone is there via one sense or the other. As he looks up, his tight, focused expression relaxes some. More so when he sights who it is. "Monique," he speaks in greeting, slowly rising from his kneel. "I did not note your nearness, I'm sorry." Politeness in his deep voice, contrasting with the prior display, though he seems to show no upset or embarrassment for having been watched.
Though the small woman is assuredly not versed or trained in the deadly arts which Desmond so neatly finishes practicing, she does recognize the severity of a movement which would deliver a killing blow. It's almost... awe-striking, really. Perhaps especially for her, since she's never truly considered having to kill someone or that it could possibly ever need to be done. She tends to think on saving lives as opposed to the possible necessity of taking one. Blinking a little and no longer leaning against the great white bear's leg, she still stands next to that pillar of furry whiteness, one of her arms wrapped about it in a stance of familiarity. Startled, a little, by the growl which had come from Desmond. Though as her presence is noted and he rises to his feet, she blushes a little, ducking her chin as her dark-eyed gaze yet lingers upon him, and then she lightly shakes her head. "There is no need for 'sorry's. We were quiet when we came upon you... we did not wish to intrude, and... well... we both wanted to watch," she admits, more than a little shyly, though her voice is both polite and respectful as well. Tornaq whuffs softly, expelling a breath of air in a manner that could be considered agreement to what his petite companion has voiced.
Desmond nods his head once, though her response seems to give him pause for a moment, His delay before responding just a bit longer than his normal thoughtful pause. "I Wonder what you think of what you did see." A returned curiosity, though again he seems to show no upset or concern for what he might hear. Making no assumptions as he approaches. There seems nothing nearby that he claims, only that which he wears, lightly sodden clothes and light arms. But he does not approach too close. Mindful of the guardian bear, perhaps understanding, in a manner of speaking, his charge. The distance a silent respect paid.
Even with what she has seen, the small Inuit shaman is not afraid of the approach made, or that he draws nearer to them both. "I was intrigued by it... and made curious. We do not really fight in such a way, where I am from," Monique says softly, her tone thoughtful in nature. A smile tugs at the corners of her lips, though for the time being, she remains where she is, standing comfortably within the shadow of the great white bear at her side. She recognizes the distance left out of respect, though mostly because it is something that she has seen and experienced before. She takes a moment to look up at the bear, then to bring her dark-eyed gaze back to Desmond, a smile tugging at her lips. "We were both curious of it... it was graceful, yet deadly," she says softly, reflecting on what she had seen.
"I have no doubt in this. I mean no disrespect in this, but you do not seem the sort to know combat as one such as myself does." Indeed, Desmond's tone betrays no negative note of emotion and his neutral expression remains just that. "The art I was taught is deadly. Those who trained me did so with the skills to take life." Such a thing stated as the simple fact that it is. "But it is I now who decides on the application of my skill. Who shall feel it and who shall not. In a way, I hope, perhaps, to look to a path other than that of the blade and claw, but in a world such as this, I would not be fool enough to let my talents grow soft and dull." His eyes shift to the great bear. "Just as you too have your protections." Added as he dips his head toward the bear.
The small Inuit shaman tilts her head slightly to one side, and then she chuckles softly before lightly shaking her head, her dark eyes showing a sparkle within the. "I take no disrespect in what you say. It is the truth, after all. I know little of combat, especially in the ways that you practice it," she says softly, her tone thoughtful in nature. Rubbing her hand a little over Tornaq's leg, she straightens, still watching Desmond. "It seems quite deadly in nature... as though it is meant to take a life. I could not imagine doing so, myself," Monique admits, blushing a little and ducking her chin a touch sheepishly. Tornaq gives a nod of respect to Desmond, his gaze remaining steady upon the other, and he rumbles softly. "We all have protections. And as you say, in a world such as this, such things are needed, or so I have heard. I have, thankfully, not had to face such a choice... yet. Though I think it may only be a matter of time. If my opinion is of any matter, I think that your skills are yet sharp and... keen?" she says thoughtfully, puzzling over the last word as it's one still not entirely familiar to her. She's learning, albeit slowly.
Desmond moves a little closer, mingling the move with a dip to one knee. A more comfortable posture that brings the big male more to her level in height and compromises the nearness with a more peaceful posture. "I thank you for your assessment. I often labor to keep my skills honed." A pause as he considers her for a few moments before offering, "Ther eis little doubt that you will eventually be faced with such a moment. To kill or not. It is something you should be sure of before you must make such a choice. To choose at the moment.. a hesitation could be a dangerous thing."
Monique doesn't seem bothered by the fact that he moves closer, watching him as he does so, and a smile touches at the corners of her lips as he makes himself more comfortable. "You are welcome for it... it is but a reflection of what I have seen," she says softly, her tone thoughtful in nature. Even though she has learned more words, the accent left over from her native tongue yet lingers in her voice. "Never have I been faced with such a choice... to take a life, or not. I do not know what I would choose... or if I could choose with the wisdom needed for such a choice. It seems... a difficult choice to be faced with," Monique says softly, sounding and appearing conflicted by the notion. Tornaq has a much simpler view on things -- if it's something that is attacking his shaman and will hurt her, possibly kill her, then he will kill it first. Savage, but effective.
Desmond considers for a few moments before he offers, "In one way, the choice is a simple one. If one has aim to harm or kill you, to meet them in kind is natural. In all is that instinct to preserve the self. So too those who you might think" He considers again for a few moments before he adds, "I could offer my own thoughts on this, but I will admit my own are more.. pragmatic than most. There is a simplicity in ending a life, though I prefer to take a certain care in such things. It is true, there is a wisdom required in some. But most instances where this becomes an issue, the choice is simple and clear."
The small Inuit woman tilts her head slightly to one side as she listens attentively to the wisdom which is shared with her, and she gives a small nod. "It seems fair, almost... that if someone is aiming to cause harm of some sort to you, to deal it back to them. But death is... very final," she says softly, her brow furrowing a little as she tries to choose teh words that she means. It isn't easy for her, sometimes. Monique takes a moment then, to rub her fingers over Tornaq's leg again, looking up at the great white bear for a moment before her attention turns again to Desmond. "Tornaq shares the opinion that the choice is often simple and clear, when it is presented... though he is benefitted somewhat by having had to kill before," she says quite softly, perhaps taking a moment to consider a part of their shared past. "I think it is more complicated when one has never faced such a choice before," she muses.
"That may be so, but I have never had that issue," Desmond admits. "Battle and death I have known for a long time. It comes.. very easy to me, when the moment is before me. And the finality is what makes it a clear choice at times. Those who would prove themselves troublesome over time.. who might respond to a defeat with further hostility. Death ushers them beyond the ability to do mischief to others. It is something I was taught early. A slain enemy is no longer a threat to you or those you guard." A pause for thought, which brings about a deep intake and release of breath. He rises slowly then and offers, "Perhaps it is best that you do not face such a thing. That you have one to do so in your stead. In the now, I have paid tasks to prepare for. I shall bid you farewell for now, until such time as we meet once more. Be well, Monique." A pause and a shift of his eyes towards the bear. "Tornaq." And after a lingering few moments for parting words, he will begin making his way out.
Athelstane is walking along one of the trails, cane in hand and seemingly rather pleased with himself if the smile on his features is any indication. He seems rather curious with his surroundings, nodding affably and tipping his hat towards those he passes. He sticks on the path, not venturing into the grass and seems simply to be sightseeing, though he looks perhaps with a geniune enough interest that could reveal he has not been here often, if at all, before.
"I suppose it is something that many have to face. To be ready for it, I think I will have to consider it further, to see which I might choose," the small shaman says, her tone thoughtful in nature. She is conflicted with the possibility of having to make such a choice, and that conflict is disturbing to her. "I will give your words great thought... they hold both wisdom and experience within them, and I could learn from both," Monique says softly, her tone remaining thoughtful in nature. She watches him rise, and a smile turns at the corners of her lips. "Perhaps it is better, but even so... there may come a time when he may not be able to be there. Peace guard you, Desmond," she says softly, in farewell. Tornaq, the great white bear at her side, bows his head in a nod of farewell, giving a rumble as well. He respects Desmond, watching the other take his leave.Tags:desmond, monique
