9048/Swordy Boys

Swordy Boys
Date of Scene:	12 December 2021
Location:	Athletics Areas, The Triskelion
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Michael Erickson, Dane Whitman

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Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I sing of arms and the man, fated to be an exile..."

    Virgil might have been speaking of Aeneas in the moment, but the words would work just as well with the man who calls himself Michael Erickson - Cal'hatar of Chandilar, betrayer and scion of the Shi'ar Empire, soldier and spy. All these things he is, though to the eyes of those collecting around the edges of mats in the athletic area of the Triskelion, down those halls where people practice hand-to-hand combat and the like; lost in himself, the dark-haired man wields a long knife in ways Earthlings never developed, angry, violent strokes that speak not of defense but butchery. The swift and practical movements of death. No elegant forms, here. Battle practice.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane's mind is given to Tennyson more than Virgil, though the relation is unmistakable. He is no stranger to knives, but his preference is equally unmistakable. With a long rod in hand, his slashes flow with masterful grace as muscles flex and wrist twirls, the weapon a whirlwind of simulated death as his feet carry him through a striding circle to match the pattern of his implement. Hearing the words of the alien man, he matches him with his own preferred poet in practist cadence...

"Strike for the king and live! His knights have heard
That God hath told the king a secret word.
Fall battleaxe and flash brand! Let the king reign!"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Alien, but not to the outside: save for the wing of hair that has been gelled back over his otherwise shaven skull Michael looks like a man in his early thirties, human to the core, save for the tireless way he attacks his foes and the way the long straight blade with its chisel blade whistling through the air faster and more forceful than a man should be able to make happen. In the moment, should someone catch that knife, it would sever arms, not slash them; his face is set as he assaults his invisible opponents, just as Dane does, though their styles are so very different.

    But as for the man himself, he is far away...and does not yet see Dane go through his circles, nor the whirlwind of his rod - there is only memory there before him, dead men brought low long ago, in cities far away on worlds where guns and artillery could not be brought to bear.

Dane Whitman has posed:
The modern knight winds his routine to a close, the faux blade twirling round in a reaping display. Similar to the other, his blade strikes down invisible foes but in groups. The blade scythes through the air as he recites the closing lines to the Coming of the King, the beat of Tennyson's pentameter setting the pace for the movements of his blade.

Dane is no stranger to this mode of combat. He has spent the last year in constant war in a pocket dimension, carving out a pieve of territory where a people now indeed call him King Whitman the Black. He has done what hasn't been common for quite some time in this world, and how is no mystery to anyone who recognizes skill at arms.

Soon enough however, that display winds to a close whereupon he casually returns the rod to its slot on the wall before striding over to fetch a cup of water.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Would there be any grace to his practice, it could be called art - but it is only killing. Eventually, whilst Dane sets to drinking water, Michael finishes his brutal dance, whipping the square-ended knife up and into the sheath worn on his hip. He sweats, the sheen of it glittering on his skin, but he does not betray any tiredness as he crosses the pad toward where the water can be found.

    "Good evening," he says politely to the other man in a deep, quiet baritone. Snagging a cup he fills it from the dispenser, tilting it to his lips as he looks across the training area - now others have filled in, not wanting to get too near either Dane or Michael or both whilst they were busy.