Session 139 - Beach Fighter Six
Previously, Across the Horizon...
The performance of a lifetime has come to a close on a Machanon beach, and the intended audience could not be happier.
The audience-by-happenstance, that being crew members who were not roped into a spirited and ramshackle display of stage fighting, also had very few complaints about the performance. Isara will undoubtedly be laughing about Luca's untimely demise for weeks to come.
The brash and boisterous Liga Kine, the traveling swordsman who rode a wave right up to their proverbial doorstep, he loved it. Every second of it.
And with the good grace of a garrulous guest, he has promised to grant a demonstration of the skill of a Kiran.
A performance of his own, for a cadre of performers.
We join our brave adventurers as the sun sets behind them, waiting for the demonstration to begin...
**
"Do you think this demonstration is also going to involve Orrey making a fool of himself for everyone's enjoyment?" Jasper gives Orrey's shoulder a firm shake as the ship's quartermaster drops onto the towel behind him, the first time Orrey's gotten the traditional actor's greeting from the team dad.
"Likely," Orrey says.
"Honestly, if he intends to display his full skill, everyone here would be made the fool," Luca says, including themself in this.
"I'll probably end up less covered in sand, though," Yves says thoughtfully. He has found shade again, but he is still rather... besmirched. He has also found another cocktail. Wouldn't be a beach without one.
Bast, freshly reminded about sand getting everywhere, has put some distance and a couple of actors between himself and the most likely source of upcoming sand. He sips at some violently festive-looking mix of alcohols brought over by Saray as he observes the preparations.
Apoc pours himself into a beach chair next to Yves. His arm hangs over the armrest, fingers twitching anxiously as he waits for Liga to begin.
Ivy and Holly brandish notebooks and pencils to take as many notes as possible for Lily's inevitable return.
Yves raises his drink to Apoc cheerfully. "Is there a system like this for every weapon?" he asks. "Did Isa just never tell us about the special ranking of spear-fighters? Is there a whole semi-secret ranking of fan-fighters? ...if there's an equivalent for black mages, no one ever told me about it, and I'm almost feeling left out."
Liga strides along the beach with an armload of swords and scabbards. He busies himself in the surf for a few moments.
“How do you have a friendly duel with Thundaga?” Luca inquires.
Yves thinks about this question seriously as he sips his drink. "...rubber boots and very careful targeting?"
"Maybe you should start the League of Magery, with Tournaments of Evocation," Orrey suggests.
"No one really holds a candle to swordsfolk when it comes to being uncomfortably intense about their chosen art," Apoc says. "I've heard that there's a hell of a Dancer competition in Saron every year, but I've never seen it."
Somewhere a safe distance away from here, by preference", Bast chimes in. To Orrey, he raises his drink and adds with a grin: "Don't hurt him too badly, yeah?"
"Oo, yes, competitive parallel attack of inanimate equivalent targets, that'd do it." Yves digs out the little notebook he was using for notes on the play--he was sitting on it, just now--and makes a note of this for future pursuit. He then takes a moment to contemplate people who are even more intense than Isa about their weapon use. That's... intense.
Liga claps his hands together to draw everyone's attention from their conversations and to the beach. "Please hold all comments and questions about the performance until the conclusion! There will not be a scheduled intermission. If you sit in the first two rows, you may get wet!"
(Linnet promptly scoots forward into the second row. Yves rearranges his parasol against potential notebook-dampening splashing making it as far as the fourth row. Orrey shrugs, in the appropriate apparel for endampening already. Isara leans in with a mischievous smirk and whispers something into Luca’s ear that causes them to go wide-eyed and flushed.)
Waves crash on the beach.
Five swords form the corners of a pentagram in the sand.
A katana with a red blade marks the first corner.
A magitek-enhanced tachi with a mechanical bladeguard marks the second corner.
A kodachi with green and yellow lines intertwined for the length of the blade marks the third corner.
A golden longsword with a sunburst motif marks the fourth corner.
A sapphire longsword with the same sunburst motif marks the fifth corner.
Liga Kine kneels in the center of the pentagram with two hands gripping the handle of his naginata.
Waves crash on the beach.
He is not there to meet them.
The spray from the waves causes the air to sparkle, glittering droplets of water lending their wonder and whimsy to the late evening performance.
The water rushes up the beach, the five blades and one spear forming sharp lines in the surf.
He lands in the third corner and draws.
The wind whips along the beach, rustling straw hats and rattling barbecue forks. Undulating lines of windswept beauty ripple through the rushing tide.
Two hands grip the kodachi.
Horizontal.
Vertical.
The tide rushes out with tenfold strength of its approach, meeting the approaching rush with overwhelming force.
The wind bisects the wave down the middle, fifty yards of wet sand visible against ten feet of ocean on either side.
First position.
Draw.
Twin slashes.
A cross of superheated air distorts the split ocean, the wobbling horizon matching the whipping cloak of the Kiran.
Third position.
Draw.
Thrust.
A rush of air no thicker than a blade of grass slices deep into the approaching tide. The flames that follow strip the sand bare of moisture for fifty yards.
Second.
Draw.
Plant.
The tachi crackles with violet lightning, and so too does the ocean.
Two walls of water teeming with potential energy strain against the force keeping them separate.
Fourth position.
Throw.
Fifth position.
Throw.
The crack of the waves swallowing the longswords erases all other sounds.
Sixth position.
Draw.
Liga Kine crouches in between the crackling walls of water.
From inside his cloak, he draws a sixth sword, a nondescript katana bereft of ornamentation or splendor.
He waits.
Waves crash on the beach.
Between the waves of water he dances. Lightning courses through the liquid walls surrounding him, bolts searing from one wall to the other. Twin longswords animated by elemental conflagration spark and slash, a relentless tide of rushdown assault, centered on the cloaked man in the middle who sent them there. He parries decapitating strikes and sidesteps cleaving overheads. He advances beneath furious flurries and eludes crushing blows.
On and on the storm swells until the walls form an arch of rippling water, power flowing as blood to the center overhead.
He slashes with the simple katana for the first time.
The ocean recoils.
Water sprays on all sides as from a meteor’s impact.
He strides to the center of the pentagram.
Twin longswords land back in the fourth and fifth positions.
The sixth sword is nowhere to be seen.
Waves crash on the beach.
Liga Kine has not a drop on him. Luca is the first to explode into applause. There's a long, low whistle of appreciation from Bast, his drink forgotten in his hand. Orrey mutters a "How..." but joins in the applause immediately after the shock starts to wear off. Apoc bites off an incredulous swear while applauding. Liga bows low at the waist, arms out to his sides, as if the swords will join him for a bow. (They do not.) Yves downs the rest of his cocktail in one gulp, the better to free his hands for baffled applause. "...I'm not sure what I just saw, but I'm impressed by it." In lieu of applause, Linnet whips out her director's notebook and starts scribbling the best approximation of dance notes she can muster. "I promised you a demonstration, and I hope that delivers! In the event that it did not!" Light glints off of Liga's eyes. "I shall also gladly pit blade against blade to allow any here to join in the majesty themselves! You needn't worry about causing nor receiving harm, as I shall not turn the full force of the Kiran's might against you! Nor should you worry about harming me, for I assure you I can take more than my fair share of blows to the head with no ill effect! To any who can strike true, I shall bestow upon you a boon!" (...Linnet continues to scribble.) Orrey watches Luca to see if they'll rise to the challenge. Luca looks at Orrey as if he'd grown a second head. "When will you have the opportunity to study the Kiran's techniques up close?" Orrey whispers. "Like....when I'm in the top five? Or better yet the top three?" A rush of adrenaline ripples through the actors, as people weigh the glory versus the learning experience versus the outright bodying they would likely receive. "I'm pretty sure Thundaga still wouldn't count," Yves murmurs. "Besides, I don't have any rubber boots, for myself or as loaners." Bast laughs incredulously from a couple rows back, then calls out: "How many of us to make it at all interesting for you?" "Does the Captain of the Starfall issue a challenge on behalf of his vessel?" Liga calls back. "Also I think I'm still better at throwing pastry plates than with a sword, and that's not a high bar," Yves adds, even more quietly. "That depends," calls Linnet jauntily. "Are you fighting the captain, the vessel, the crew, or all of us at once?" "It has been three years since I crossed blades with a physical airship!" Liga crows. "A tremendous adventure that was!" "Do not let him fight the ship, he might win," Yves hisses over at Linnet. (Linnet adds another potential fight scene to her notes.) Looking down at his drink, Bast thinks for a moment, then hands it off to a nearby Bjrn before getting up and walking out onto the open sand. With a smile just this side of fey, he replies to Liga: "The Captain of the Starfall has never fought with a sword in his damn fool life. Do you have something you'd recommend?" Everyone sits up a little straighter. The Captain has stepped forward. "A cutlass would suit the captain of a vessel such as yours quite well!" Liga says. "Have you any cutlasses?" "Some of our lasses are rather cut indeed." Orrey says, looking at no one in particular. "Jasper?" Bast calls off to the side. Rahel leans around Shula. "Linnet, do we have any cutlasses left over from last year?" "I've tripped over them a couple of times, so unless we ditched them this week, yes. They're near one of Triscuit's hidey-holes." While Bast limbers up, the Hive start a lovely five-part harmony rendition of Hoist Up The Thing, and Linnet joins in heartily. River and Mogratheo dart back to the Starfall to go hunting for blades. They return with cutlasses of various sizes, though the blades have dulled considerably. Bast goes through the pile quickly, rejecting most of them before settling on one of the lightest - still most of a moogle's length - and carries it on his shoulder as he walks back to the open sand, beach shorts and scarred back looking utterly incongruous opposite the thoroughly besworded Liga. Liga waits patiently and politely, his cloak whipping in the wind. "I am ready anytime," he says. Yves looks around for his fruity drink. Realizes he doesn't have one. Well, no matter. Maybe there'll be intermission after this sword demonstration. Bast makes a few passes with the cutlass to get used to the heft and reach, tries out a couple of different grips, tosses it a foot into the air and catches it again coming down, and finally settles down with a polite nod to Liga. "Ready as I'll ever be." His right foot slides back half a step as his second hand joins the first for a firmer hold on the grip, sword angled up and across his chest in an obviously unskilled defensive position. (Linnet is in full dramaturg mode - a word she hates, so undignified - sketching a full story around these two complete with stick-figure-with-pointy-line staging.) "the Captain has a sword!"
"has the Captain ever used a sword?"
"he said he hasn't!"
"but do we believe him?"
"that man cut the ocean in two!!"
"the Captain is going to fight him though!" The breathless murmurs continue. (Rahel has been the company's usual poster designer, for lack of anyone better - art students come and go - but she's much more into choreography. She and Runa and Linnet all have their heads bent over the notebook now, sculpting a grand finale and trying to hammer out the story before the finale would have happened.) (Yves appears to be trying to sketch out a theoretical arena, target set, and safety procedures for an audience for a competition of black mages. There is an awful lot of rubber involved. Also a moat.) (Luca's attention is riveted on the fight, despite the obvious outcome) An untrained opponent is a dangerous opponent, and Bast's lack of training with a sword but extensive training at staying alive makes him very dangerous. Liga treats the Captain with his full respect, parrying away a pair of rough strikes and stepping back out of the Captain's shorter reach before darting in with a blow of his own. Bast knows how to handle people who fight fair, and as soon as Liga advances Bast springs up at him, lunging ahead with an unexpected jab to intercept the Kiran. Unfortunately, Liga knows how to handle people who do not fight fair, and Bast's cutlass winds up flipping into low tide without him. "Brash and bold!" Liga declares. "A tremendous gambit!" Bast twists in place, hand whipping out after the flying cutlass, before pulling up short with a bark of laughter and giving the Kiran a reasonably serious bow. "Thank you. I think I know a few things I'll need to work on before we try again." He shakes Liga's hand, retrieves the stray cutlass from the water, and goes back to his seat with a cheerful: "He's all yours, Starfall!" What follows, as the officers collect themselves, is the crew of the Starfall lining up to take on the Kiran and Liga efficiently and exuberantly dispatching them one after another. Some of the noncombatants start up a rollicking a capella soundtrack, punctuated by found percussion. Yves, among the noncombatants but not the chorus, watches the resulting dispatch-parade with great interest. He is definitely taking notes for this theoretical black mage contest inspired by the exhibition, at that. Of the early stretch, the only person to last more than a bout is Clayton, whose embrace of pageantry and grandstanding serves him well here, right up until his response to a parry is to shout "ha HA" and then take the flat of a blade all the way into the surf. Mogratheo and River feint as if they're going to both go at once, but Liga happily drawing a second sword and gesturing for them to do so changes their minds. Apoc takes a very long time readying himself and his borrowed blade, and the Starfall's most practiced swordsman relishes the opportunity to test his skill against a legend. Getting disarmed within two seconds was not in his plans, and he's going to be sulky about it for a solid week. Yves offers Apoc a sympathy drink--no sand in it, probably!--after the rapid disarming. "We're a fine ould crew of high renown Rantin', roarin', ramblin' round The Starfall is adventurin' bound Hi ho, up the Starfall! We can fight with sword or pen We'll never break, we'll never bend And if we fall, we'll rise again Hi ho, up the Starfall!" Luca bolsters Yves's beverage with words of sympathy and support. Bast, sitting with the cutlass sticking out of the sand by his chair, does his best not to look too amused at Apoc's misfortune. "And if we get our arses kicked We'll rant and roar and take our licks They knock down five, we'll give 'em six! Hi ho, up the Starfall! And when we're back on solid ground We'll bring the lads and lasses 'round To drink and fight and paint the town Hi ho, up the Starfall!" Liga bounds around, joyously singing along as he bats Juniper into the waves. Orrey pulls aside Runa, offering a bit of a speed boost if she's interested in attempting a rapid strike. Runa is the first person to swing faster than Liga expects. Her sword does not find its mark, not with his lightning-fast backstep, but after flipping her with a dextrous parry, he looks around. "Who added the magic? I am not offended, far from it!" Orrey glances at his watch, then raises his hand and waves at Liga. "Figured it wouldn't be enough." Liga laughs. "You may continue trying! This is a marvelous workout! As many at once as would care to try!" "When I was just a little lass, or so my mama told me (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) That if I didn't swing me sword, me arms would grow all moldy (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) Buckle up your swash, my crew! We'll buckle all together-o! (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) Buckle up your swash, ye knaves, and victory is ours, o! (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low)" Bast perks up at Liga's last comment and leans over to whisper something to Luca and Apoc. "I used to date an actor here, but he grew loud and lazy (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) And then I met a dancer girl, and she just drove me crazy (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) Buckle up your swash, my crew! We'll buckle all together-o! (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) Buckle up your swash, ye knaves, and victory is ours, o! (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low)" Liga parries a series of uncoordinated attacks from Akil and Mogali until he manages to finagle them into attacking each other. Before they can realize what's happened, they have been upended into the water. Yves applauds periodically, while staying dry, shaded, and no sandier than he was when he most recently sat down. "You call yourself a swordsman and you're skewered in the sand, o! (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) With one against an army, he takes you all in hand, o! (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) Buckle up your swash, my crew! We'll buckle all together-o! (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) Buckle up your swash, ye knaves, and victory is ours, o! (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low)" The people not engaging in the mummery end up forming a loose half-circle around Yves. Natron, Marina, Artemicion, Isara, and Celeste are among their number. Yves is more than willing to share his shade. Especially if someone will bring him a fresh drink. "Oh, the stage manager told me, when I was but a sprout An actor's life is easy goin' until they start to shout But now I'm in the real world, and what's my training for? And now I've found an actor ain't an actor any more Don't bungle your lines, don't stand in the light Keep your wits about you, friends, and hold positions tight Just get your weapons ready for another run ashore An actor ain't an actor ain't an actor anymore!" Luca stands up from the sand after their brief conference, and reclaims the stage rapier they used in their ill-fated duel with Orrey, and uses it to sketch a salute to Liga. "I have been informed that if I do not at least try, I will be mocked mercilessly from now until the end of my days. And so I apologize, but if you've ever been mocked by actors you'd know why I must therefore make my challenge." Orrey grabs a couple drinks and slides his chair over to discuss Magery Events with Yves. ("We mean nothing of the sort! Now stand and fight, blademaster!" yells Rahel encouragingly from somewhere in the melee.) "'Tis always better to try!" Liga proclaims beneath the starry sky. "Have at thee, Ficarra!" Yves wants some Orrey input on how to keep the audience from being magicked to death--or at least to serious injury--during this theoretical mage-ing contest. Orrey knows about audiences, probably. More than Yves does, anyway. Conventions for chemists usually don't require a lot of safety procedures, unlike labs. Bast shrugs innocently at Luca's remark before giving a nod to Apoc and going over to the pile of weapons left by the unsuccessful challengers, picking out another rapier and a dagger before taking up a position off to Liga's left. Almost half a minute later, Apoc also strides out onto the sand with a flourish, finally prepared to avenge his reputation. Liga cocks his head to the side, the cloak wrapped around his face creasing in a grin as he draws a second sword of his own. "Well, the captain of our ship, he thinks that we're all soft Back in his day, you'd never see the likes of us aloft We know our cues and foci, but what's a fo'c'sle for? Singing to the sky, and plunging to the floor! Don't bungle your lines, don't stand in the light Keep your wits about you, friends, and hold positions tight Just get your weapons ready for another run ashore An actor ain't an actor ain't an actor anymore!" Luca's attack is swift, precise, and well-practiced. It is also designed to draw out Liga's defenses. They're quick on their feet, too, worrying more about dodging counter-strikes than parrying them. Bast's obviously not practiced with the rapier any more than he has with a cutlass. His grip on the dagger seems more certain, but he's in no hurry to join the fray, looking for an opening as Luca and Apoc close in. Apoc probes the edges of Liga's range, determining the best approach now that he can't get steamrolled inside of a single breath. As one, they strike at the end. Apoc’s blade turns against Liga’s tachi, held across his body in his right hand. Luca’s strike meets Liga’s red-bladed katana, crossed in front of the Kiran’s chest from his left. Bart darts into the gap beneath Liga’s defenses, readying the rapier for a daring stab that never comes. For instead, the dagger in Bast’s right hand slices through the air, thrown for the space in between Liga’s crossed and clashed blades. A third sword turns the dagger aside. A third sword held in a third hand. "You have done well to make it this far!" Liga says, the joy of battle singing in his baritone. "To think that a playful battle on a secluded beach would prove enough to test me beyond my mortal limits! Your actions would surely have won out with such an assault! Limiting both arms to open me up for a single debilitating strike! If that was all I brought to bear! "Ladies!" (The chorus pauses and perks up.) "Arm-ored." Orrey says, trying not to giggle too much. The third sword pushes Liga clear of the clash. "Gentlemen!" (Several other sets of ears perk up.) A fourth sword, held in a fourth hand, at the end of a fourth arm, shines under the stars. "Nonbinary folk!" Yves blinks several times. Looks down in his drink. Back toward the fight. Blinks some more. "Is it just me, or..." (Luca gives a gracious nod) "Well shit." Bast's swipe somewhere towards where Liga's ankles were a moment ago meets only air. The cloak ripples and whips away, revealing the musculature that supports a multi-armed torso -- a torso that hides yet more arms, crossed tightly across his body. "...did not see that coming," says Yves. "The day that Liga Kine graced your beach party was the greatest day of your life!" ("Well, that's going to take some serious practical effects work," mutters Linnet, resuming her drawing.) Falling back to stare, Bast mutters "...well, that explains the arsenal." "But for Gilgamesh, it was Tuesday!!" ("Should we tell him it's Sunday?" "Nah.") Gilgamesh brandishes his four swords with a dramatic flourish. He then sheaths them all in a single motion. "The most fun I have had in years!" Yves applauds, yet more baffled than before. "Liga Kine is but a cover identity, a ruse, a portrayal! My true identity, as you have no doubt surmised from my shouting it at the top of my lungs, is that of Gilgamesh, Esper extraordinaire, Guardian Force great and... fragrant? Fearsome? Great and fearsome!" "The shouting does help," Yves murmurs to Orrey sidelong. Bast sketches a salute with his rapier that was almost certainly cribbed from some rehearsal in the belly of the Starfall, then lowers it to the sand with a satisfied grin. "Been a while since you've introduced yourself this way?" Linnet raises a hand. (She could just shout out her question, but it feels impolite.) "Years. Ages! Yonks, in a most inscrutable parlance." Gilgamesh shakes hands with Luca, Bast, and Apoc all at once. "A delightful day! Enkidu will be so sorry he missed it. Well! I promised you an answer, and I suspect you have gained considerably more questions in the last ten minutes. Let us retire to the fire so you might share your troubles with me!" "Before we begin, might I add a practical question? How anonymous do you wish to remain? We've, um, we've been sketching out some of your story, as it makes for fascinating theater. But given that you waited to reveal yourself as Gilgamesh, one can presume that is not your chosen day-to-day nom d'epee." Linnet bows her head in respect. Now Yves raises a hand. "Also on the practical question side of things," he asks, "any other Guardian Forces you want to pass messages along to? If we happen to run into them or the like. Just in case. Let me know if so." Gilgamesh peers thoughtfully at the stars. "I shall have an answer for you before the sun rises! I have rushed into ninety-seven percent of my life, I might as well think about something for a change." (Linnet represses a snort and responds with another respectful nod.) "But that is for then! For now!" Four pairs of hands clap together. "Eat, drink, and be merry! A cheer for the victors!" The crew roars in approval.
Five swords form the corners of a pentagram in the sand.
A katana with a red blade marks the first corner.
A magitek-enhanced tachi with a mechanical bladeguard marks the second corner.
A kodachi with green and yellow lines intertwined for the length of the blade marks the third corner.
A golden longsword with a sunburst motif marks the fourth corner.
A sapphire longsword with the same sunburst motif marks the fifth corner.
Liga Kine kneels in the center of the pentagram with two hands gripping the handle of his naginata.
Waves crash on the beach.
He is not there to meet them.
The spray from the waves causes the air to sparkle, glittering droplets of water lending their wonder and whimsy to the late evening performance.
The water rushes up the beach, the five blades and one spear forming sharp lines in the surf.
He lands in the third corner and draws.
The wind whips along the beach, rustling straw hats and rattling barbecue forks. Undulating lines of windswept beauty ripple through the rushing tide.
Two hands grip the kodachi.
Horizontal.
Vertical.
The tide rushes out with tenfold strength of its approach, meeting the approaching rush with overwhelming force.
The wind bisects the wave down the middle, fifty yards of wet sand visible against ten feet of ocean on either side.
First position.
Draw.
Twin slashes.
A cross of superheated air distorts the split ocean, the wobbling horizon matching the whipping cloak of the Kiran.
Third position.
Draw.
Thrust.
A rush of air no thicker than a blade of grass slices deep into the approaching tide. The flames that follow strip the sand bare of moisture for fifty yards.
Second.
Draw.
Plant.
The tachi crackles with violet lightning, and so too does the ocean.
Two walls of water teeming with potential energy strain against the force keeping them separate.
Fourth position.
Throw.
Fifth position.
Throw.
The crack of the waves swallowing the longswords erases all other sounds.
Sixth position.
Draw.
Liga Kine crouches in between the crackling walls of water.
From inside his cloak, he draws a sixth sword, a nondescript katana bereft of ornamentation or splendor.
He waits.
Waves crash on the beach.
Between the waves of water he dances. Lightning courses through the liquid walls surrounding him, bolts searing from one wall to the other. Twin longswords animated by elemental conflagration spark and slash, a relentless tide of rushdown assault, centered on the cloaked man in the middle who sent them there. He parries decapitating strikes and sidesteps cleaving overheads. He advances beneath furious flurries and eludes crushing blows.
On and on the storm swells until the walls form an arch of rippling water, power flowing as blood to the center overhead.
He slashes with the simple katana for the first time.
The ocean recoils.
Water sprays on all sides as from a meteor’s impact.
He strides to the center of the pentagram.
Twin longswords land back in the fourth and fifth positions.
The sixth sword is nowhere to be seen.
Waves crash on the beach.
Liga Kine has not a drop on him. Luca is the first to explode into applause. There's a long, low whistle of appreciation from Bast, his drink forgotten in his hand. Orrey mutters a "How..." but joins in the applause immediately after the shock starts to wear off. Apoc bites off an incredulous swear while applauding. Liga bows low at the waist, arms out to his sides, as if the swords will join him for a bow. (They do not.) Yves downs the rest of his cocktail in one gulp, the better to free his hands for baffled applause. "...I'm not sure what I just saw, but I'm impressed by it." In lieu of applause, Linnet whips out her director's notebook and starts scribbling the best approximation of dance notes she can muster. "I promised you a demonstration, and I hope that delivers! In the event that it did not!" Light glints off of Liga's eyes. "I shall also gladly pit blade against blade to allow any here to join in the majesty themselves! You needn't worry about causing nor receiving harm, as I shall not turn the full force of the Kiran's might against you! Nor should you worry about harming me, for I assure you I can take more than my fair share of blows to the head with no ill effect! To any who can strike true, I shall bestow upon you a boon!" (...Linnet continues to scribble.) Orrey watches Luca to see if they'll rise to the challenge. Luca looks at Orrey as if he'd grown a second head. "When will you have the opportunity to study the Kiran's techniques up close?" Orrey whispers. "Like....when I'm in the top five? Or better yet the top three?" A rush of adrenaline ripples through the actors, as people weigh the glory versus the learning experience versus the outright bodying they would likely receive. "I'm pretty sure Thundaga still wouldn't count," Yves murmurs. "Besides, I don't have any rubber boots, for myself or as loaners." Bast laughs incredulously from a couple rows back, then calls out: "How many of us to make it at all interesting for you?" "Does the Captain of the Starfall issue a challenge on behalf of his vessel?" Liga calls back. "Also I think I'm still better at throwing pastry plates than with a sword, and that's not a high bar," Yves adds, even more quietly. "That depends," calls Linnet jauntily. "Are you fighting the captain, the vessel, the crew, or all of us at once?" "It has been three years since I crossed blades with a physical airship!" Liga crows. "A tremendous adventure that was!" "Do not let him fight the ship, he might win," Yves hisses over at Linnet. (Linnet adds another potential fight scene to her notes.) Looking down at his drink, Bast thinks for a moment, then hands it off to a nearby Bjrn before getting up and walking out onto the open sand. With a smile just this side of fey, he replies to Liga: "The Captain of the Starfall has never fought with a sword in his damn fool life. Do you have something you'd recommend?" Everyone sits up a little straighter. The Captain has stepped forward. "A cutlass would suit the captain of a vessel such as yours quite well!" Liga says. "Have you any cutlasses?" "Some of our lasses are rather cut indeed." Orrey says, looking at no one in particular. "Jasper?" Bast calls off to the side. Rahel leans around Shula. "Linnet, do we have any cutlasses left over from last year?" "I've tripped over them a couple of times, so unless we ditched them this week, yes. They're near one of Triscuit's hidey-holes." While Bast limbers up, the Hive start a lovely five-part harmony rendition of Hoist Up The Thing, and Linnet joins in heartily. River and Mogratheo dart back to the Starfall to go hunting for blades. They return with cutlasses of various sizes, though the blades have dulled considerably. Bast goes through the pile quickly, rejecting most of them before settling on one of the lightest - still most of a moogle's length - and carries it on his shoulder as he walks back to the open sand, beach shorts and scarred back looking utterly incongruous opposite the thoroughly besworded Liga. Liga waits patiently and politely, his cloak whipping in the wind. "I am ready anytime," he says. Yves looks around for his fruity drink. Realizes he doesn't have one. Well, no matter. Maybe there'll be intermission after this sword demonstration. Bast makes a few passes with the cutlass to get used to the heft and reach, tries out a couple of different grips, tosses it a foot into the air and catches it again coming down, and finally settles down with a polite nod to Liga. "Ready as I'll ever be." His right foot slides back half a step as his second hand joins the first for a firmer hold on the grip, sword angled up and across his chest in an obviously unskilled defensive position. (Linnet is in full dramaturg mode - a word she hates, so undignified - sketching a full story around these two complete with stick-figure-with-pointy-line staging.) "the Captain has a sword!"
"has the Captain ever used a sword?"
"he said he hasn't!"
"but do we believe him?"
"that man cut the ocean in two!!"
"the Captain is going to fight him though!" The breathless murmurs continue. (Rahel has been the company's usual poster designer, for lack of anyone better - art students come and go - but she's much more into choreography. She and Runa and Linnet all have their heads bent over the notebook now, sculpting a grand finale and trying to hammer out the story before the finale would have happened.) (Yves appears to be trying to sketch out a theoretical arena, target set, and safety procedures for an audience for a competition of black mages. There is an awful lot of rubber involved. Also a moat.) (Luca's attention is riveted on the fight, despite the obvious outcome) An untrained opponent is a dangerous opponent, and Bast's lack of training with a sword but extensive training at staying alive makes him very dangerous. Liga treats the Captain with his full respect, parrying away a pair of rough strikes and stepping back out of the Captain's shorter reach before darting in with a blow of his own. Bast knows how to handle people who fight fair, and as soon as Liga advances Bast springs up at him, lunging ahead with an unexpected jab to intercept the Kiran. Unfortunately, Liga knows how to handle people who do not fight fair, and Bast's cutlass winds up flipping into low tide without him. "Brash and bold!" Liga declares. "A tremendous gambit!" Bast twists in place, hand whipping out after the flying cutlass, before pulling up short with a bark of laughter and giving the Kiran a reasonably serious bow. "Thank you. I think I know a few things I'll need to work on before we try again." He shakes Liga's hand, retrieves the stray cutlass from the water, and goes back to his seat with a cheerful: "He's all yours, Starfall!" What follows, as the officers collect themselves, is the crew of the Starfall lining up to take on the Kiran and Liga efficiently and exuberantly dispatching them one after another. Some of the noncombatants start up a rollicking a capella soundtrack, punctuated by found percussion. Yves, among the noncombatants but not the chorus, watches the resulting dispatch-parade with great interest. He is definitely taking notes for this theoretical black mage contest inspired by the exhibition, at that. Of the early stretch, the only person to last more than a bout is Clayton, whose embrace of pageantry and grandstanding serves him well here, right up until his response to a parry is to shout "ha HA" and then take the flat of a blade all the way into the surf. Mogratheo and River feint as if they're going to both go at once, but Liga happily drawing a second sword and gesturing for them to do so changes their minds. Apoc takes a very long time readying himself and his borrowed blade, and the Starfall's most practiced swordsman relishes the opportunity to test his skill against a legend. Getting disarmed within two seconds was not in his plans, and he's going to be sulky about it for a solid week. Yves offers Apoc a sympathy drink--no sand in it, probably!--after the rapid disarming. "We're a fine ould crew of high renown Rantin', roarin', ramblin' round The Starfall is adventurin' bound Hi ho, up the Starfall! We can fight with sword or pen We'll never break, we'll never bend And if we fall, we'll rise again Hi ho, up the Starfall!" Luca bolsters Yves's beverage with words of sympathy and support. Bast, sitting with the cutlass sticking out of the sand by his chair, does his best not to look too amused at Apoc's misfortune. "And if we get our arses kicked We'll rant and roar and take our licks They knock down five, we'll give 'em six! Hi ho, up the Starfall! And when we're back on solid ground We'll bring the lads and lasses 'round To drink and fight and paint the town Hi ho, up the Starfall!" Liga bounds around, joyously singing along as he bats Juniper into the waves. Orrey pulls aside Runa, offering a bit of a speed boost if she's interested in attempting a rapid strike. Runa is the first person to swing faster than Liga expects. Her sword does not find its mark, not with his lightning-fast backstep, but after flipping her with a dextrous parry, he looks around. "Who added the magic? I am not offended, far from it!" Orrey glances at his watch, then raises his hand and waves at Liga. "Figured it wouldn't be enough." Liga laughs. "You may continue trying! This is a marvelous workout! As many at once as would care to try!" "When I was just a little lass, or so my mama told me (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) That if I didn't swing me sword, me arms would grow all moldy (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) Buckle up your swash, my crew! We'll buckle all together-o! (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) Buckle up your swash, ye knaves, and victory is ours, o! (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low)" Bast perks up at Liga's last comment and leans over to whisper something to Luca and Apoc. "I used to date an actor here, but he grew loud and lazy (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) And then I met a dancer girl, and she just drove me crazy (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) Buckle up your swash, my crew! We'll buckle all together-o! (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) Buckle up your swash, ye knaves, and victory is ours, o! (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low)" Liga parries a series of uncoordinated attacks from Akil and Mogali until he manages to finagle them into attacking each other. Before they can realize what's happened, they have been upended into the water. Yves applauds periodically, while staying dry, shaded, and no sandier than he was when he most recently sat down. "You call yourself a swordsman and you're skewered in the sand, o! (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) With one against an army, he takes you all in hand, o! (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) Buckle up your swash, my crew! We'll buckle all together-o! (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low) Buckle up your swash, ye knaves, and victory is ours, o! (Swish and-a flick, now swing that blade low)" The people not engaging in the mummery end up forming a loose half-circle around Yves. Natron, Marina, Artemicion, Isara, and Celeste are among their number. Yves is more than willing to share his shade. Especially if someone will bring him a fresh drink. "Oh, the stage manager told me, when I was but a sprout An actor's life is easy goin' until they start to shout But now I'm in the real world, and what's my training for? And now I've found an actor ain't an actor any more Don't bungle your lines, don't stand in the light Keep your wits about you, friends, and hold positions tight Just get your weapons ready for another run ashore An actor ain't an actor ain't an actor anymore!" Luca stands up from the sand after their brief conference, and reclaims the stage rapier they used in their ill-fated duel with Orrey, and uses it to sketch a salute to Liga. "I have been informed that if I do not at least try, I will be mocked mercilessly from now until the end of my days. And so I apologize, but if you've ever been mocked by actors you'd know why I must therefore make my challenge." Orrey grabs a couple drinks and slides his chair over to discuss Magery Events with Yves. ("We mean nothing of the sort! Now stand and fight, blademaster!" yells Rahel encouragingly from somewhere in the melee.) "'Tis always better to try!" Liga proclaims beneath the starry sky. "Have at thee, Ficarra!" Yves wants some Orrey input on how to keep the audience from being magicked to death--or at least to serious injury--during this theoretical mage-ing contest. Orrey knows about audiences, probably. More than Yves does, anyway. Conventions for chemists usually don't require a lot of safety procedures, unlike labs. Bast shrugs innocently at Luca's remark before giving a nod to Apoc and going over to the pile of weapons left by the unsuccessful challengers, picking out another rapier and a dagger before taking up a position off to Liga's left. Almost half a minute later, Apoc also strides out onto the sand with a flourish, finally prepared to avenge his reputation. Liga cocks his head to the side, the cloak wrapped around his face creasing in a grin as he draws a second sword of his own. "Well, the captain of our ship, he thinks that we're all soft Back in his day, you'd never see the likes of us aloft We know our cues and foci, but what's a fo'c'sle for? Singing to the sky, and plunging to the floor! Don't bungle your lines, don't stand in the light Keep your wits about you, friends, and hold positions tight Just get your weapons ready for another run ashore An actor ain't an actor ain't an actor anymore!" Luca's attack is swift, precise, and well-practiced. It is also designed to draw out Liga's defenses. They're quick on their feet, too, worrying more about dodging counter-strikes than parrying them. Bast's obviously not practiced with the rapier any more than he has with a cutlass. His grip on the dagger seems more certain, but he's in no hurry to join the fray, looking for an opening as Luca and Apoc close in. Apoc probes the edges of Liga's range, determining the best approach now that he can't get steamrolled inside of a single breath. As one, they strike at the end. Apoc’s blade turns against Liga’s tachi, held across his body in his right hand. Luca’s strike meets Liga’s red-bladed katana, crossed in front of the Kiran’s chest from his left. Bart darts into the gap beneath Liga’s defenses, readying the rapier for a daring stab that never comes. For instead, the dagger in Bast’s right hand slices through the air, thrown for the space in between Liga’s crossed and clashed blades. A third sword turns the dagger aside. A third sword held in a third hand. "You have done well to make it this far!" Liga says, the joy of battle singing in his baritone. "To think that a playful battle on a secluded beach would prove enough to test me beyond my mortal limits! Your actions would surely have won out with such an assault! Limiting both arms to open me up for a single debilitating strike! If that was all I brought to bear! "Ladies!" (The chorus pauses and perks up.) "Arm-ored." Orrey says, trying not to giggle too much. The third sword pushes Liga clear of the clash. "Gentlemen!" (Several other sets of ears perk up.) A fourth sword, held in a fourth hand, at the end of a fourth arm, shines under the stars. "Nonbinary folk!" Yves blinks several times. Looks down in his drink. Back toward the fight. Blinks some more. "Is it just me, or..." (Luca gives a gracious nod) "Well shit." Bast's swipe somewhere towards where Liga's ankles were a moment ago meets only air. The cloak ripples and whips away, revealing the musculature that supports a multi-armed torso -- a torso that hides yet more arms, crossed tightly across his body. "...did not see that coming," says Yves. "The day that Liga Kine graced your beach party was the greatest day of your life!" ("Well, that's going to take some serious practical effects work," mutters Linnet, resuming her drawing.) Falling back to stare, Bast mutters "...well, that explains the arsenal." "But for Gilgamesh, it was Tuesday!!" ("Should we tell him it's Sunday?" "Nah.") Gilgamesh brandishes his four swords with a dramatic flourish. He then sheaths them all in a single motion. "The most fun I have had in years!" Yves applauds, yet more baffled than before. "Liga Kine is but a cover identity, a ruse, a portrayal! My true identity, as you have no doubt surmised from my shouting it at the top of my lungs, is that of Gilgamesh, Esper extraordinaire, Guardian Force great and... fragrant? Fearsome? Great and fearsome!" "The shouting does help," Yves murmurs to Orrey sidelong. Bast sketches a salute with his rapier that was almost certainly cribbed from some rehearsal in the belly of the Starfall, then lowers it to the sand with a satisfied grin. "Been a while since you've introduced yourself this way?" Linnet raises a hand. (She could just shout out her question, but it feels impolite.) "Years. Ages! Yonks, in a most inscrutable parlance." Gilgamesh shakes hands with Luca, Bast, and Apoc all at once. "A delightful day! Enkidu will be so sorry he missed it. Well! I promised you an answer, and I suspect you have gained considerably more questions in the last ten minutes. Let us retire to the fire so you might share your troubles with me!" "Before we begin, might I add a practical question? How anonymous do you wish to remain? We've, um, we've been sketching out some of your story, as it makes for fascinating theater. But given that you waited to reveal yourself as Gilgamesh, one can presume that is not your chosen day-to-day nom d'epee." Linnet bows her head in respect. Now Yves raises a hand. "Also on the practical question side of things," he asks, "any other Guardian Forces you want to pass messages along to? If we happen to run into them or the like. Just in case. Let me know if so." Gilgamesh peers thoughtfully at the stars. "I shall have an answer for you before the sun rises! I have rushed into ninety-seven percent of my life, I might as well think about something for a change." (Linnet represses a snort and responds with another respectful nod.) "But that is for then! For now!" Four pairs of hands clap together. "Eat, drink, and be merry! A cheer for the victors!" The crew roars in approval.
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