Paths and Blades
Hey, there, human larvae! This is a fic a decided to try when a two ton writer's block fell on Like Moths to the Flame. I own only Chaz, and possibly another character or two. All those creations that you've seen on TV? Yeah--I only WISH I owned those. Those belong to Jhonen Vasquez and possibly the blood-sucking leeches at Nick.
"Are you seriously trying to tell me that you lost that report?"
Red chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. "Well, if I did that, I would be in a lot of trouble, now, I guess, so I'm going to go with no."
Purple threw up his hands in frustration. "That report told us which Invaders were retiring this year! Now we have to send out a whole 'nother set of questionnaires to them, but first we have to figure out which ones were actually retiring in the first place, and there's still the party to plan--" he walked into to another room, still rambling.
Red took the chance to slip out of the quarters to the relatively quiet atmosphere of the hallway.
Sighing disconsolately, he listened for a moment to see if Purple had come back.
Nothing.
"Perfect chance to mingle with the common folk," Red told himself happily. "Or at least to get some time away from Pur."
He started off towards the cafeterias, but changed his mind and headed to the Central Weapons Smith instead. The weapons were only made for presentations now; long ago were they outdated in favor of laser cannons and such. A shame, really. Most of the old weapons were only wielded by the most skillful of Irkans. He himself was trained in a few of the techniques.
The forge was dimly lit and somewhat smoky; the master smith was at work. Red followed the sounds of the hammer on the blade, and nearly ran into someone in the gloom.
"What the-Oh my--my Tallest. Forgive me; I did not see you."
Red peered through the haze, realizing somewhat belatedly that for once he didn't have to crane his neck at a ridiculous angle to see the speaker. A slender gloved hand waved away the smoke, and Red was able to see that the person who he had bumped into was actually about his height. She was clad in the garb of a Specialist, one who practiced a Forgotten Art.
Quickly she averted her eyes in dutiful respect. "My Tallest Red, what may I do for you?"
"Um, no, it's okay; I bumped into you. At ease."
She relaxed. "If I may, Sir, what brings you to the forges? Is there something I can assist you with?"
Red grinned. She was no cowering Invader, the way she addressed him. It was quite a change, however welcome.
"No, I was just looking around. I haven't been here for years. I used to be in here every week, commissioning an upgrade on my Ketungre." The weapon he named was a four-bladed axe that was wielded with one hand; deadly when thrown. "What brings you here, Specialist--?"
She blushed at the question. "Chaz, Sir. Specialist Chaz. My Darontu broke during practice; I fell on it after a rather nasty stumble."
Red nodded appreciatively at the mention of the difficult Darontu. Such was it made that many Irkans had lost limbs and lives in the training. The two blades on either side of the handle curved so that it could be throw straight or so it would come back; the danger lay in catching it without succumbing to the blades.
Fal, the MasterSmith, appeared in the smoke. In his hand he carried a Darontu, presumably Chaz's.
"Here ya go, Chaz. The handle was saved; only the blade was chipped."
She accepted the blades gently, almost lovingly. "How much do I owe you, Master Fal?"
He shook his head indignantly. "I thought we agreed that as long as you came only to me for repairs, you would pay nothing? The joy lies in working with such a wonderful Darontu, not wasting the monies spent on it."
Only then did he notice Tallest Red hovering in the shadows behind Chaz. The Smith's face broke into a wide grin.
"Tallest Red! How long it has been since I've seen you! It's been too long."
Red smiled fondly as he remembered his frequent trips to the forge as a young Marauder.
"Yes, it has been a while now, hasn't it? Are there still many young Irkans seeking the knowledge of the Forgotten Arts?"
The Smith shook his head sadly. "Unfortunately, no, Sir. Now every child wants to be an Invader. Chaz is the first student in twenty years. She makes up for it, though, in her skill. I think now she could best you in a match with the Ketungre, by now." He smiled warmly.
Red regarded Chaz with a critical eye. "You certainly aren't weak," he noted, seeing the muscles bunched beneath the sleeveless shirt. "I think I'm willing to take that bet, Fal."
Chaz snapped her head up, and again Red noticed that she was practically eye level with him. "I can't fight my Tallest, Sir!" she said, clearly upset at the notion. "I--I'm not even that good!"
"Nonsense." Red waved one hand loftily. "If Fal thinks you to be ready, I expect you in the Combat Training Center in precisely four hours. Dou you have a Ketungre of your own?" he asked, eyeing her Darontu.
She nodded. "Yes sir."
"Then calm down! It'll be fun! And you can brag about it to your friends!"
"Sir, in following with tradition, Specialists are raised alone, to provide independence. I have only Fal as a friend." The word didn't quite seem to fit on her tongue.
"Oh yeah...." Red thought back to his childhood. For him, the Forgotten Arts had been a hobby, not a profession, so he was raised in the Marauder Academy. "Well, you will. Let me walk you to your quarters, to make sure you don't jump ship on me." He smiled jokingly.
Chaz just nodded mutely.
As they left the dark interior of the forge, Red was able to get a better idea of Chaz's appearance. Surprisingly enough, he measured her at approximately half an inch shorter than he was. Her dark red eyes shone with an internal fire, and seemed to turn black when she noticed him looking at her.
"My Tallest, I implore you to let me forgo this fight. I really don't want to hurt you."
Red chuckled. "To hurt me you have to get past me, Chaz. And my name is Red. It makes a lot more sense to call me by my name than to keep up with this 'Tallest' nonsense. Um, where are you quarters any way?"
Chaz pulled out an electronic pad and circled a spot with one claw. "Right over here. Two floors down from your quarters, and fifty feet or so to the left."
Red whistled. "Whoo. How do you know that sort of thing?"
Chaz smiled, a beautiful thing. "I lived my whole life on this ship. There isn't much else for me to do, other than practice...practicing to spend my life as a relic of an age that's been and gone...." her voice sounded sad and bitter, and Red let her mull over her thoughts until they came to her quarters.
"Then I guess I'll be seeing you in a few hours, then?" she said, suddenly cheerful. "Don't forget your Ketungre." And briskly she stepped into her rooms and shut the door.
Red leaned against the wall and sighed. He really couldn't wait for the fight; or even to see Chaz again. Pur, on the other hand.... Red sighed again, this time is regret. Purple would probably have his hide stapled to the wall as soon as he walked in. Oh well....
Hey, there, human larvae! This is a fic a decided to try when a two ton writer's block fell on Like Moths to the Flame. I own only Chaz, and possibly another character or two. All those creations that you've seen on TV? Yeah--I only WISH I owned those. Those belong to Jhonen Vasquez and possibly the blood-sucking leeches at Nick.
"Are you seriously trying to tell me that you lost that report?"
Red chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. "Well, if I did that, I would be in a lot of trouble, now, I guess, so I'm going to go with no."
Purple threw up his hands in frustration. "That report told us which Invaders were retiring this year! Now we have to send out a whole 'nother set of questionnaires to them, but first we have to figure out which ones were actually retiring in the first place, and there's still the party to plan--" he walked into to another room, still rambling.
Red took the chance to slip out of the quarters to the relatively quiet atmosphere of the hallway.
Sighing disconsolately, he listened for a moment to see if Purple had come back.
Nothing.
"Perfect chance to mingle with the common folk," Red told himself happily. "Or at least to get some time away from Pur."
He started off towards the cafeterias, but changed his mind and headed to the Central Weapons Smith instead. The weapons were only made for presentations now; long ago were they outdated in favor of laser cannons and such. A shame, really. Most of the old weapons were only wielded by the most skillful of Irkans. He himself was trained in a few of the techniques.
The forge was dimly lit and somewhat smoky; the master smith was at work. Red followed the sounds of the hammer on the blade, and nearly ran into someone in the gloom.
"What the-Oh my--my Tallest. Forgive me; I did not see you."
Red peered through the haze, realizing somewhat belatedly that for once he didn't have to crane his neck at a ridiculous angle to see the speaker. A slender gloved hand waved away the smoke, and Red was able to see that the person who he had bumped into was actually about his height. She was clad in the garb of a Specialist, one who practiced a Forgotten Art.
Quickly she averted her eyes in dutiful respect. "My Tallest Red, what may I do for you?"
"Um, no, it's okay; I bumped into you. At ease."
She relaxed. "If I may, Sir, what brings you to the forges? Is there something I can assist you with?"
Red grinned. She was no cowering Invader, the way she addressed him. It was quite a change, however welcome.
"No, I was just looking around. I haven't been here for years. I used to be in here every week, commissioning an upgrade on my Ketungre." The weapon he named was a four-bladed axe that was wielded with one hand; deadly when thrown. "What brings you here, Specialist--?"
She blushed at the question. "Chaz, Sir. Specialist Chaz. My Darontu broke during practice; I fell on it after a rather nasty stumble."
Red nodded appreciatively at the mention of the difficult Darontu. Such was it made that many Irkans had lost limbs and lives in the training. The two blades on either side of the handle curved so that it could be throw straight or so it would come back; the danger lay in catching it without succumbing to the blades.
Fal, the MasterSmith, appeared in the smoke. In his hand he carried a Darontu, presumably Chaz's.
"Here ya go, Chaz. The handle was saved; only the blade was chipped."
She accepted the blades gently, almost lovingly. "How much do I owe you, Master Fal?"
He shook his head indignantly. "I thought we agreed that as long as you came only to me for repairs, you would pay nothing? The joy lies in working with such a wonderful Darontu, not wasting the monies spent on it."
Only then did he notice Tallest Red hovering in the shadows behind Chaz. The Smith's face broke into a wide grin.
"Tallest Red! How long it has been since I've seen you! It's been too long."
Red smiled fondly as he remembered his frequent trips to the forge as a young Marauder.
"Yes, it has been a while now, hasn't it? Are there still many young Irkans seeking the knowledge of the Forgotten Arts?"
The Smith shook his head sadly. "Unfortunately, no, Sir. Now every child wants to be an Invader. Chaz is the first student in twenty years. She makes up for it, though, in her skill. I think now she could best you in a match with the Ketungre, by now." He smiled warmly.
Red regarded Chaz with a critical eye. "You certainly aren't weak," he noted, seeing the muscles bunched beneath the sleeveless shirt. "I think I'm willing to take that bet, Fal."
Chaz snapped her head up, and again Red noticed that she was practically eye level with him. "I can't fight my Tallest, Sir!" she said, clearly upset at the notion. "I--I'm not even that good!"
"Nonsense." Red waved one hand loftily. "If Fal thinks you to be ready, I expect you in the Combat Training Center in precisely four hours. Dou you have a Ketungre of your own?" he asked, eyeing her Darontu.
She nodded. "Yes sir."
"Then calm down! It'll be fun! And you can brag about it to your friends!"
"Sir, in following with tradition, Specialists are raised alone, to provide independence. I have only Fal as a friend." The word didn't quite seem to fit on her tongue.
"Oh yeah...." Red thought back to his childhood. For him, the Forgotten Arts had been a hobby, not a profession, so he was raised in the Marauder Academy. "Well, you will. Let me walk you to your quarters, to make sure you don't jump ship on me." He smiled jokingly.
Chaz just nodded mutely.
As they left the dark interior of the forge, Red was able to get a better idea of Chaz's appearance. Surprisingly enough, he measured her at approximately half an inch shorter than he was. Her dark red eyes shone with an internal fire, and seemed to turn black when she noticed him looking at her.
"My Tallest, I implore you to let me forgo this fight. I really don't want to hurt you."
Red chuckled. "To hurt me you have to get past me, Chaz. And my name is Red. It makes a lot more sense to call me by my name than to keep up with this 'Tallest' nonsense. Um, where are you quarters any way?"
Chaz pulled out an electronic pad and circled a spot with one claw. "Right over here. Two floors down from your quarters, and fifty feet or so to the left."
Red whistled. "Whoo. How do you know that sort of thing?"
Chaz smiled, a beautiful thing. "I lived my whole life on this ship. There isn't much else for me to do, other than practice...practicing to spend my life as a relic of an age that's been and gone...." her voice sounded sad and bitter, and Red let her mull over her thoughts until they came to her quarters.
"Then I guess I'll be seeing you in a few hours, then?" she said, suddenly cheerful. "Don't forget your Ketungre." And briskly she stepped into her rooms and shut the door.
Red leaned against the wall and sighed. He really couldn't wait for the fight; or even to see Chaz again. Pur, on the other hand.... Red sighed again, this time is regret. Purple would probably have his hide stapled to the wall as soon as he walked in. Oh well....
