Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Date posted: 18 December 2002
~ Twenty Seven ~
Crystal spun.
In the shadowed hall, her bare feet whispered on the polished wooden floor and the silk of her black _gi_ slipped over her skin sensuously.
She finished the kata with a flourish, coming to rest where she had begun, in one of the puddles of light that dotted the floor. It was good to be back on her feet again; convalescence always irritated her. She wasn't incapacitated often these days but when she was, the inactivity still rankled.
She tossed her head, a habitual gesture that used to send her abundant mane of hair sliding off her shoulders but now only flipped her fringe out of her eyes. Shortly after the battle, she had gotten her hacked off tresses properly cut into a sleek cap that molded her head and left feathery locks framing her face.
She made a mental note to find herself sparring partners soon; katas were a physical conditioning and centering exercise, not combat practice and one didn't keep one's edge by being idle or complacent.
She strode to the wall on the far end of the hall, which was decorated with an array of weapons. Many were priceless antiques while others were specially handcrafted items. The collection had to be removed whenever an attack was due and stored in safety and then replaced in the aftermath. A troublesome procedure, but Crystal didn't spare it a second thought; she employed minions for such details.
Picking up a rapier, a jeweled blooded refugee of the late 16th century, she ran a finger down the pristine length of metal, absently testing the edge. Her thoughts turned sourly to the hunters who had taken to teaching the ex-vampires and witches how to handle weapons. From what she had heard, it was the girl's doing.
That one was turning out to be more trouble than anticipated. She was supposed to draw the vampires; she was _not_ supposed to be some kind of figurehead for the non combatants, nor was she suppose to gain influence among the hunters. And she was certainly _not_ suppose to bring the two factions together. Crystal's green eyes narrowed and she twirled the blade in her hand in a gesture that warned of her mood, like the lashing of a cat's tail.
A door opened, admitting a wedge of light. A figure was silhouetted briefly in the frame, red hair lit to a halo. She was surprised to see he held a cane in one hand. With his free hand, the newcomer shut the door and then approached her, the limp in his stride barely perceptible.
"Jerrick," she acknowledged. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" she added sarcastically.
"Plans," he said succinctly. "Word has come that the vampires will attack in slightly more than a week."
Crystal regarded the blade in her hand with what seemed intense interest. "How large a force are we talking about?"
"Slightly greater than before," he answered without hesitation, "But without a leader as skilled as Nigel Emery."
"Hm. And where does that leave us?" She seemed to ask the question of the rapier, on which her attention was still fixed, but they both knew it was more half-rhetoric, half-thinking aloud. Jerrick answered her all the same, which annoyed her slightly.
"Not quite ready."
Her eyes flared irritably as she glanced at him.
"Firstly, there are those still recuperating who won't be fully capable in a week," Jerrick pointed out calmly. "The healers do their best but even they can only speed the healing process by that much. Secondly, you'll need to find replacements for those who died in the last attack. Without those, you will certainly be at a numerical disadvantage."
"'You'?" Crystal repeated, challengingly.
"Yes. I shall be taking a small task force to hunt another target," he replied evenly.
She eyed him. "And this task force will comprise of?" she asked warily.
"Myself, Ms. Gilbert and a few capable fighters. Some Turned, with a handful of hunters who have agreed to come along." He named a few 'trainers' who were incidentally among the more skilled of her people.
"No," she said flatly. "I'll need them here. Either you leave them behind or you wait until after the attack."
"It cannot wait. There are... time constraints," he replied with that infuriating serenity of his. Well, maybe it was time to shake some of that calm.
The rapier reflected light in a white blur before it came to rest an inch from Jerrick's heart. "Then leave them," she said dangerously. She noted that the man didn't so much as blink. Her lips curled in what she felt must be an unpleasant smile.
She felt adrenaline sing in her blood. Her body was strong and well; his was awkward and pain-riddled. Her smile widened cruelly and her voice lowered to a purr that emphasized her feline looks. "Tell you what; if you win a bout with me, you take the hunters with you. If I win, my orders stand."
"I'll point out that the choice is theirs, not yours, but if it appeases you, I'll accept your challenge," he said, unruffled, taking her aback. Did he really think he could defeat her? She felt momentarily uncertain then shook herself. She had learned long ago not to give an opponent the upper hand with self-doubt.
She lifted her chin, her blade never wavering from its position. "To first blood, then."
He inclined his head in a courtly manner. And waited. She threw him a look of exasperation and lunged. There was a thud and she felt the blade in her hand reverberate from the impact with Jerrick's cane, which had swung up with amazing speed to deflect the blow.
The offending stick was once again resting innocently on the floor when she looked at it. She sniffed disdainfully and nodded her head to indicate that the next move was his, a gesture he returned more graciously.
Angered that he would not fight her, she moved and moved again, striking with ferocious strength. He parried each blow, making it look effortless. He did it so skillfully that her blade did not even leave dents on the smooth finish of the wood.
Scowling, Crystal stepped up her attack, focused on drawing blood and ending the match. Not that it was much of one; Jerrick had not so much as moved an inch from his initial position, nor struck a single blow that was not in defense.
"It's not a complete loss," he said, avoiding her blade. "Quite a number of the Turned and the witches are ready for actual combat, I've been told. They will supplement your numbers and they have the advantage of already being a cohesive working unit."
She snarled in frustration as well as contempt at the thought of adding his weaklings to her force. "Cut the platitudes. Let's finish this."
"As you wish," he said and then he shifted and entered the fight. The cane became a most effective weapon in his hands, part quarterstaff, part hook. The curved end caught her arm and wrenched her about.
"They say that familiarity breeds contempt," Jerrick commented casually. A sharp rap on her shoulder caused pain to shoot up down her spine and up her neck. She whirled, banishing a quick, horrific flashback of her battle with Emery, when she felt his blade and his fangs enter her from behind. The remembered terror fueled her anger as she swung her blade full force at Jerrick.
His cane met her blow but instead of trying to stop it, he ran with it, guiding it back into an upswing and then into a spiral. The cane entangled with the blade, the scraping of metal on wood filling the hall and echoing through the darkness. "In this case, it would appear to be true," he continued, sounding unfazed. He disengaged and set the cane back down, leaning lightly on it.
Despite his posture of relaxation, he was met her next attack readily. "There are three simple rules you ought to have learned by now, Crystal," he commented. "Never lose your patience, don't let your opponent dictate the rules of the match and never underestimate your opponent."
She growled at him for spouting rudimentary training principles as he reversed the cane smoothly. He caught her next swing, guided it as before. With the blade trapped in the hook and momentum carrying it forward, she didn't realize his intention until it was too late.
With a deft twist and a nudge, he curled the blade inward and sliced through the sleeve of her black _gi_. Crystal stared at the thin line of scarlet that appeared, then felt the sting of the cut. Not as biting as the damage to her pride; she had just been bested by a cripple.
"And of course," Jerrick added. "You should always be on guard." He inclined his head at her politely and withdrew.
He paused, one hand on the doorknob. "I'll announce the upcoming attack after dinner. The arrangements for the other team had better be communicated privately, I think." With that, he left her to fume over her defeat and the ill-made challenge.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I know it was another long-winded piece. Yahoo, The Two Towers is out today!
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Date posted: 18 December 2002
~ Twenty Seven ~
Crystal spun.
In the shadowed hall, her bare feet whispered on the polished wooden floor and the silk of her black _gi_ slipped over her skin sensuously.
She finished the kata with a flourish, coming to rest where she had begun, in one of the puddles of light that dotted the floor. It was good to be back on her feet again; convalescence always irritated her. She wasn't incapacitated often these days but when she was, the inactivity still rankled.
She tossed her head, a habitual gesture that used to send her abundant mane of hair sliding off her shoulders but now only flipped her fringe out of her eyes. Shortly after the battle, she had gotten her hacked off tresses properly cut into a sleek cap that molded her head and left feathery locks framing her face.
She made a mental note to find herself sparring partners soon; katas were a physical conditioning and centering exercise, not combat practice and one didn't keep one's edge by being idle or complacent.
She strode to the wall on the far end of the hall, which was decorated with an array of weapons. Many were priceless antiques while others were specially handcrafted items. The collection had to be removed whenever an attack was due and stored in safety and then replaced in the aftermath. A troublesome procedure, but Crystal didn't spare it a second thought; she employed minions for such details.
Picking up a rapier, a jeweled blooded refugee of the late 16th century, she ran a finger down the pristine length of metal, absently testing the edge. Her thoughts turned sourly to the hunters who had taken to teaching the ex-vampires and witches how to handle weapons. From what she had heard, it was the girl's doing.
That one was turning out to be more trouble than anticipated. She was supposed to draw the vampires; she was _not_ supposed to be some kind of figurehead for the non combatants, nor was she suppose to gain influence among the hunters. And she was certainly _not_ suppose to bring the two factions together. Crystal's green eyes narrowed and she twirled the blade in her hand in a gesture that warned of her mood, like the lashing of a cat's tail.
A door opened, admitting a wedge of light. A figure was silhouetted briefly in the frame, red hair lit to a halo. She was surprised to see he held a cane in one hand. With his free hand, the newcomer shut the door and then approached her, the limp in his stride barely perceptible.
"Jerrick," she acknowledged. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" she added sarcastically.
"Plans," he said succinctly. "Word has come that the vampires will attack in slightly more than a week."
Crystal regarded the blade in her hand with what seemed intense interest. "How large a force are we talking about?"
"Slightly greater than before," he answered without hesitation, "But without a leader as skilled as Nigel Emery."
"Hm. And where does that leave us?" She seemed to ask the question of the rapier, on which her attention was still fixed, but they both knew it was more half-rhetoric, half-thinking aloud. Jerrick answered her all the same, which annoyed her slightly.
"Not quite ready."
Her eyes flared irritably as she glanced at him.
"Firstly, there are those still recuperating who won't be fully capable in a week," Jerrick pointed out calmly. "The healers do their best but even they can only speed the healing process by that much. Secondly, you'll need to find replacements for those who died in the last attack. Without those, you will certainly be at a numerical disadvantage."
"'You'?" Crystal repeated, challengingly.
"Yes. I shall be taking a small task force to hunt another target," he replied evenly.
She eyed him. "And this task force will comprise of?" she asked warily.
"Myself, Ms. Gilbert and a few capable fighters. Some Turned, with a handful of hunters who have agreed to come along." He named a few 'trainers' who were incidentally among the more skilled of her people.
"No," she said flatly. "I'll need them here. Either you leave them behind or you wait until after the attack."
"It cannot wait. There are... time constraints," he replied with that infuriating serenity of his. Well, maybe it was time to shake some of that calm.
The rapier reflected light in a white blur before it came to rest an inch from Jerrick's heart. "Then leave them," she said dangerously. She noted that the man didn't so much as blink. Her lips curled in what she felt must be an unpleasant smile.
She felt adrenaline sing in her blood. Her body was strong and well; his was awkward and pain-riddled. Her smile widened cruelly and her voice lowered to a purr that emphasized her feline looks. "Tell you what; if you win a bout with me, you take the hunters with you. If I win, my orders stand."
"I'll point out that the choice is theirs, not yours, but if it appeases you, I'll accept your challenge," he said, unruffled, taking her aback. Did he really think he could defeat her? She felt momentarily uncertain then shook herself. She had learned long ago not to give an opponent the upper hand with self-doubt.
She lifted her chin, her blade never wavering from its position. "To first blood, then."
He inclined his head in a courtly manner. And waited. She threw him a look of exasperation and lunged. There was a thud and she felt the blade in her hand reverberate from the impact with Jerrick's cane, which had swung up with amazing speed to deflect the blow.
The offending stick was once again resting innocently on the floor when she looked at it. She sniffed disdainfully and nodded her head to indicate that the next move was his, a gesture he returned more graciously.
Angered that he would not fight her, she moved and moved again, striking with ferocious strength. He parried each blow, making it look effortless. He did it so skillfully that her blade did not even leave dents on the smooth finish of the wood.
Scowling, Crystal stepped up her attack, focused on drawing blood and ending the match. Not that it was much of one; Jerrick had not so much as moved an inch from his initial position, nor struck a single blow that was not in defense.
"It's not a complete loss," he said, avoiding her blade. "Quite a number of the Turned and the witches are ready for actual combat, I've been told. They will supplement your numbers and they have the advantage of already being a cohesive working unit."
She snarled in frustration as well as contempt at the thought of adding his weaklings to her force. "Cut the platitudes. Let's finish this."
"As you wish," he said and then he shifted and entered the fight. The cane became a most effective weapon in his hands, part quarterstaff, part hook. The curved end caught her arm and wrenched her about.
"They say that familiarity breeds contempt," Jerrick commented casually. A sharp rap on her shoulder caused pain to shoot up down her spine and up her neck. She whirled, banishing a quick, horrific flashback of her battle with Emery, when she felt his blade and his fangs enter her from behind. The remembered terror fueled her anger as she swung her blade full force at Jerrick.
His cane met her blow but instead of trying to stop it, he ran with it, guiding it back into an upswing and then into a spiral. The cane entangled with the blade, the scraping of metal on wood filling the hall and echoing through the darkness. "In this case, it would appear to be true," he continued, sounding unfazed. He disengaged and set the cane back down, leaning lightly on it.
Despite his posture of relaxation, he was met her next attack readily. "There are three simple rules you ought to have learned by now, Crystal," he commented. "Never lose your patience, don't let your opponent dictate the rules of the match and never underestimate your opponent."
She growled at him for spouting rudimentary training principles as he reversed the cane smoothly. He caught her next swing, guided it as before. With the blade trapped in the hook and momentum carrying it forward, she didn't realize his intention until it was too late.
With a deft twist and a nudge, he curled the blade inward and sliced through the sleeve of her black _gi_. Crystal stared at the thin line of scarlet that appeared, then felt the sting of the cut. Not as biting as the damage to her pride; she had just been bested by a cripple.
"And of course," Jerrick added. "You should always be on guard." He inclined his head at her politely and withdrew.
He paused, one hand on the doorknob. "I'll announce the upcoming attack after dinner. The arrangements for the other team had better be communicated privately, I think." With that, he left her to fume over her defeat and the ill-made challenge.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I know it was another long-winded piece. Yahoo, The Two Towers is out today!