It was almost a game between them at this point. If anyone were to question them about it, Mlynar would scoff at the label for it, and Penance would simply give them a glare before saying "it is not professional", but neither could deny the game they played in the morning. Neither really spoke of it, but Mlynar and Penance worked well into the night; Penance for her work in discussing legal casings with the Princeton Plaisborough legal team and with Desczc, always in Deszcz's room, and Mlynar with his discussions with the others and researching on the approach after agreeing to such an operation. The long hours going through the books or talking about Kazimierzian commerce was a where on the mind and oftentimes, neither had time to eat dinner, opting to go home and pass out. Occasionally they would eat dinner if offered by their respective groups, but usually their own world focus pushed them past the dinner hour. And unlike Rhode Island that often had twenty four hour stands for people to get a late night snack, New Orange seemed to have a rather strict on and off hours for dining. Often one not even realizing the other had already fallen asleep.
But in the morning it was a different game, perhaps spurned by both their old memories, breakfast was always something both found they had time to eat, or more accurately make. Neither were particularly fast or early risers, but when one saw they were the first up, it was almost automatic how they went to their little kitchenette to cook something to eat between the two of them. For both, it felt like a reminder of a time that felt almost too long ago to recall.
For Penance, it reminded her of youth, how young she was coming to the ward-ship of Bernardo Bellone. Her time living under the Bellone roof alongside Bernardo, Leontuzzo, and occasionally Demitri was a complicated memory, but one that she felt she could recall with some degree of warmth. She had never met Leontuzzo's mother, and her only knowledge that he had one was a single portrait hung in the house study. She had never asked about it, both out of a sense of impropriety but also because she knew she wouldn't like the answer with how sad Leontuzzo or Bernardo got when they passed by that picture. But this only furthered cemented her as the sole female presence in a household dominated by men and boys, and common amongst Siracusan culture was food often prepared by the woman of the household. While not enforced, the Bellone family did have house staff who would take care of it, Lavinia at the time remembered her own family's meals and out of a desire to try and keep that memory alive, attempted to emulate that feeling by cooking breakfast for them. It had been a slow start, but eventually she could recall with fondness those early morning meals that seemed rose colored in their warmth.
For Mlynar, it reminded him of those early struggles, trying to take care Margaret and Maria after his father had fallen into his fits and was bedridden. Those first few days where Margaret stared at him with a look of suspicion and Maria, she had barely began to learn to walk when Mlynar had first bandaged the scrapes and cuts on her hands when she still crawled. At that time money wasn't as much of an issue, their wealth had allowed him to go through those first early weeks easy, but eventually the costs began to add up and their wealth as well. House staff were let go, scant unneeded belongings sold, and above all, Mlynar needed to learn how to cook for a child and a toddler. He had knowledge of cooking, those times in the field, in the camps, amongst the revelry and soldiers alike had given an understanding of HOW to cook, but not in making meals that a child or baby would like. Margaret never liked carrots, and Maria had a disliking for anything green at that age. Yet even so, he woke up in those early mornings to cook breakfast for… His family. Only after a realization of standing in front of a hot pan with oil splattering his arms did he come to realization. It burned and warmed him, and recalling those memories the feeling remained.
So how did it come to the fact that now with both living not amongst their families, but in what they could only tentatively call each other "friends", that breakfast became a game to them? It had started when they awoke at the same time, Penance rising for her bed with a stiff neck and back, and Mlynar opening his eyes blearily and staring up at a spinning ceiling fan. They had noticed the other had woken up, as well as their choice of sleeping attire, a large sweatshirt and shorts for Penance and simply pajama pants for Mlynar (in truth the Columbian heat was something he was not accustomed to yet as well). It had been a week since that first night incident, and while neither spoke of it, there was a sense of consciousness the other had that eventually went away. Still, seeing the other in their loungewear was not something most people could get used to, but eventually they did. That day however, both stomachs growled for sustenance that had both stood and walked over to their kitchenette. Both had independently bought groceries to try and fit in their fridge to marginal degrees, however the kitchen itself was not a space for two cooks to be in.
"I need the-"
"Watch out-"
"I have a-"
"That's my-"
The slight squabble over space resulted in neither having a worthwhile meal. For Mlynar who had tried to make simple porridge, he found that the oats and fruit had not properly set in and some remained uncooked. The jam and honey had spilled and so he'd need to buy another jar AND had none in his bowl. For Penance, her coffee had burned and so was incredibly bitter and the cornetto she had remained unfilled because she too would have liked to add honey or jam but none could be used. Bad enough it seemed that food seemed to be growing more scarce from their local markets, but it seemed that edible food had gotten scarce when both tried to cook for themselves.
So both glowered at their partial meals as their stomach remained hungered.
"This was…" Mlynar began
"Inadequate," Penance finished.
Both nodded at their assessment of the situation. An agreement was made between them to avoid another event. If either party awoke before the other, then that person would be in charge of cooking breakfast. However if both awoke, one would be in charge of a food item and the other a drink item. For this first one, Mlynar cooked a breakfast since the requirements for a backup meal of sausage and eggs did not need time for bread to be baked. As for Penance, she brewed another cup of coffee for herself, and for Mlynar. While not an avid coffee drinker, a certain blend that Ezel and Penance had partaken in during the mission was shared amongst the four of them in Sargon. In truth, he had taken to it and was not at all surprised to see Penance had made it once more.
Now having a proper breakfast shared between them, a hearty one of eggs, sausage, tomatoes, and mushrooms alongside a nice macchiatone cup, both their hungers were slaked and the first round of the game had started with a tie.
The next day, Mlynar had awoken to the smell of potatoes in oil and coffee, his nose waking him first before the sun's rays woke him. Groaning himself awake, his head felt clouded from the night trying to explain the different Kazimierizian companies and their relationships to Blaze, Tequila, and Midnight explaining the corporate nightmare was not quite the same as living it again, but he didn't realize how ludicrous it sounded until he had witnesses tell him so. Regardless his mind was filled with paperwork and corporate dealings before he was awoken. His back cracked as he lifted himself up to see Penance in the kitchenette. Her tail swished about her and she hummed a song that only she heard.
His presence was made known by clearing his throat, and Penance turned to face him. A bit of flour on her cheek that she wiped off, but she had the stove turned off and two plates in her hand.
"Would you like coffee or juice?"
"I"m fine with either," Mlynar responded. It had been a while since he's had a meal cooked for him. Not counting the almost restaurant quality meals that Rhode island provides and the readily available rations on missions, the last meal he remembered being cooked for him had been nearly six years ago. Margaret and Maria trying their best to cook a meal for him after he had woken up late on the weekend. The kitchen was a mess, both covered in oil, flour, and Maria was crying as Margaret tried to bandage a cut on her finger.
This meal was a far cry from the one they made him, but in this early morning hour and the familiar smell of eggs and potatoes made the memory come to him easier. He shook his head in a reprieve, such sentimentality wasn't something he wished to dwell on so early in the morning. Instead his focus went to the breakfast Penance had cooked. He recognized potatoes, sometimes he wondered just how widespread that crop was that it seemed every nation had their own way to cook it, as well as eggs and what looked like beans. The eggs were cooked peculiarly, the whites having cooked over the yolk.
"Uh, scusa , I didn't know how you liked eggs. So I cooked them the way I knew Leontuzzo liked them," Penance apologized, seeing Mylnar's curious look. He made no comment, but saw how she ate first, cutting open the egg so the yolk spilled out to mix with the beans and potatoes. He copied her, though a little bit more messily as he didn't expect the egg to keep some resistance despite its delicate appearance. Penance let out a small laugh when she saw him struggle, but he eventually pierced the white pocket to spill out the liquid steaming yolk.
Penance liked cooking for people. She didn't get a chance to do it much after she had separated from the Bellone family. Past boyfriends never got to the "let's move in together" stage, and her focus on her career had meant she would cook for herself rarely, opting instead to grab food in order to get back to work faster. She had cooked a few times for Deszcz when they were roomed together, but her busy work schedule followed her to Rhode Island. In Sargon, food was either rations that were provided by Rhode Island provided, or when they had reached the city, it was food bought in the market. When she came back and they had Provence, Mostima, and Fiametta added, it was Provence who had spent her time cooking for them all, either little snacks or quick breakfasts. This was the first time she had cooked something for someone else in a long time, and she remembered how nice it was to cook. Even if Mlynar's general disposition wasn't one of open emotions like Leontuzzo or Deszcz, she could see a little bit of appreciation from the flick of his ears or hum of contentedness he made.
The next morning, it was Penance who awoke to the sound of hot oils. She had finally spoken to the doctor who had racked up so many personal lawsuits alleged against him and talking to him was… An experience to be sure. The older Kuranta doctor had a perpetual sarcastic tone and stubbornness that was infuriating at times, she had initially likened his stubbornness to Mlynar, but whereas Mlynar spoke incredibly little, Doctor Horse spoke a little too much. Both however shared a penchant for a rather cutting tongue when push came to shove.
"How could insurance know what "typical oripathy" symptoms look like? They write all these policies, and yet, oripathy is a constantly evolving disease!"
"That doesn't mean you can falsify tests so that it resembles the recognized oripathic symptoms!"
"And what, you'd so easily let people die because some morons in office couldn't tell the difference between a knife stab and a junkie injection?"
Their argument grew so heated that Silence and Doctor Foreman had to pull them apart in order to calm them down. Penance had opted to go with the Liberi Doctor afterwards. Both had their fair share of interactions with the pompous man, and needed some libations to destress themselves. They ended up running into Chen and Hoshiguma who were carrying a giggling Pallas, where all five were quickly found by Fiona and Rita when they stumbled into a Victorian based pub for round two. Penance didn't remember how she returned to the room, but she remembered sending a message to someone before passing out.
And now with a pounding headache, she groggily moved up out of her bed. Her clothes that she wore the night before were still on, and she smelled somewhat of stale beer. She grabbed some spare clothes before running to the bathroom, if Mlynar had made any note he said nothing, opting instead to focus on cooking. It seemed what he was making was quite complicated, as when she came out after washing her face and changing, he was still at it. She moved closer to see what it was.
"It's called Naleśniki ," he said without turning around. Penance stared at it. The hot pan was steaming before he ladled a thin batter onto it. He spread into a circle that he let rest for a few seconds before flipping it. Penance saw how thin the pancake looking dish was before noting several had already been placed on a plate besides him.
"Take a seat," Mlynar said over his shoulder. "I cannot make coffee unfortunately, however, there is some juice on the table. It should help with your hangover." Penance made her way toward the table. A large bottle of a brilliant red liquid that Penance had initially mistaken as wine stood. Pouring herself a glass, she was met with a sharp aroma of fruits and sweetness. Bringing it to her lips, she tasted complex flavors of strawberries and apricots alongside sugar. She felt the sugars reduce the dulling throb in her head before the large shadow of Mlynar came over to her. In his hand were two plates.
"Do you prefer sweet or savory?" he asked as he set them down.
"For breakfast? I have no preference," she said. Mlynar hummed before pointing to the two plates.
"This one has fruits, this one chopped bacon and mushrooms," he said. There was a stack of six on each before Mlynar had grabbed one, the fruity one, and cut it open. The delicate dough was sliced easily to reveal the violet and red jam inside. Penance looked at it with interest, and was curious about the other kind and speared one onto a plate. Slicing it open, a steaming smell of fatback and mushrooms that was peppered with some aromatic spices that would pique many Siracusan chefs interests. Biting into it likewise charmed Penance's taste buds and assuaged her apparent gnawing hunger. She had finished the meal in a few quick bites before grabbing a sweet one to taste it. Mlynar let out a short chuff, his version of a chuckle.
"This was their favorite meal," he laughed. Penance looked up at him. "Margaret and Maria. They'd always fight over which one was better, sweet or savory."
"I'd assume Margaret was for savory, and Maria sweet?"
"The opposite actually. Margaret likes sweets more than Maria, though I wonder if that is still the case." Mlynar mused that more to himself than anything else. They ate in a comfortable silence after that though. Both going their own ways for the day but humorously enough when needed to report back the legal problems that Princeton Plainsborough had with a Rhode Island representative, it was Maragaret Nearl who met up with Deszcz and Penance.
"The commercial lawsuits can be tossed out easily, ist mostly the sheer amount that's annoying though," Deszcz waved off as the three sat at a small cafe adjoined to the hospital. "We might need some more hands, any quick trustable readers on the roster that's free?"
"I can look into it," Margaret noted as she quickly wrote some quick notes on a notepad. From what Penance saw, there were quite a bit already written down before. She saw names and some illegible shorthand.
"Have you talked to many others already?" Penance asked. Margaret nodded, a little bit of wear seen in her eyes as she stretched her neck and back.
"Quiet a few. The Doctor has also taken to the city with their own escort, so many of their duties are split amongst five of us. Because of the nature of the Doctor's job, we've been made temporary supervisors…" There was an air of resignation to her voice. "New Orange is quite a large city."
"Have you been driving or walking?" Deszcz asked.
"Walking mostly. With how cars seem to pile up, walking or taking the public transportation seems the fastest," Margaret reasoned. "Though it seems Uncle has found the most optimal mode of transportation. Never thought he'd have a Hussar."
"The motorcycle?" Penance questioned. Margaret nodded. "What's so special about it?" Margaret seemed wistful at that question.
"It's… Somewhat of an antiquated possession, the practice of it. Squires and knights of Kazimierz used to ride burden beasts, we called these ones Hussars. A knight was gifted one after graduating from being a squire, but later after some induction from Victoria with their automotive technology, knights found that these new vehicles or motorcycles could run for longer and faster than a burdenbeast. So instead of a burdenbeast, knights were rode Hussars. Some were gifted or passed down by the families, but some could be built by the squire's own hand, and gifted a chevron upon knighthood. Now though, any person could own a hussar." Margaret stared at the coffee cup in her hand. "When we were younger, Uncle had to sell his after we ran into money troubles. There… had been a fight about it actually, since it was initially gifted from our father to him." A somber air filled the space as Margaret and Deszcz shared in it. Penance felt a little out of her depth, the more she learned of Kazimierz and the people that the land raised, the more questions she had. How beholden Kazimierz seemed to knights, yet the disdain or even the sadness spoken by those of Kazimierz about knighthood never seemed to connect well.
Then Margaret's stomach growled, and her face colored a light red at the sound of it.
"Ah, my apologies for that," she quickly said. Deszcz laughed and Penance felt somewhat relieved with the levity. It seemed no matter, Kazimierz would be a heavy topic to discuss, no matter who was speaking of it.
"You must be hungry, would you like a bite?" Penance offered. On her plate was a tiramisu cake, the cafe boasted it and much to their credit it was serviceable for her Siracusan tongue.
"Uh, n-no, it wouldn't do well for me. Sweets that is," Margaret held her hands up to try and ward off the cake on the fork. However Penance found it a little cute, especially with how her eyes would flick towards it still despite her insistence.
"Are you sure? I recommend it actually," Penance replied. She pushed the plate over towards Margaret. "In fact, I'm actually quite famished. Do you think you could finish it for me?" Margaret looked conflicted and Deszcz herself was laughing to herself. Eventually, her hunger got to the best of her and Margaret looked down at the cake. With a tentative hand, she held the fork that seemed to speak of deep internal betrayal before spearing a piece. It came to her mouth shaking, and her eyes seemed to look towards Penance and Deszcz for help, but there was none for her. And then Nearl took a bite.
"Hmmm!" An involuntary moan came from her as she savored the sweet and slightly bitter confectionary.
"Oh man, if only Click was here with her camera," Deszcz cackeld. Margaret sent a halfhearted glare that was much more comical with her mouth still on the fork. Penance only let out a small chuckle.
"If you're still hungry, I think they have some sort of Kazimierizian dessert available here."
"Oh right, Naleśniki! I haven't had those in years!" Deszcz exclaimed. Margaret's eyes widened, a look of surprise but also of desire plain on her features as she tentatively looked at the dessert menu still at hand.
"Its lunch anyways, take a break before going back on your journey," Penance offered. At this Margaret seemed to accept it, digging into the cake before Penance waved down a waitress to order more.
"Margaret likes sweets more than Maria, though I wonder if that is still the case."
-L&L-Mlynar knew his sword arm had gotten rusty in the time of rest and relaxation and the absence of training. And while he expected no such forms of combat to be needed to be used on corporate workers and salarymen, even if they were from Kazimierz, it was those who traveled alongside them or were employed by or for them that made the need to keep his blade sharp, and his wit sharper.
Of course finding a place to hone his skills again was more difficult to find in New Orange compared to Rhode Island. The landship had an abundance of resources and ample space for him to practice alone when he wanted, but in this new space he had to make due.
However what was a holdover from Rhode Island was the abundance of connections. Simply asking on the grapevine was easy enough, and it seemed that that service seemed to be as highly demanded from Rhode Island as it was their pharmaceutical knowledge. It was how Mlynar found himself parking his hussar in an area a ways from the hustle and bustle of greater New Orange into a more dilapidated but still lived area. While infection was less of a damning issue, the compounded issues of infection in Columbia remained, such as difficulties in jobs as well as the added financial burden. It was often then that even if Columbia had more liberal policies of infection and social undertakings, it did not mean that it was flawless. Poverty wasn't a hallmark of being infected, but many infected lived in or just above poverty, in neighborhoods that Mlynar found himself in. Many eyed him with hungry or anxious eyes and he could not blame him, his type looked not like the many who would come to these parts with benevolent intentions.
This current place was near a large inlet of a bay, in a sense close to an ocean that allowed some forms of maritime trade and production, but those who occupied this space were of equal parts infected individuals and the people who Mlynar himself was looking to find.
"Good afternoon Skadi," Mlynar greeted the pale skinned woman, sitting amongst some signage, her large hat obscuring her face, but no one could misplace her with the large blade that lay just in front of her. It lay in front of her because in her hands in its stead was a stringed instrument that she played a wordless tune to. "Miss Laurentina." He nodded to the nunlike woman who was handing out flowers beside her, the Aegier's red eyes and sharp tooth smile ever present, changing depending on who greeted her for a flower. To the children, it was kind, to those who gave her a wide berth, it was foreboding, to Mlynar it was just a smile just below eyes of an endless red.
"Are you looking for the rest of the flock, dear wayward soul," Laurentina asked with that smile. Skadi continued strumming her instrument along as people began to gather, sailors and citizens alike.
"Indeed."
"Simply follow a little violet flower," Lauretina said cryptically, pointing to a lone Aegierian woman, a long case over her shoulder and a penchant for standing just far enough away that those who saw her would have their eyes go right past her. With her mask and dark glasses, one would mistake her for someone with malcontent intentions should they focus on her, but it was simply how she liked to dress. Meeting Mlynar's eyes, Andreana gestured behind her before she took off, Mlynar left Fealty with Skadi and Laurentina, but made sure to extract his blade out.
Walking through the misty and humid alleys a pace behind Andreana, Mlynar saw the port district of New Orange from within. From the ringdinging of the port bells and the darkening overcast, one could not call it a quiet place to be, but he found it more charming than the rancorous horns and the incessant forever brightness of New Orange's commercial districts. Something human about the stand barkers enticing locals and tourists to sample wares, and fisherman baying out their fresh catches.
Eventually Andreana and Mlynar reached an area away from even that, a place that housed several emergency Rhode Island tents and constructs for the peculiar individuals who would not do well to dwell amongst the regular citizenry of New Orange. Anthony Simon, for one, was still a wanted criminal, and so had to find himself be at home in this area, alongside others like Kafka, Flamebringers, Lappland, and those who didn't like confines of modern society like the Abyssal Hunters, Meteor, or Mudrock.
Of course Rhode Island didn't take this place for free either, as this was an area where several infected lived. The infected even on the lowest rung of a hierarchical ladder, the ones who lived in true destitution and squalor, often preyed by gangs and individuals from proper society intent on trying to find some fun in poking or prodigy the lowest, Rhode Island offered treatment, succor, and aid to them, alongside some strength with individuals like W or Cantabile could offer.
Its where Mlynar found training grounds, a place to hone his sword and arm, and already it was occupied by a few individuals.
Akafuyu leapt over the large swing of Quartz's heavy sword, the large hump of metal created sparks as it was dragged before swinging, but the force behind it was not lost. Large heavy swings that spoke of power and hardship against the footwork and agility of a warrior trained for combat. Akafuyu slashed out her own blade, though lighter and not as thick, the expert craftsmanship of them meant they could hold their own even against such an onslaught of strength. However with one blade, Akafuyu pushed the large sword just off kilter enough to mess with Quartz's balance, causing her to fall askew of her intended step and off kilter. Akafuyu leapt immediately, her second blade primed and ready.
Like a woman possessed, her eyes screamed for victory, but Quartz had not lived so long on Columbia's frontier to be so easily defeated as off balance movement, instead of trying to reightend herself, she simply fell with her step. Her profile was not in the intended area of Akafuyu's pounce, as instead Quartz her lesser used agility to enact a split before spinning and kicking her legs out, pushing Akafuyu with her legs and sending her flying. The Hingashian woman clutched her stomach, but she remained ready. Quartz herself had righted herself, breathing hard but her eyes remained ready. However a tweet from a whistle and both relaxed.
"That's time!" A familiar voice called out and Mlynar suppressed the urge to run away. If she was here then that usually meant-
"Oh! Uncle, what are you doing here!" That was Maria's voice who greeted him as others began to walk away from the impromptu arena. He turned towards her, and saw her in greased attire. A dark stain on her cheek and tools still in her pockets and gloved hand. A bandana tied to try and keep her hair out of her face, but some loose golden strands still fell.
"Hm, good afternoon Maria," Mlynar greeted simply. The girl giggled before moving in and hugging him. He didn't reciprocate or push her off, but frankly, she didn't expect him too. He didn't mind the oil transferring from her to him, but did take note how tight she was holding him before she let go. He shook his arm to ward off the numbness. "I had come to see how the camp had been doing. Ernesto wished to give something to his sister." It was a partial truth, Ernesto had opted to stay in city while Rafaela had opted to remain in the temporary camp, helping out the infected and keeping the others abreast of the situation. Ernesto himself had found a bottle that he wanted to give to his sister and Mlynar had offered to take it to her when he talked about going there. He had thought that the practice would be his primary objective, but if Maria and Zofia were here…
He sighed, inwardly chiding himself for being so childish. At the very least, he should go through with the lie he set himself in.
"Do you know where Rafeala is?"
"Rafaela? Oh, we share a tent, so I'll take you to her!" Maria grabbed his sleeve and took him through the camp. Mlynar relented, knowing he might as well follow his niece. At the very least it might give him more time for Zofia to move away from the area, but he suspected it wouldn't be in the end.
"Rafaela, its Maria!"
"Comprende," the woman's voice chimed back. Maria opened the tent flap to reveal Rafaela, who seemed to have finished her own training session as she looked to be stretching out her limbs. Mlynar didn't step in, mostly on account of the tent's rather low hanging ceiling. It was the perfect height for Maria and Rafaela, but for him, it was well below his own nose.
"Oh, Senor, Mlynar, hello," Rafaela noticed Mlynar's dark shadow. "What brings you here?"
"Your brother wanted me to deliver a package to you." Reaching into his coat, Mlynar extracted the bottle. It was a large one, but clear and had Iberian writing on it.
"Oh, Fuenteseca Cosecha Blanco!" Rafaela's eyes sparkled seeing the bottle. Gingerly holding, she marveled over it. "How did Ernesto get it?" In truth Mlynar had been present at the place. A wager had been made with a barman, whoever could drink the most shots. Of course, five of the last ten people were all Rhode Islanders. Landing on it eventually just being Blaze and Mlynar himself in the end, and he had won it by the barest of margins.
"A contest. It was the prize," was what Mlynar replied with. Rafaela examined it with interest and he was about to turn away, but was caught by Maria, who had come out of her tent changed into a fresh set of clothes.
"Come now Uncle, you wouldn't come to the camp just to deliver something," she postured. Mlynar gave her a look, and merely sighed before responding.
"I had come here to try and train, however if she's leading the grounds, I would rather avoid it." Maria gave him a look. "Zofia always turns it into a damnable game, a sport. Pah, contests to show off."
"My my, you've even grown to even bad mouth me behind my back," a haughty voice chimed out. Mlynar only grunted.
"No, I was always aware you were there."
"Well that's just hurtful dear cousin," Zofia chided as she came over. She was still in her usual uniform, although her coat was off despite the cloudy overcast above. "And if you said you wanted to practice, you should come by now, someone of you caliber is itching for a partner."
"If its anyone you'd recommend, I would doubt it," he replied. Zofia let out a short bout of laughter.
"Oh, she's certainly not a friend of mine, though I guess she's YOUR coworker." Mlynar sent her a quizzled look before looking towards the field and seeing who Zofia was alluding to. He let out a small curse.
"I thought she wasn't allowed to do full contact on Rhode Island," Mlynar replied tersely. Zofia laughed into her hand.
"Well we're not ON Rhode Island are we," she replied with a smile. Mlynar sent her a withering look, then turned to look back at Gladiia, who was uncaring to the quickly chilling weather, but perhaps it was due to her kind's unique biology. She simply wore bodysuit, boots, and the large imposing spear that raked through the air with viscous intent.
"She also wants to spar with you," Zofia supplied. He turned toward her sharply, eyes narrowed and mouth set in a thin critical line. Zofia held up her hands. "Hey, don't look at me, she's asked Maragert, Maria, AND me to try and get in touch with you. Something about how you seem similar enough to another colleague that your combat ability should suffice."
"And you think I'd just do that?"
"Well isn't that why you came by dear cousin?" Mlynar made a noncommittal noise. "Besides, your usual partners are either out injured, done, or out in the city. Flamebringer sprained his ankle, Lucien is out, and that Silverash fellow is still on the landship. No one else would want to spar with you anyway, cause you never put your heart into it." Mlynar clicked his tongue as he looked to the side. "Oi, dont click your tongue at me, this is your fault."
"Uncle? Aun-Ehm, Zofia?" Maria looked towards them. "Are you two fighting again?"
"No."
"Nope!"
Maria didn't believe them, but had to move to keep up with Mlynar who was walking towards the cleared practice field and Gladiia, who looked towards their direction with the same neutral expression on her face. Mlynar just let out a frustrated groan before shedding off his jacket, Maria was already waiting expectantly, eyes looking proud before Mlynar drew his blade and stepped onto the stage.
He had worn his usual ensemble that he wore on Rhode Island, but without his jacket, it was simply his blue shirt and tie, the sleeves rolled up and the gauntlet over his arm.
"Are you finally finished with your preparations," Gladiia said. She held her spear lightly between her fingers despite the weight and size.
"Yes, yes." Mlynar held his sword lightly as well, one hand for now as he ran a hand through his hair. He could feel the start of a chill without his jacket, but he knew that chill would be temporary anyways.
"Alright you two, first to three clean blows, first blood, OR after three minutes are up," Zofia announced loudly. The camp was astir now, those who were combat operators were interested in the match up, those in Rhode Island circles simply were wondering what a "moisturized" Gladiia fought like, and a few who were Mlynar's normal sparring partners were starring with gleeful interest. Lappland for one looked like she was salivating, which was frankly disturbing.
"Arts?" Mlynar posed as Zofia began a count down.
"If you think it would help you," Gladiia shrugged. Mlynar clicked his tongue.
"I thought you were not allowed to use your full strength in training?"
"And what would be the point of "training" with someone if I didn't use my full strength."
"Three!"
"Is it because we are not currently on Rhode Island that you're allowed to use more than the allotted strength that Closure normally allows you to use?."
"I'll let you be the judge of that landwalker."
"Two."
Mlynar drew his blade and had one foot back. He hated when Zofia ran a sparring session. Turning it into a game, like cheap sport. He hated also being one of the few who was allowed to spar with Gladiia if only because she's everything a knight would be.
"Begin!"
It's said that an Abyssal Hunter moves fast because they were more suited to fighting in water. No one has ever seen them fight, especially during those events in Iberia, and those who might have do not talk about it. Other Aegerians don't speak much about the abilities of AByssal Hunters as well, and in truth the closest anyone has ever seen the "true" strength of either Laurentina, Skadi, or Gladiia has only been on missions near coasts, artificial bodies of water, or near great lakes.
Near this sea that New Orange had near it, Gladiia became a blur.
Her spear whipped overhead Mlynar and he barely had the time to move out of the way. The crack of air before the impact was enough for Mlynar to step back and keep his blade up, the tip connecting with the tip of the spear before flicked it downward and sent his own strike.
A short bark of laughter came from Gladiia she effortlessly danced away from Mlynar's own strike. It was almost laughably slow, but was quickly made to move as a quick jab almost got her. She let out a sneer as she paced away from Mlynar, her spear still held at the ready, but now, his blade seemingly met hers. Both of them swung their weapons against the air. Then both stepped forward.
A shower of sparks came from the first meeting. Strikes from both meeting in a center in a collision of power that seemingly shook the rockrete foundations of the makeshift camp. Water from the nearby irrigation funnel sloshed violently as the strikes continued to meet. A cut, a jab, a slash, strikes that came hairsbreadth away from connecting, deftly avoided in order for the defender to get even closer with their counterattacks.
"Uncle seems… Angrier than normal," Maria muttered to Zofia who stood at the side. She spared a single side eye at her niece before her eyes flicked back to the two. Neither Mlynar nor Gladiia had drawn blood or made a significant strike towards the other. It was scary how competent they were. And even more terrifying since Zofia knew Mlynar hardly ever got like this.
"Oh, he's just worked up probably," Zofia replied with a noticeable tambor in her voice. "Surely he hasn't grown hot headed in his old age."
Another roar from Gladiia singled an impass where a swing from her spear sent Mlynar sliding back on his heels, he still remained standing. Gladiia was letting out roars and hisses like a feral beast, but Mlynar's silence was more unnerving. A pained look, not of injury, but of contempt on his face, but not towards his opponent, but of the others around him.
Then water began to gather at the tip of Gladiia's spear, pulling things toward it before she whipped it out. Mlynar sneered without noise, and his sword glowed in harsh luminense before his blade swung out, colliding with the gathered water. Light colliding in a crescendo of power and mist and many onlookers backed away in fear of being hit.
"Pada deszcz," he growled as the remnants scattered around him. Gladiia sent him a sneering grin.
"Well, it seems this was dangerous enough for you to let loose your power."
"You started it," was what Mlynar replied with before quickly dodging out of the way of slashes from the spear. Parrying them away, he sneered as Gladiia gathered more water on the tip of her spear. Except instead of its smaller size, this grew with increasing intensity until a veritable cyclone was at the tip of her spear.
"W-Wait, this was meant to be a simple spar!" Zofia protested, then went silent as she felt a harsh light seer her eyes despite not peering at it. She turned with a hand over her eyes to see that Mlynar's sword began to glow. Not the same brilliance seen with Margaret's arts, nor the comforting luminescence that came from Maria. Even Zofia's arts, a pale imitation it seemed of the other two, paled in the violence that Mlynar's was. If Margaret's was the majesty of light, and Maria the comfort and soothing touch, his was violent wrath itself.
"Mlynar! Cease!"
"This is enough play!"
"How very tiring…"
"Oh fuck its gonna blow!"
"Scatter!"
"Defenders, I need barriers now!"
A bounding light explosion could be seen from the distance, but many nearest to Laurentina and Skadi, who still remained in the ports, merely let out small mirthless laughs at their rarely excited Captain finally being allowed to let loose.
-L&L-"Thanks Red," the Doctor smiled after being helped up. Projekt Red nodded solemnly as she pulled her dagger out of the wall. She sniffed the air before nodding her head.
"Red does not smell anything else." The Doctor smiled before looking towards Shalem and Lucian. Both were examining the ones who they had just taken out. The more taciturn of the two kept a watchful eye, he and his ever present shadow looked out and on as Shalem examined the circuitry of the mech.
"Your company is always so forthright," the Tin Man remarked, seemingly appearing from the ether besides the Doctor. For their part, the Doctor didn't seem to mind that during the melee that the Tin Man had seemingly vanished, leaving Rhode Island to face the brunt of the resistance. In truth, they fully expected it, the Tin Man did say he wasn't necessarily allowed to work on this case himself. "Are you like this with all guest requests?"
"Only from those who know me the best!" the Doctor let out with a light bit of laughter. Shalem finally extracted what he needed from the mech, some branded machinery parts, and tossed it to the Doctor.
"Recognize this?" The Doctor held up the machinery to the Tin Man's unblinking eyes.
"Alva corporation? Aside from the usual near theft of intellectual property and copyright, I had no knowledge that they had gone into the arms industry," the Tin Man said. "This is certainly something that I'd report to the Maylander, but I'm more curious on how or why they would have a vested interest in my people's remnants."
"What're their main area of business?"
"Stirctly speaking? Quite nebulous, but mostly they have their fingers in commercial and media goods. Innovations in cameras, lights, and the like of mass music proliferation, although "innovations" is putting it a little thick." The Tin Man saw a quirk of an eyebrow behind the Doctor's visor. He let out a chuckle, their wide and narrow breadth of knowledge was always something that always got him. "You know Columbian practices of copyright. You know simply "inventing" a product isn't enough, you also have to patent it as well. Alva corporation is well known for patenting a product right before another company could do it themselves. Of course their products fit the satisfactory requirements to hold a copyright, both intellectual and physically, but there are always talks on how exactly they would come up with these schematics or prototypes without having much in the way of actual discourse in the topic."
"Hmm…" The Doctor murmured to themself before pocketing the scrap. Then they looked up at the place that those kids had pointed them out to. "Your informats are likewise quite the talented individuals." The Tin Man held his hands up.
"None of my doing mind you," he chuffed. Although the Doctor could tell there was perhaps a tiny spark of pride in his voice. "However, perhaps I did give them a little more incentive. Out of my own pocket of course."
"Of course," the Doctor repeated before their eyes scanned over the building. "But an abandoned ice cream factory?"
"Apparently this one had been abandoned for several months now, but despite its status, it's seen some activity."
"And security," the Doctor remarked dryly, noting the mechs they had just dispatched. "Unless abandoned buildings usually have such in Columbia."
"Usually patrols by the security forces or night guardsmen to make sure matieral isn't being stolen, but not mechs. Especially not these kinds of high grade personal protection."
"No exterior sensors, nor any sort of guards," Platinum said from the Doctor's side. The Kuranta's steely gaze looked over the building, her hands light on her bowstring. Despite her relaxed stance and face, her back was taunt and her mouth set in a strict line. Though, perhaps that was how her face looked in general.
"Danger," Red said simply. Platinum turned to the quieter girl before she simply threw a blade at the fence. It sparked violently as the metal conducted the electric charges through the blade before it fell.
"Its definitely not abandoned," the Doctor noted with a smile. The Tin Man sighed as he stared as that girl, Projekt Red, grabbed a stick and tried to finagle the knife away from the electrified fence.
"I'd rather not, but I have no time for this." Raising a hand towards the fence, those nearest to the Tin Man saw ports along his metallic skin open as steam and hot air oozed out. Heat gathered in his palm as the metal of the electric fence glowed and began to spark from excess electrical charge being freed. Lights began to dim near the edges as the metal fence glowed white hot. So hot that from a center of the fence, the white hot metal began to melt and curl outwards. Parting away from the Tin Man's hand like invisible hands of fire were parting the fence for his entrance.
"The way is clear," Red supplied once the Tin Man's arm lowered and the exhaust ports alongside his skin closed. His arm fell to his side limply as he almost sagged on his feet. The Doctor moved to help him, but the man simply held his other arm up before it seemed the metal plates and internal skeleton of his righted the limp arm.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine… I haven't used that art in a while and so my body hadn't quite prepared for the strain." Rolling his shoulder, the arm came back to life after a few shakes. "Don't expect any else from me from here on."
"Hopefully we shouldn't need to," the Doctor replied with a coy smile before they walked through the hole in the still steaming metal fence. "Now lets see what hidden flavors that are hidden away, shall we?"