"C'mon Fianna- !" A young Feline woman smiles wide and encouraging to her friend. The hallmark ashen hair of the Wesslan family is pulled into a tight braid and bound into a bun, though not of her own doing. That is all her roommate's hard work, because if she had it her way, she'd just let the short mane flow free. It's because she is tall and proud, the airs of nobility radiating from her in the way she carries herself, even as she helps her Liberi friend onto her shoulders. Not a care to if she gets her academy coat dirty, nor to her friend's reluctance when she stands up, carefully balancing so that her friend can peek into the gutters above.
"Shae… I don't see it."
"Left or right?"
"W-What?"
"Shimmy left or right first?"
"Shae-"
"Fianna, you're already up there, why not look. It's important to you."
Shae wants to look up, check to see if Fianna is really trying, but her friend wasn't wearing leggings today- just the standard tartan skirt and knee-socks of the Royal Guard Academy uniform. Really, she should just wear trousers like Shae, but she supposed that Fianna's style was more cute than practical. Fit the Liberi girl well enough, brought out the natural beauty in her long orange locks and feathers.
Though… they are at a military academy- the Royal Guard's Academy at that. Looking cute wasn't a priority... but for some, however, the Academy was less for a career in the military and more about making connections with nobility–
Or sometimes something more.
"C-Can you move a bit to the right? I think I see something-"
Shae shuffles to the side, making sure that Fianna's got a good grip on the roof as they go. It's a good thing Fianna's a Liberi- if their roles were reversed there was no doubt that Shae's weight would crumple her friend- but then again, Shae could probably have pulled herself up too-
"I think I see it!"
Shae shuffles a bit more, feeling as Fianna tries to get on tip-toes atop her shoulders. Her friend grunts, clearly overreaching before exclaiming, "Got it!"
And when she's cleared the gutter, Shae drops her into her waiting arms. Fianna doesn't scream, but rather squeaks in embarrassment when Shae catches her like a knight would a princess– at least like the ones in Shae's old books.
"Thanks, Shae." Fianna sighs as the Feline woman sets her on her feet.
"I know it's a family thing, but you gotta be careful Fianna. Even if you're Victoria born, wearing something from old Gaul-"
"... I know." Fianna mutters, tucking the winged pin on the inside of her left sleeve as a cuff link.
Shae gets her roommate's sentimentality though. Family pride, even if Gaul itself hadn't existed for generations. If someone were to strip the Wesslans family of their noble name, it couldn't rip the nobility from them. Or at least, wouldn't from some members of her family.
Though… Shae's the exception– she'd always been the exception. Never was the prim and proper daughter, and as the youngest no one much cared either.
"We should get back to class-"
Sweet Fianna, always trying to do what's right for the moment, but Shae knows her friend is deflecting, trying to brush this incident under the proverbial rug. Fifth time this month, ever since word got out about Fianna. Bad enough she is a commoner now, but even worse that her family used to be nobility.
Enemy nobility.
When it came to little caveats like that, didn't matter if Fianna's family had been Victorian for four generations. To some of these old-blood progeny, Gaul had and always will be the enemy.
"Lewis, or Arthurs?"
"Wh-what?"
"Who was it this time?"
Fianna keeps her mouth shut, lips pulled in tight, but even a tight-lipped Fianna could give up the ghost.
"Must have been Arthurs— knobhead still acts like this is Primary all over again-"
And in the middle of her deductions, Fianna grabs her by the sleeve, pleading, "Shae, don't do anything, compared to what he could have done this is nothing."
"So it was Arthurs."
Fianna sighs in defeat, pulling at her tail feathers.
"It was, but please, just don't do anything. He'll just come and do it again, or worse–"
Shae lets out a snort, but has no choice but to agree. A knight should know when it is appropriate to turn the other cheek and when to draw steel. Selection for Tower squireships was not all military prowess, after all.
"Lets just get back to class, alright? We're tardy enough as is."
Shae lets her roommate drag her all the way to the lecture hall. Dumb apologetic smile, a "won't happen again", sitting down like nothing happened, but her head's neither here nor there during the lecture. No, now she had an objective, something she could attain, and not even Fianna could dissuade her. If an honour duel was out of the question, she'd just have to give him a good thrashing during fencing practice or sabotage his ruck before the big ruck march. Plenty of ways to get the point across without getting caught- came with the territory of being the youngest sibling in the family.
Came with learning how to defend herself from her family, too.
"Shae, are you even taking notes?" Fianna whispers urgently, tapping her pen against Shae's unopened notebook. " It's going to be on the exams."
Shae snorts before begrudgingly accepting that before she could have any fun, work came first.
Four weeks since Shae beat Arthurs so badly during fencing practice that he was still seeing double. She went without incident for four wonderfully peaceful weeks, where the only thing on her mind was how to best approach the coming Selections for the Tower.
That changed the night Fianna went out; invited to a party. The kind of mixer that Fianna… thought that she needed to go to.
A great place to meet people- to meet nobles.
Being noble-blooded, Shae found no reason to go. Why spend time around the same kind of snotty, posh, stuck-up pricks she had to be around back home? How stupid could she have been, letting Fi walk out the dorm alone that night?
Being noble-blooded, Shae should have known the cruelty they are capable of. Let her damn guard down is what she did, let a moment of selfishness blind her vigilance.
Fianna came back to the dorm that night abnormally quiet, not even greeting Shae or teasing that the Wesslan lass was studying all on her own. No, the orange-headed Liberi blew right past in a stiff, unnatural sort of way, and that's what got Shae's attention.
"Fi?"
Shae's roommate just grabbed all of her shower stuffs and hustled right out. There's the whiff of alcohol when Fianna passes her again, not to mention a shimmer of something on her cheeks. A murmur too, a choked back attempt to say, "it's nothing" to assuage Shae, but that only raises Shae's heckles more. At this hour, there should be no one in the communal shower, but Shae still follows quietly behind, standing guard at the doorway as she listens to the falling shower water poorly hide her best friend's sobs. From the last three years, Shae knew that Fianna Sallet was a resilient lady- but for something to reduce that proud, humble, happy woman to tears-
A vitriol welled up within her as she leaned against the doorframe. A caustic familiarity, the sort of slithering loathing that she's kept in check, an intensity that has her digging her nails into her palms and clenching her jaw so tight it hurts.
Each time her heart skips, the guilt and anger mix.
Each heave of her chest stokes that emotional inferno more.
Someone is going to pay.
Someone is going to pay dearly .
Fianna slipped back to the dorm when the shower squeaked off, leg bouncing beneath her desk as she feigned reading the text. Only a few minutes for the door to click open, Fianna slipping in quietly once again.
"Are you okay, Fi?"
"Fine." Her Liberi friend mutters, shuffling to the closet to dress for bed. Still no smile, still no quip to Shae, just pulling herself into her bunk and curling up.
How… How does she broach the topic? How can she… find out what happened? Fianna told her everything, so in this moment, when she's clammed up tighter than a vice, Shae's at a loss.
And in that moment of helplessness, she grabs hold of that surging pulse panging away in her heart. Barely sleeps that night, doesn't head to class either, not when Fi stays curled up in bed. She remembers saying something to her roommate, something about going out for breakfast, but Fianna only tightens up more.
So freed of all obligation, Shae sets herself like a fangbeast out for blood. A bit of picking around, some detective work that would make the Yard want to consider her for a position. Managed to get her hands on that night's guest list, or at least a rough approximation. Narrow down the few thousands students of the school down to no more than a hundred, and go from there. Finds a mutual friend on that list, someone that could shed at least some light on the events.
"Lots of drinking- wine believe it or not." her classmate shakes their head, perhaps still in disbelief despite having been there.
"How did no one get caught?"
"Must have been thrown by one of the bigger named kids. Burgh? Wellington? Cornwall?" Shae's classmate shrugs, not noticing how Shae's eyes narrow in disgust for a second.
"Did you see Fi there?"
"Your roomie, right? Yeah, she was there. Expected to see you when I saw her- busy?"
Shae chokes down the sudden acidic rush up her throat to croak out, "Yeah, was busy. Did I miss much?"
"Lot of drinking, lot of… you know, mixing. Didn't really hit it off with anyone so I left early."
Shae grinds her teeth, knowing what she wants to ask, but it'd be presumptuous-
But something inside pushes up in her gut, forces the question through her filters anyways.
"Lotta common kids there?"
Her classmate frowns, but slowly nods as they thought about it.
"Was Fi with anyone?"
"Last I saw she was talking with a few boys from "B" Hall."
B Hall, Blooded Hall as it was known around campus. The place where the more… "noble" boys stayed. Sons of Dukes and Earls, the hall Shae's older brother had stayed at during his time at the Academy… and he certainly didn't come back a better man. Nothing good came from a group of boys with money and power forming the basis of their personalities. She thanked her classmate before shoving her hands into her coat pockets and marching her way to the boy's side of the campus.
She might be able to use her family name to pull some names, maybe leverage her older brother's reputation amongst those who had been his juniors.
And leave it to the "nobles" of that fabled hall to be sitting out in their courtyard, brazenly drinking what was probably leftover wine straight from the bottle. Must have had the same idea as Shae- playing hooky but for all the wrong reasons. They don't notice her, not when Shae's wearing the same sort of clothes as them, her hair tucked up under a cap when Fi wasn't there to braid her hair.
Slipping behind a hedge, all she needs to do is eavesdrop on their lack of subtlety.
"-Skamandros nearly came and took my head off when I suggested anything with that Vouivre underclassman girl she came with. Shame I couldn't get that red-head away from her."
"Yeah, she was a looker. I hear Blithe got some though."
Laughter, the kind of disgusting, cruel laughter that she remembers from home.
"It was that Gaulish bird- she gives some good neck, you should try her sometime soon. Should have heard her sing, though. When I was shagging her from behind, turned those screams into moans right quick."
Words that perk Shae's ears instantly, and she can't help but peek at the ones who. A group of boys that would dare deign to call themselves "young men". Three well groomed Felines and a single burly Perro, all bedecked with the posh trimmings of gold and stones despite the supposed forced conformity of a military academy.
"Didn't like it at first, but once I started working her over… well even a virgin can have a good time."
Vulgar movements to match vulgar words, dishonour that makes the blood boil. Shae very nearly leapt from the hedges just then, feral and screaming, but sinks her nails into her thigh instead.
"Careful, she probably thinks you two've got a thing now, mate."
"Oh don't worry. I put her in her place right after. Flirty birds- commoners like her are no better than whores- but hey, why not get a free shag out of them while they think they're getting something out of you? It's even better when you get their first!"
Laughter.
Laughter and mirth at someone else's misery.
It's the last thing she hears past the keening ring in her own ears. She fixes their faces in her memory.
She knows the one who sullied Fianna, knows where his family stands amongst the Dukes; amongst the contenders for the throne. To assault him now, to savage his face, to break his bones, to crush his very soul into the pavement… would be satisfying.
-but the consequences, those were still able to keep her in check.
A plan was forming in her head though, a way to bring about justice when the legal system favoured the more connected. A single right afforded to her, the one benefit of the Wesslan name that Shae wouldn't feel wretched in using. For all the evils her family had done for the sake of power, if she could get one honourable act from it all, this will be it.
And so she stalks away.
She'll comfort Fianna, try and get her best friend up once more.
She'll make like nothing's happened, hide the hate beneath the vim and vigour of her usual self.
And when her courtroom is set, she'll make sure that Blithe Wellington would face her justice.
Shae spits.
She's never spit, let alone at anyone.
The phlegmatic mixture strikes just between a pair of perfectly polished shoes.
"Th' fuck are you doing, slag!?"
"Spitting." Shae replies, putting her feet up on the seat that the git had been relaxing in earlier in the day. "Figured a snotling like you'd know what that is?"
A white-haired Feline, feathered with just a bit too much product, posturing above Shae like he's somehow better than her. The git is barely holding back the sneer that Shae sees quivering on his face. Still trying to keep the masquerade of an honourable man? Amusing– amusing enough that Shae wants to see it crack. She pushes his seat over with her boot before leaning back further against hers, going right back to polishing her blunted practice sword. It's the gesture she throws at him, motioning for him to pick it up, that gets him fuming though.
"I'm Blithe Wellington-" The nobleson hisses, "-and surely you know what you're doing?"
"No, can't quite say, lad." Shae answers dismissively, not bothering to even look up from maintaining her faux-blade. Of course she knows who the git is though- every noble needs to know their peers, their superiors, their rivals.
Not that the Earl of Wesslan held a candle to any of the Dukes, least of all the Duke of Wellington- but neither Shae nor this little shit were Dukes or Earls here. No one told the upstart that the Academy should be exempt from exterior titles and ranks.
"You best jog on, luv." that burly Perro from before growls, leaning into Shae's space and cracking his knuckles like he were some street thug. She gives him the once over, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at his attempts to intimidate. Definitely commoner by his look and airs, has the insignia of "E Hall" on his jacket's breast too, probably the boy's "adopted" bodyguard.
"And you best brush your damn teeth. No lady will ever wish to court you when your breath is laden with Londinum Sewer."
"Bitch-" The Perro's about to step in with a fist, only to be held back by the Duke's son.
Shae smiles, channeling as much seething smugness as she taunts, "This is the uncivilised company the Blithe Wellington keeps? Surely such an esteemed Duke could find better companions for his son than some street thug, yeah?"
The noble's son seems ready to let his Perro friend off the leash just then, but his eyes grow sharp and scrutinising- finally.
"You're a minor noble." the snide git says with a click of his tongue, "So you're out to prove something, right?"
"I'm not out to prove a damn thing." Shae shrugs, sheathing her practice blade before straightening her uniform out. "And we all share the same rank right now… unless of course, you think yourself above the rules?"
Shae's words really seem to poke at the git like a dagger-tip to the ribcage- good.
"Rules? Is that what this is about?" The Feline scoffs, wearing his incredulousness on his face like a poorly fitted mask. He chortles to the Perro before pulling the larger lad back, deciding to get in Shae's face himself.
"Listen, luv, I get it. You're jealous, out to prove yourself before Selections for the Tower begin, but are finding it so very hard. Whatever you've got on me, it's not going to help you. If you think I'll put in a word for you-"
"You might be right about something, but so… so very wrong about the others." Shae sighs before cracking a fang-flashing smile at the pillock. When she stands, she lifts herself from the git's personal fiefdom to stand tall on her own- to tower over him if not by stature then by righteousness in her breast. A deep breath, ready to cast her voice out to any and all in the yard who was in earshot.
"I challenge you to an honour duel, as representative of Fianna Sallet."
"That Gaulish wench-"
"Is still Victorian blood, regardless of your misgivings." Shae interrupts, hand resting on the pommel of her sword. "You had no right to sully her virtue the way you did. Your choice, face me, or face the courts."
"And by what right-"
"Well if you're so inclined to bring nobility into this, my family is part of the House of Lords as well. I am well within the rights afforded to us of more civil blood to resolve this matter privately." Shae says with a cordial smile and hollow voice.
The Perro seems ready to lunge, but is stayed by a single raised hand.
"Fine. Bellview Court, sixteen-hundred hours."
"Sixteen-hundred?"
"I have class until fifteen hundred," Blithe says apathetically, picking at his nails, "and I would like an hour to wash this meeting's stink before I deign myself to being your miasmatic presence again."
"The feeling is mutual." Shae says with a smile. The prick tries to shoulder-check her as he pushes past, only to realise just what he is going to be up against; a right fucking rock. Shae doesn't budge, a veritable pillar of honour and virtue on the exterior.
But within?
Oh within it takes every ounce of her self control to keep from tearing his fucking throat out.
A cold shower would help though. When she's back in the dorm, towelling her frazzled hair, that's when the lump in Fianna's bed stirs.
"Shae?"
"Fi." Shae sighs in relief, turning to smile at her friend, only to find Fianna frowning back.
"Why aren't you in class?"
A pointed accusation, one that has plenty of reason behind it. She's about to quip back with "Why aren't you either?" but bites her tongue. Fianna… looks a right mess, and right now their usual banter… well, there was no telling what kind of space Fianna is in right now, but it certainly wasn't good.
"'Cos." Shae reflexively answers.
Fianna's eyes narrow, scrutinizing.
"Whatever it is you're going to do, don't do it."
Fianna, blessed Fianna.
Even while in the depths of her own sadness… she's still trying to save Shae. A voice of reason amidst so many intruding thoughts, and yet Fi still wins. The guilt grips Shae, twists her gut, forces her to cry "uncle".
With "uncle" being spilling her guts about what she knew, about what she's done– what she's going to do.
And Fianna sits quietly, lip quivering but not breaking. A flash of emotions in the silence, her sweet face contorting before settling on…
Shae expected anger, but gets disappointment.
Gods she wishes it to be anything but that.
"Shae–"
"What are you going to be able to do, Fi? Bring it to the police? The courts?" she's quick to defend her rashness, if not to stave off Fianna's accusation, but to quell her own creeping regret.
Fianna… doesn't reply. Jaw set, lips pursed and quivering, Fianna glances away.
Looks damn ready to cry again, and this time it would have been all on Shae. An apology is already lodged in her throat when Fianna fully emerges from the tangle of her bedding. Still in her pyjamas, hair and feathers all ruffled, bags under red eyes…
"C'est la vie." Fianna whispers quietly, " On ne peut plu s rien f aire ."
"Fianna-"
"Give me a moment to… ready myself. You will not go alone."
When Shae and Fianna arrive on the yard, Blithe is already there with his group of cronies. Fianna instinctively takes cover behind Shae, trying to get out from under the weight of the ones who… sullied her. That might be what they wanted; to see Fianna cower, to have her call off the duel and admit to whatever lie that would save their faces. Even more evident when they see her and start opening their fat mouths.
"The Gaulish whore dares show herself, eh?" One of Blithe's friends calls out, and it makes Fi shudder. It also catches the attention of passers-by, a tension that draws them to the edge of the lawn.
"Your friend's gonna pay for you spreading rumours about our mate!"
"Yeah! Slags like her aren't worth defending."
"Don't you get she's using you for your noble privileges."
The group starts jeering, but there's nothing they could say that could convince Shae otherwise. After living with Fianna for three years, she knows Fi has more noble blood in her than all of them combined– by the Northern Hell, Fi had more nobility to her than Shae's whole family too. When she glances back at her friend, Fianna's shrinking, tucking in behind Shae's frame.
"Fi-" Shae starts, but Fianna takes a deep breath, placing a bracing hand against Shae's back. Despite the fear, Fianna takes a step out once she's readied herself. Her fists are clenched tight, legs trembling slightly, but she still stands tall.
Strong girl, stronger than others thought– but Shae always knew.
"I'm fine. Just… just win this. Get him to admit it. "
"Make him squeal, got it." Shae winks back at her.
When she steps up, Blithe doesn't. Has that disgust on his face, but his disbelief is betrayed in how he hesitates. Hand tight around the scabbard of her practice sword, it's clear Shae has no intention of retracting her accusation, and there was going to be no waiting her out to see if she cracks.
With sideways glances to his mates, the Duke of Wellington's son puffs his chest and steps forward. Doesn't say anything yet, doesn't make his defence, but instead seems to be nodding to himself. Psyching up? Getting in his own head to believe in his own cultivated image?
Has to be it, because he passes his coat off to the Perro from before and places a hand on the pommel of his sabre.
"Put away your kiddie toy." Blithe says, smiling wickedly. He pats the sword on his hip as if Shae didn't know what it is. "We settle this with real steel, unless-"
"You really think you're hard enough?" Shae snipes back before the smug git finishes. Can't let the shit-heel think for a moment that Shae Wesslan would cow before a blade. The interruption takes the noble-son aback for a moment, like he expected her to be scared? She was a damned Wesslan lass, and if the git knew a fucking thing, he'd know that Wesslan's are born with sword in hand.
There is one person who can let their nervousness show though. Fianna grabs Shae by her coattails to slow her down. Leave it to her Liberi friend to ground Shae enough to take the breaths she needs.
"Shae-"
"Don't worry, Fi. Bet you five sterling the whingebag backs down- three if he draws steel but hasn't got the talent. " Shae grins, shrugging off her coat before handing it and her practice waster to Fianna. Her real sword had been on her hip the whole time. She pulls her short, ashen white hair back into a tight ponytail before standing proud before the Duke of Wellington's son, hands on the hips of her riding trousers.
"I, Shae Thera Wesslan, declare myself the representative for Fianna Sallet. Your actions have besmirched her honour, and your misdeeds have stolen her virtue. I accuse you of rape, now will you draw steel or will you admit your crime?" Shae's voice belts, echos, carries well past the field and beyond to the courtyard. Gave him an out, the question now being "just how much is your reputation worth?"
Blithe hesitates, and that is all Shae needs to see to know the measure of the man. The git glances at his Perro friend, glances at the curious crowd slowly starting to creep to the edge of the courtyard to see. She knows full well how this is going to end, it's only how much face he's willing to lose.
And the dullard's face hardens, puffing out his chest with as much bravado that he can muster to belt out, "I, Blithe Alexander Wellington, refute your lies and slander. On both my honour, and the honour of my family name, draw your steel!"
Shae doesn't need to be told twice, her sabre flashing from its scabbard. A simple thing, ergonomic, streamlined, nothing at all like Blithe's ornate sword. A gilded guard, fancy gold-plated pommel, steel polished to a degree that she suspects it's never been used. Made by some branded, masterwork craftsman, no doubt.
"To first blood, then!" Shae grins. She is about to teach him that a blade is a blade first and foremost as she takes her stance. High-guard, off-hand confidently on her hip, ready. Unspoken tradition dictates that the accused strike first… but she was fine with being the aggressor, too. They both know who the truly guilty is.
His stance is weak, his sword limp-wristed as he readies himself to cut… and pauses. The chance to back out had come and gone though, and Shae puts that threat into reality with a flip of her wrist, her blade arcing beautifully for a head-cut.
Steel checks steel with a keening *clang*, with Shae taking a single backstep out of measure to let the lesson sink in. A purposeful mistake- she attacked the blade, not the man, and it is her one and only mercy for Blithe to reflect on.
This is real.
The danger is clear.
How much is the bravado worth now?
Shae keeps her lips shut tight, knowing that taunting the braggart would only diminish her honour as the plaintiff's representative, but she still smiles, still taps her heel to the beat she keeps in her head.
When it finally sinks in, Blithe commits, stepping in with his own swing, and the dance begins in earnest. The beat is the clash of their blades, the beauty coming in the subtle swaying as they change the angles of cuts and guards, building to a tempestuous tempo. Just how fast would be unmanageable, though? Shae had full confidence in the exchange, dominating and dictating the pace, pressing and pressing until she'd have him on the next rally-
And Blithe breaks back, retreating just out of measure.
Shae doesn't pursue him. The silence between them is damning- and instead it is the gasp of the crowd, the whispers drifting across the grass, that speaks for her. Blithe is sweating from the brow already, though to his credit he shows no fear as he corrects his posture and strengthens his guard.
Good; means that Shae can stop pulling her swings.
On guard and ready, she simply smiles, gesturing with her chin that Blithe would have to do something. Mustering his balls, Blithe steps in to swing and-
Shae steps in as well, sudden and aggressive, her blade covering the only angle Blithe could have made if he was in perfect measure. Too close for him to get a good cut- Shae's checkmated him with a single move. Being the gracious duelist, she lets him retreat again even though every fibre in her muscles instinctively wants to swing the moment he stumbles back.
But this is a lesson- not on swordsmanship, but humility.
And Shae is going to make sure that he remembers it.
Second reset, and the moment Blithe's guard is up, Shae stomps her forward foot, makes as if she's coming at him.
The git flinches, flicks his sword preemptively to catch Shae's, and that is when she properly lunges. A graceful whip of her blade around paired with a gliding step forward, laying the blade daintily on Blithe's chest.
The Duke of Wellington's son freezes solid, and Shae hopes it's from his blood going cold. It's his chance to admit defeat, his chance to keep his blood from being spilled in front of the crowd, his chance to repent before Fianna.
Two ways out… and the bastard chooses the hard way when he slaps Shae's sword aside with his open hand and cuts in. Wild, undisciplined, furious… and predictably unpredictable.
Change of tempo; offbeat, impassioned, charged with a fervour that keeps Shae on her toes. Blithe's attacks are just reckless enough to keep Shae back, but not uncontrolled enough for her to get her edge in- yet. She has to dip into her bag of tricks, too: changing the line of attack with side-steps, voids and counters, falsifying their measure…
He gets close once or twice, and it sends a buzz through Shae's body. A sensation that breathes life into her the closer she comes to spilling crimson, a thrill that pulls a wild grin from once-pursed lips.
And she can't hold in the laugh.
An earnest, heartfelt laugh of enjoyment.
Sharing such an intimate moment with a person she loathes… it's absurd.
An absurdity that has her all giddy and has Blithe practically frothing at the mouth to cut her- maybe even kill her.
Parry-riposte, parry-riposte, void-counter-parry-riposte, void-beat-counter… Shae's movements are precise and drilled, done without a thought as the tempo flows through her. Their melody is the keening of metal, scraping and clanging, the grunts and growls. She waits for the moment she feels the sharp sting, feels the warmth running from the wound.
A sensation that never comes, no matter how close Blithe's edge gets to Shae's skin. Her partner slows, but Shae still wishes to dance like she used to. More flourish! More movement! More passion-
More of that thrill that sweeps her away, her body's movements automatic as Blithe launches one last explosive thrust. She catches the blade, lets edge ride on edge all the way down while the point's off to the side- all she needs do is flick her wrist to cut when he jumps back off his failed thrust.
Except Blithe doesn't. He doesn't retreat, doesn't throw himself away from that deadly sabre-point. So maddened, so frustrated, so taken by his own defiance to his sentencing that he follows his lunge all the way in… running himself onto Shae's blade. It lances into his gut, and with that weight and momentum, he easily sinks the steel through himself until he comes to stop.
All eyes present are wide in a single instant, but Shae's world blurs.
She lets go of the sword as the Duke of Wellington's son tumbles to the grass.
There's a scream- no, there's quite a few screams, but none are louder than Fianna's.
People moving, shouting, a crowd forming and dispersing just as quick when faculty show up. Someone's talking, someone's shouting at her, but the world's muted, moving past Shae at a kilometre-a-second.
All she can smell is the iron of blood mixing with the fresh cut grass, staring at the trampled and matted spot where Blithe fell. Lush green dyed dark.
And the fear buzzes through her.
Not of what recompense she would have to pay, nor of what the Duke of Wellington was going to do to her family, not even of what this meant for her continued attendance to the Academy.
No, what terrifies Shae is that she had just ran a classmate through, and felt nothing- thought nothing other than… just how simple it was.
She turns her head to Fianna, to find her best friend silent, clutching her knees and burying her face into them as one of the faculty stands beside her.
Shae licks her dried lips, trying to keep them from cracking as she croaks, "Hadn't got the talent. You owe me three sterling."
