Post by Matthias on Sept 24, 2017 11:30:12 GMT
Okay. Heels planted squarely under each shoulder, leading one pointed forward, the other at an angle behind him. His long talons dug into the soft savanna earth, and after a moment he eased his weight back off his toes. Okay, feet good. Now for the rest of his weirdly long and muscular body. Matthias bent his knees and squirmed his tail around to aid in balance as he shifted his hips to point forward.
“You look like an idiot,” Pontius said without looking up from the wood figure he was carving. He was tucked under one of the few trees the savanna had to offer, nestled under the shade with a wool blanket over his shoulders and not much else on aside from straw sandals and pair of shorts, at least until the clothes hanging from the tree branches had finished drying.
“Shut up, dick,” Matthias said. He rolled his shoulders before he drew his brand spanking new rapier out of his leg and leveled it in front of him. It had been selected carefully, one that he could curl his claws around easily, which basically meant the hilt was thicker than the blade and to keep the balance there was no proper guard over his hand. Not that he needed one, even if he got stabbed he was unlikely to die.
“Why not use a proper sword? Like your old one?”
“I don't want one like the last one.” Matthias stepped forward and cut through the air with his sword, trying to be mindful of his footwork as he did so – like the open propped on Pontius' knee suggested. “I can use brute force unarmed and I have that whip, but I can't finesse so- ah! Fuck.” Matthias hissed as he tried to practice a jab and the thin rapier slid out of his hand.
“Yeah, nothing's more intimidating than a sword thinner than your dicks.” Pontius turned the forming wood in his hand to get a new angle, before his small knife started to dart over his carving once more. They hadn't . . . talked. Not about Derrek, how Matthias was feeling. He had ditched sword and shield style fighting and Pontius really didn't understand why. But Matthias had refused to even acknowledge what had happened, and Pontius wasn't a man to pry. No matter how much he wanted to know why Matthias had really gone for such a wildly different fighting style. But every time he opened to mouth to ask he ended up saying something else entirely.
Matthias knelt and picked up his sword, and started to return to the stance before he threw his head back and groaned. “Let me look at the book,” he grumbled.
With a grunt, Matthias sat down in front of the shifter and set the book on his lap before he started thumbing past the chapters on footwork to look at how he ought to stab, hoping their might be a footnote for smooth scales and giant, impractical talons.
“You look like an idiot,” Pontius said without looking up from the wood figure he was carving. He was tucked under one of the few trees the savanna had to offer, nestled under the shade with a wool blanket over his shoulders and not much else on aside from straw sandals and pair of shorts, at least until the clothes hanging from the tree branches had finished drying.
“Shut up, dick,” Matthias said. He rolled his shoulders before he drew his brand spanking new rapier out of his leg and leveled it in front of him. It had been selected carefully, one that he could curl his claws around easily, which basically meant the hilt was thicker than the blade and to keep the balance there was no proper guard over his hand. Not that he needed one, even if he got stabbed he was unlikely to die.
“Why not use a proper sword? Like your old one?”
“I don't want one like the last one.” Matthias stepped forward and cut through the air with his sword, trying to be mindful of his footwork as he did so – like the open propped on Pontius' knee suggested. “I can use brute force unarmed and I have that whip, but I can't finesse so- ah! Fuck.” Matthias hissed as he tried to practice a jab and the thin rapier slid out of his hand.
“Yeah, nothing's more intimidating than a sword thinner than your dicks.” Pontius turned the forming wood in his hand to get a new angle, before his small knife started to dart over his carving once more. They hadn't . . . talked. Not about Derrek, how Matthias was feeling. He had ditched sword and shield style fighting and Pontius really didn't understand why. But Matthias had refused to even acknowledge what had happened, and Pontius wasn't a man to pry. No matter how much he wanted to know why Matthias had really gone for such a wildly different fighting style. But every time he opened to mouth to ask he ended up saying something else entirely.
Matthias knelt and picked up his sword, and started to return to the stance before he threw his head back and groaned. “Let me look at the book,” he grumbled.
With a grunt, Matthias sat down in front of the shifter and set the book on his lap before he started thumbing past the chapters on footwork to look at how he ought to stab, hoping their might be a footnote for smooth scales and giant, impractical talons.
