[Arenvald's moment of distraction is difficult to miss, though Connor can't help but wonder if it's something with his appearance gone awry. An automatic gesture takes over, one that his friend has seen before, hands coming up to adjust the knot of his usual black tie.]
...Oh, the training ring?
[This seems to spark Connor's interest, however, eyes widening in eagerness.]
I think I'd like that, actually. I've been wanting to see you practice for a while... we've just never had a chance.
[That smile widens by a few degrees, stepping out, then-]
Sorry, hold on.
[And he turns back into his room to retrieve his jacket, slipping it back on with the ease and completeness that only an android can truly manage. Connor heads back to the door while rolling his shoulders, letting the contours of the fabric fall properly across his form.]
[Opting for a casual stride, he falls into pace next to his friend as they make their way towards the training grounds.]
It’s part of my uniform. I’m required to wear it at all times.
[That is, back home he was required to.]
Though it’s a moot point now, given that the laws of my world don’t necessarily apply here. But it’s all that I have and I don’t see a reason why I need to remove it now.
But I think that I’ll have to do without it sooner rather than later. Given that we’ll be due for another world eventually, blending in will be a priority. And my uniform by design isn’t necessarily subtle, made to designate what I am.
No, I’d say not, what with the word “Android” across your back in giant letters. We might have to find you a hat, as well, depending on where we next end up and how they’d feel about someone like you.
[ He taps a finger to his own temple, indicating the place where Connor’s LED sits. As far as he’s aware, it’s permanent, so popping it off isn’t an option. ]
[It isn’t permanent, and can so very easily be removed to the point where it’s laughable, really. But Connor is not of a mind to even consider popping off his LED of all things — especially if he’s so obviously attached to the jacket due to legislature that doesn’t even apply here.
The hat, at least, is something he can agree to. Make it a BEANIE.]
You’re right. We were lucky with Struxta; I doubt that world sets a precedent for what to expect in the future.
[As for the question, he nods.]
Not exactly like mine, but androids are issued uniforms suited to their model and function. A few qualities are universal — model number prominently displayed, the triangular symbol on the opposite side, and “android” clearly discernible across the back.
I have a pack I’ve put together to bring with me when next we leave. I know we’re not the same size, but I’ll toss in an extra jacket for you, just in case, until we can find you something of your own.
[ Arenvald wouldn’t call himself the best adventurer in the world by a long shot, but his time spent traipsing around the wilds of Eorzea, going from odd job to odd job, have taught him to be prepared. ]
Why is that?
[ He asks, as if he already couldn’t guess that the androids in Connor’s world are dressed so to differentiate them from humans. ]
I’d appreciate that, Arenvald. You don’t have to go to that much trouble just for me, though.
[But the fact that he is... It’s nice, he thinks, to have someone actually taking his own needs into consideration without being asked. Especially from a close friend like Arenvald, something that makes him smile a little wider when he considers it.
The question is easily answered, looking at him with that same grin on his face.]
To tell us apart from humans. Otherwise, it’d be fairly difficult to. I’ve had it mentioned to me more than once, from fellow Circle members, that I look just like one. That’s the point, of course, but it also means it could lead to some confusion if there weren’t these obvious markers to identify us.
[ He would do far much more for Connor than sticking another jacket in this travel pack, if he could, but he’s more than glad to offer these small gestures as well.
Connor pretty much confirms his suspicions, and he’s not so sure how he feels about that. Despite all Connor has told him, and his own far-too-brief glimpse into Connor’s world, there’s a lot of minutiae that he doesn’t grasp.
There are more questions he could ask, but they’ve arrived at their destination now, so he lets it go with an understanding nod. ]
I guess make yourself comfortable. I don’t know how long I plan to be here, so I figure we can just play it by ear.
[Arriving at the training area, large and open, they appear to have it to themselves today. Connor nods amicably and slides his view over to find a seat nearby; a row of wooden benches lining the arena, affording a front-row seat to the action of those sparring, practicing, or otherwise showing off.]
Take your time. Though-
[He makes it to his seat, raising his voice so that it carries.]
-can I ask how you would describe your fighting style?
[ It is still early yet. Arenvald doesn’t often make a habit of rising with the sun, but on days when he wants to get some training in on his own, he’s found that early is the best time for it.
As Connor makes his way to his bench, Arenvald draws his blade, doing a few practice swings to warm up. The question, however, draws a laugh out of him. ]
I don’t know I’d call it anything so refined as to be a “style”. I just try to be better at stabbing than whoever or whatever I’m fighting.
[Eyes are immediately drawn to the arc of Arenvald's blade as it slices harmlessly through the air, steeled edge reflecting early morning light.]
Well... refinement doesn't have much to do with the generalized attributes of how you fight.
[For example!]
For instance, you go into battle wearing your armor, don't you? I imagine it's heavy, so you can't feasibly rely on speed. Potentially making you more of a defensive fighter than an offensive one, the sort that digs their heels in against an enemy, standing your ground. That would be my best guess, if I had to draw a preliminary conclusion.
[ A pause as he swings his blade about, diagonally one way and then back the other. ]
I suppose you’ve the right of it. I’m definitely more of a frontline fighter, and I do my best to keep enemy attention away from any casters or archers we might have.
[Arenvald seems steady, reliable. In both combat and in personality. Connor grins at him from where he's seated.]
Sorry. I don't mean to keep chatting when you probably want to focus. Feel free to continue with your normal routine and pretend that I'm not even here.
It’s fine. I don’t mind you asking questions, but mayhap save them for when I take a break?
[ If only because the training dummies here fight back, and Arenvald would hate to get clocked because Connor distracted him. He can’t think of anything more embarrassing than that.
He goes through the motions a bit longer until he’s satisfied he’s not going to pull something, and then he moves over to one of the dummies. He gives it a tap on a wooden shoulder with his sword and the dummy springs to life. The blades the dummies wield are made for practice, dull and likely to bruise at worst, but made of metal nonetheless. The dummy moves to strike at him, and Arenvald brings up his own blade to block, steel singing against steel in the early morning quiet.
And so the dance goes. Whatever magic it is that powers the dummies makes them worthy foes, and it gives just as good as it gets. For Arenvald’s part, it becomes clear that despite his penchant for downplaying himself and his abilities, he’s quite good. The way he fights is practical and hard-hitting, but surprisingly fast as well. If pressed, Arenvald would admit that he’s cloven arrows from the air, but it’s not exactly something he advertises.
This goes on for a while, the two of them kicking up dust as they dance around one another, exchanging blows that are punctuated with grunts of effort or the sharp metallic sounds of blades glancing off of blades or the small buckler shield Arenvald wears on his arm. Apart from his shield, Arenvald didn’t opt for full armor today, and by the time he backs out of the training area to reset the dummy, he’s streaked with sweat, the cloth of his shirt clinging to him somewhat. With the dummy back in its proper place, he rejoins Connor on his bench, taking a deep draw from the water flask at his hip. ]
[And the last thing that Connor would want is for Arenvald to become distracted by his commentary and be injured on his account. It’s enough to instill quiet in him, as he only nods in reply — and after that, he only observes.
And Arenvald, even to an eye not as analytical as Connor’s, is obviously good. He swings the blade with purpose, with the completeness of confidence behind each swipe. The dummies seem to be adjusted to account for skill level, and in conjunction with his friend, they put on quite a show for the android to watch. Steel in the air, shield reflecting blows. Footwork that’s steady (holding his ground, just as he had surmised), but quick enough to maneuver around his opponent until it’s less of a practice session and more like a dance.
He’s talented, inordinately so — he’d be good in a fight, even if he was stripped of his sword. But as in all things, his friend is humble, and so it’s not particularly surprising that Connor is now learning of the extent of his talents until just now.]
You’re very good,— [He starts as his friend settles next to him, and Connor leans forward in a curious, eager sort of way. Having held back his questions until Arenvald takes his seat, it’s hard to keep them stilled on his tongue now.] —probably one of the most talented I’ve seen with a blade since I’ve been here.
[Not flattery. Just truth.]
And faster than I had expected, too. I'm impressed. Is this your usual routine, or did you change it because you knew you had an audience?
[ Even if it's not meant to be flattery, Connor's compliment brings heat to Arenvald's face – but thankfully, it's indistinguishable from the way he's already flushed from exertion. ]
I, ah. Thank you.
[ Nailed it. ]
I suppose I didn't particularly set out to show off, but I might have gone a little more all-out than usual.
[It's an easy admission. Connor takes pride in his own skills, though they might not exactly revolve around swordplay -- quick analytical thinking, detective work, and problem-solving, on the other hand... well. If he were placed in front of something requiring these talents, before Arenvald, he'd want to impress him, too.
That streak of his, always looking for approval. Never something so easily quelled nor ignored.]
I'd like to learn how to utilize a sword as effectively as you do, sometime. It might not be a practical skill for me to have back in Detroit, but there's no telling what kind of worlds we might where it would be advantageous otherwise.
[ That doesn't necessarily surprise him, since Connor is always eager to please, but the admission still makes him feel a bit better. Arenvald isn't prone to showing off, but Connor is one person he always wants to impress. ]
I could try to teach you, if you'd like.
Edited (when u notice a typo hours later) 2018-11-23 23:23 (UTC)
[Arenvald is so obviously skilled. And he has disposition of a man who would make for a good teacher; and Connor, he knows himself to be a fast learner by design.]
[ He pauses to take another drink from his canteen - in part because he actually needs it, in part because he needs a moment to work up the courage to offer, ]
[Now! That sounds... well, it sounds like something he'd like to do, given the eagerness of body language Arenvald might be able to parse. Connor is more than willing to watch patiently, quietly, observing. But a part of him -- the side that always wants to be active, to do something, to not feel like he's in some perpetual standby -- forces him to stand to his feet and take a step forward.
Pebbles crunch faintly under shoes, and he gestures to a rack of practice weapons nearby.]
Maybe with blunt, wooden weapons? Just to start.
[Confident in his melee skills, just as confident in his speed, Connor won't start with something sharp and heavy to wield. Not when he's unaccustomed to the talent, still; accidental cuts as a result of inexperience are a little harder to deal with when you're an android.]
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...Oh, the training ring?
[This seems to spark Connor's interest, however, eyes widening in eagerness.]
I think I'd like that, actually. I've been wanting to see you practice for a while... we've just never had a chance.
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[ He smiles, stepping aside to allow Connor to exit the room, if he'd like. ]
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[That smile widens by a few degrees, stepping out, then-]
Sorry, hold on.
[And he turns back into his room to retrieve his jacket, slipping it back on with the ease and completeness that only an android can truly manage. Connor heads back to the door while rolling his shoulders, letting the contours of the fabric fall properly across his form.]
I'm ready now. Go ahead and lead the way.
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Why do you wear that all the time?
[ This, as they make their way towards the training grounds, naturally. ]
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It’s part of my uniform. I’m required to wear it at all times.
[That is, back home he was required to.]
Though it’s a moot point now, given that the laws of my world don’t necessarily apply here. But it’s all that I have and I don’t see a reason why I need to remove it now.
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[ Well, he liked it anyway. ]
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[He seems sincere in that.]
But I think that I’ll have to do without it sooner rather than later. Given that we’ll be due for another world eventually, blending in will be a priority. And my uniform by design isn’t necessarily subtle, made to designate what I am.
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[ He taps a finger to his own temple, indicating the place where Connor’s LED sits. As far as he’s aware, it’s permanent, so popping it off isn’t an option. ]
Do all androids wear clothes like yours?
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The hat, at least, is something he can agree to. Make it a BEANIE.]
You’re right. We were lucky with Struxta; I doubt that world sets a precedent for what to expect in the future.
[As for the question, he nods.]
Not exactly like mine, but androids are issued uniforms suited to their model and function. A few qualities are universal — model number prominently displayed, the triangular symbol on the opposite side, and “android” clearly discernible across the back.
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[ Arenvald wouldn’t call himself the best adventurer in the world by a long shot, but his time spent traipsing around the wilds of Eorzea, going from odd job to odd job, have taught him to be prepared. ]
Why is that?
[ He asks, as if he already couldn’t guess that the androids in Connor’s world are dressed so to differentiate them from humans. ]
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[But the fact that he is... It’s nice, he thinks, to have someone actually taking his own needs into consideration without being asked. Especially from a close friend like Arenvald, something that makes him smile a little wider when he considers it.
The question is easily answered, looking at him with that same grin on his face.]
To tell us apart from humans. Otherwise, it’d be fairly difficult to. I’ve had it mentioned to me more than once, from fellow Circle members, that I look just like one. That’s the point, of course, but it also means it could lead to some confusion if there weren’t these obvious markers to identify us.
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[ He would do far much more for Connor than sticking another jacket in this travel pack, if he could, but he’s more than glad to offer these small gestures as well.
Connor pretty much confirms his suspicions, and he’s not so sure how he feels about that. Despite all Connor has told him, and his own far-too-brief glimpse into Connor’s world, there’s a lot of minutiae that he doesn’t grasp.
There are more questions he could ask, but they’ve arrived at their destination now, so he lets it go with an understanding nod. ]
I guess make yourself comfortable. I don’t know how long I plan to be here, so I figure we can just play it by ear.
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Take your time. Though-
[He makes it to his seat, raising his voice so that it carries.]
-can I ask how you would describe your fighting style?
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As Connor makes his way to his bench, Arenvald draws his blade, doing a few practice swings to warm up. The question, however, draws a laugh out of him. ]
I don’t know I’d call it anything so refined as to be a “style”. I just try to be better at stabbing than whoever or whatever I’m fighting.
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Well... refinement doesn't have much to do with the generalized attributes of how you fight.
[For example!]
For instance, you go into battle wearing your armor, don't you? I imagine it's heavy, so you can't feasibly rely on speed. Potentially making you more of a defensive fighter than an offensive one, the sort that digs their heels in against an enemy, standing your ground. That would be my best guess, if I had to draw a preliminary conclusion.
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[ A pause as he swings his blade about, diagonally one way and then back the other. ]
I suppose you’ve the right of it. I’m definitely more of a frontline fighter, and I do my best to keep enemy attention away from any casters or archers we might have.
[ In short, he’s a tank. ]
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[Arenvald seems steady, reliable. In both combat and in personality. Connor grins at him from where he's seated.]
Sorry. I don't mean to keep chatting when you probably want to focus. Feel free to continue with your normal routine and pretend that I'm not even here.
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[ If only because the training dummies here fight back, and Arenvald would hate to get clocked because Connor distracted him. He can’t think of anything more embarrassing than that.
He goes through the motions a bit longer until he’s satisfied he’s not going to pull something, and then he moves over to one of the dummies. He gives it a tap on a wooden shoulder with his sword and the dummy springs to life. The blades the dummies wield are made for practice, dull and likely to bruise at worst, but made of metal nonetheless. The dummy moves to strike at him, and Arenvald brings up his own blade to block, steel singing against steel in the early morning quiet.
And so the dance goes. Whatever magic it is that powers the dummies makes them worthy foes, and it gives just as good as it gets. For Arenvald’s part, it becomes clear that despite his penchant for downplaying himself and his abilities, he’s quite good. The way he fights is practical and hard-hitting, but surprisingly fast as well. If pressed, Arenvald would admit that he’s cloven arrows from the air, but it’s not exactly something he advertises.
This goes on for a while, the two of them kicking up dust as they dance around one another, exchanging blows that are punctuated with grunts of effort or the sharp metallic sounds of blades glancing off of blades or the small buckler shield Arenvald wears on his arm. Apart from his shield, Arenvald didn’t opt for full armor today, and by the time he backs out of the training area to reset the dummy, he’s streaked with sweat, the cloth of his shirt clinging to him somewhat. With the dummy back in its proper place, he rejoins Connor on his bench, taking a deep draw from the water flask at his hip. ]
no subject
And Arenvald, even to an eye not as analytical as Connor’s, is obviously good. He swings the blade with purpose, with the completeness of confidence behind each swipe. The dummies seem to be adjusted to account for skill level, and in conjunction with his friend, they put on quite a show for the android to watch. Steel in the air, shield reflecting blows. Footwork that’s steady (holding his ground, just as he had surmised), but quick enough to maneuver around his opponent until it’s less of a practice session and more like a dance.
He’s talented, inordinately so — he’d be good in a fight, even if he was stripped of his sword. But as in all things, his friend is humble, and so it’s not particularly surprising that Connor is now learning of the extent of his talents until just now.]
You’re very good,— [He starts as his friend settles next to him, and Connor leans forward in a curious, eager sort of way. Having held back his questions until Arenvald takes his seat, it’s hard to keep them stilled on his tongue now.] —probably one of the most talented I’ve seen with a blade since I’ve been here.
[Not flattery. Just truth.]
And faster than I had expected, too. I'm impressed. Is this your usual routine, or did you change it because you knew you had an audience?
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I, ah. Thank you.
[ Nailed it. ]
I suppose I didn't particularly set out to show off, but I might have gone a little more all-out than usual.
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[It's an easy admission. Connor takes pride in his own skills, though they might not exactly revolve around swordplay -- quick analytical thinking, detective work, and problem-solving, on the other hand... well. If he were placed in front of something requiring these talents, before Arenvald, he'd want to impress him, too.
That streak of his, always looking for approval. Never something so easily quelled nor ignored.]
I'd like to learn how to utilize a sword as effectively as you do, sometime. It might not be a practical skill for me to have back in Detroit, but there's no telling what kind of worlds we might where it would be advantageous otherwise.
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I could try to teach you, if you'd like.
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I think I'd like that. If you're amenable to it.
[Arenvald is so obviously skilled. And he has disposition of a man who would make for a good teacher; and Connor, he knows himself to be a fast learner by design.]
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[ He pauses to take another drink from his canteen - in part because he actually needs it, in part because he needs a moment to work up the courage to offer, ]
We could start now.
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[Now! That sounds... well, it sounds like something he'd like to do, given the eagerness of body language Arenvald might be able to parse. Connor is more than willing to watch patiently, quietly, observing. But a part of him -- the side that always wants to be active, to do something, to not feel like he's in some perpetual standby -- forces him to stand to his feet and take a step forward.
Pebbles crunch faintly under shoes, and he gestures to a rack of practice weapons nearby.]
Maybe with blunt, wooden weapons? Just to start.
[Confident in his melee skills, just as confident in his speed, Connor won't start with something sharp and heavy to wield. Not when he's unaccustomed to the talent, still; accidental cuts as a result of inexperience are a little harder to deal with when you're an android.]
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