So You're The One [Blake/Invite/Staff?]

[Bailey Oleander]

It was early enough that dawn had already begun to creep across the sky, little tendrils of light streaking through the remains of night.  In other words, it was early enough for Bailey to be awake and to be nursing a cup of glorious caffeine.  Her views of the academy were shifting, albeit slowly, and she couldn't say if it was for better or worse. 

She was flipping through a well-worn notebook, nestled happily into a warm coat as she looked over a few dog-eared pages.  Normally the fact they existed would have bothered, but it was the contents on the page that held her attention now.

[Blake Oleander]

Blake was up with the dawn, enjoying the serene moments when the sun kissed the sky. His normal routine was to rise early every day. Going through drills with his blade. The blade would cut through the crisp morning air, a small sheen of dew along his blade as Blake's footfalls and body shifted from stance to stance. Every movement graceful and fluid, a deadly dance.

He noted the other person in the courtyard and ignored them. As long as they didn't bother him, he wouldn't bother them. Not that most people put that to the test. It felt like he was always being hounded wherever he went here. But he'd become used to it.

[Bailey Oleander]

At first, Bailey ignored the person moving in the distance. She'd begun to get familiar to the idea of others around, even if she hadn't spoken to many. There had to be, in this place. But the flash of light in the growing morning caught her attention, the sound of steel slicing through the air causing her steps to slow. Eventually, she would even close the book, watching with interest as the young man went through the motions. It was an exercise drill, that she knew, but it wasn't anything she recognized from back home.

She stayed off to the side and watched in silence. She could feel teh curiousity bubbling up insdie her and firmly squashed it back down for the tie being.

[Blake Oleander]

He continued with the well-practiced motions.  Bringing his blade up and around like one would deflecting a blade.  Stepping into to the guard of the invisible enemy as the sword came back down.  His stance was low, he put his whole body into his strikes.  Every movement was deliberate and his eyes never strayed from where his blade was moving.  His focus was complete and unwavering.  A man with a single track mind, the rest of the world cast aside for the here and now. 

It was how he lived his life, striving for the next objective.  Pushing to defeat the next enemy, pushing himself to his limits, and to surpass them.  

[Bailey Oleander]

Time went on. The booklet was stashed in a coat pocket as the motions caught her attention. After a time, Bailey began giving names to the forms that came to mind. The likelihood that these were actually the moves was minimal at best, but the she opted not to say anything just yet. His actions and expression radiated focus, his eyes seeing the imaginary opponent he fought against. Watching him go from form to form, stepping in and striking, she began making note of the way he moved, how he positioned himself.

It was far from what she knew, to be sure. People back home could know how to fight, but those that were this practiced were hard to come by in the small, hidden places of the world. It made her think of how she'd been asked if she would take on combat training, and her nervous dismissal. Not that she'd never considered it, coming to a military compound, but the idea seemed laughable as well as appalling. She knew herself well enough to know better. This young man, though, seemed right at home with it.

[Blake Oleander]

She had no idea just how at home he was on the battlefield. In a way being in peril was more normal to him than the relative safety that he endured here in the Academy. Where he was from life was a constant struggle for resources. There simply was not enough to go around between his people and the small territories that surrounded them. The larger territories left them to fight over their scraps, and every day had the possibility to be their last. There was no choice but to fight to survive, those that scoffed at that choice rarely lived long enough to come to terms with their folly.

He'd finish up with his forms, bringing the blade up and wiping it dry on the sleeves of his tunic before sheathing the blade. If he was training with one of the Master's back home he'd bow in respect, but as it was he was alone. And so he'd simply turn to leave, heading toward the main building. He'd barely spare the blonde woman a glance as he began to walk toward the front entrance.

[Bailey Oleander]

She straightened as his exercises drew to a close, the faraway look in his eye fading to the here and now, turning away to whatever the next part of the day would bring.

"Good morning." Because that was a great way to start a conversation when the person wasn't even looking at her anymore. The friendly tone was met with a quickened pace as she walked towards him. The joys of dealing with tall people were many, including their strides outpacing her own.

[Blake Oleander]

"Good morning."

He'd reply curtly, his pace remaining steady, even as the girl quickened her own to match his stride. His tone of voice was neutral. Not rebuking, but also not inviting further interaction. He gave what he felt was the exact amount needed for the social contract that follows a greeting. Nothing more or less.

[Bailey Oleander]

His tone gave her pause, but only enough to fall silent as she kept the quick pace. He didn't seem upset with her, just intent on his own routine.

"So, does your fighting style have a name?" Oh Bailey, why. Why? She bit the inside of her cheek as she realized just how her question could be taken, like she was trying to talk anime with the real thing. Which probably wasn't that far off, but she was curious regardless.

[Blake Oleander]

His pace slowed, but only slightly. He hadn't expected that question. Most people didn't think to ask what it was called. Or really anything about his practice. Most of the comments he received were bitching about how he went too far or calling him a monster. Well, he was. He'd not deny it. He knew what he was, what they all were. Freaks and monsters.

"Unbending Steel."

[Bailey Oleander]

"I see." They seemed almost filler words if not for the thoughtful tone behind them. The name seemed fitting, given what she'd seen of the training. Even a fraction of a pace slower meant working for the conversation a little less physically, but mentally seemed another matter. Or perhaps he was one of those who preferred being alone.

"It's fitting." The movements, solid and fluid, pulling into an imaginary opponent's guard without hesitation and then back out. She nodded. "Do you usually practice by yourself out here?"

[Blake Oleander]

"Here I do."

No one else really kept up with him. Not without calling him a monster and bitching. It was easier this way.

[Bailey Oleander]

So his way of doing things was a local tradition, or at least one by that name. Bailey couldn't remember anything like that back home, either. Those who fought were closer to brawlers and quick thinkers.

"And back home?"

[Blake Oleander]

"No."

Back home he had been part of a squad. He had friends back home. People to train with, people that shared the battles he'd fought. They had supported each other, carried each other literally and figuratively. They were warriors, they were brothers, and they had no secrets from each other. He never knew his parents, but they had always been his family from before he could remember. Closer than an accident of birth could ever bring them, they were blood brothers and sisters by the blood they shed together, not the blood they shared.

And their absence in his life was his greatest pain. Worse than being a freak. Worse than any injury he'd ever endured. Their absence from his life was the gnawing hole of emptiness that now sat in his heart that could never be filled. And because of that he feared that he'd never be whole again.

[Bailey Oleander]

Another silent nod. A single word could say so much; it made her think of those she'd met the other day. How Eric said this place was home, and how this man still had one. People who understood him, had his cultures and values. Those who understood and knew him.

Speaking of knowing him...

"What's your name, by the way? I'm Bailey." Because if she's going to be asking personal questions, she might as well have the basics, too.