He watched as the woman rose, she was tall, almost as tall as him, her age was hard to pinpoint, the paint covering every visible piece of skin doing a great work at masking any detail. But even so the way she moved told a story all on its own.
There was training there, for all that she used the sword as a walking stick, too nimble for it to be a simple prop.
Then…
Then she started walking away?
He blinked.
It was like a douse of cold water was thrown at him, drenching him and attempting to drown the Flame in his heart. But a clearer head only served to stroke his curiosity, whoever this woman was it was obvious she wasn’t someone normal, in fact, something about her was clawing at his memory.
Looking at her retreating back he tried to remember. Had he seen her before? He wanted to say yes but there was a nagging feeling he had. Maybe she was some kind of celebrity or criminal? That would explain the odd familiarity she invoked.
Whatever was the case he decided to follow her.
He hadn't met another proper swordsman in ages and this Festival was proving to be more interesting than he expected.
[As the woman shambles down the pier, testing her every step with the chape of her scabbard before taking it, wary of gaps, and weak planks, and the treacherous waterline, she gives only the faintest indication that she is even aware of Mathias’s existence: a curious turning of her head. She has heard him following her. Perhaps even this she had meant to smother, however; the gesture escaping in spite of herself.]
BETH: “I know not, O stranger, what ye seek—only that it dwelleth not in me.”
[She has a voice like steel wool scouring a blackened pot: dry. Brittle. Rasping.]
The sudden way she spoke was almost startling, the voice was unique and he couldn’t quite hear if it had an accent, the words themselves were delivered in a monotonous tone that nonetheless conveyed a sense of authority. It reminded him of some of the teachers he had met, the shared, if basic, nonsense way of expressing themselves.
MATHIAS: “Indeed, it does not”He gave a nod, still following a short distance behind her.
MATHIAS: “You are currently using it as a walking stick”And oh what would his Master say about it, the old man was practical in so many ways but his sword was one of the few things he was truly sentimental about. It was a wonder that particular perspective wasn’t something he inherited, he shrugged at how awful some parts of his pilgrimage would have been if he had witholded use of his sword due to his feelings.
Still, the act itself was interesting, a blind swordmaster wasn’t something he was accustomed to encountering, even less so one as distinctive as her.
BETH: “A few pounds of steel and wood; a little silk and sharkskin for a hilt. What, pray tell, is so special about it?”
[By now the “oohs” and “aahs” of the smattered crowds have drawn the woman’s attention; but not so greatly as to stray her from her path. One must come to expect these sounds when Regalia are near: Laura Genevieve, Akamu Lafaele, and all their ilks and entourages. The cameras, microphones, and eager autograph pens which follow them like so many bloodthirsty insect swarms. Indeed. She blames the Regalia for the sighing. The gasping and the wonder. She seems utterly unaware of the detritus streaking through the heavens, burning on impact with the cotton candy-colored atmosphere.]
MATHIAS: “For starters what it is, despite the popularity of such arms it is not common to chance upon one, in fact I am surprised the security didn’t prevent you from sporting one”That had been the reason he had to store his own, he used to have a permit but it had burned a long time ago, and it wasn’t even from the same country he was walking on so the point may have been moot.
MATHIAS: “And usually when I come across someone sporting one, well, they tend to not know how to use one correctly”More than once he had come across someone swinging a melee weapon around like they were a common bat, the most egregious one he could remember was a spear wielder who decided he wanted to slash at everything, without stabbing even once. The most damage he ever caused was striking someone else's head with the wood before getting caught on the counter attack.
MATHIAS: “You have training, or at least have received guidance in some way”It was a fact.
He watched as the stars kept failing, it shouldn’t take long he supposed. Before conflict arose once more.
MATHIAS: “So, who are you? O stranger”[She stops where the wharf ends, and trash-littered sands begin; gives his question pause. The scabbard she draws up toward herself, treating it, for the moment, not so irreverently; no longer like a blind girl’s cane but a staff. Something more estimable and filled with purpose. Hooking one arm around the ludicrously long quillons, and leaning all her weight into it. It’s any wonder how such a thin blade does not flex and snap, even beneath her waifish frame.]
BETH: “I confess. ‘Tis more interesting an inquiry by far than the—......the residue-begging I first took it for. Still. I loathe that I must disappoint thee.”He observed as the woman speaked, the Residue comment was an interesting detail on its own, a missing piece he didn’t realize was missing. But that was not the reason he was here pestering this woman.
He shaked his head slowly before responding.
MATHIAS: “A lack of comment it's a response all on its own”It was just like he told the Regalia of Titan, any reply given in good faith was worth being shared, even if the answer was silence.
MATHIAS: “I believe I know the answer but I shall ask anyway, are you interested in having a duel? Not today, or even someday soon. But one day—”BETH: “Thou misunderstandst. ‘Tis not my sword to wield with such frivolity; and if it were, ‘twas built for no such purpose; but were it not, I am none so skilled in its use; and if I was—sir—still I would have with thee no—agh!”
[The woman had been reaching for her face, fumbling with something by her left cheekbone. Something flush and unseen. All the sudden, her eyes eerily shifting from their glassy black to something more vibrant, something more alike to a honeyed brown, a terrible wince befalls her every feature. In the face she scrunches, in the eyes she rolls; gaping, fish-like, in the mouth. The rest of her recoils, too, her trembling hands dropping the massive sword to clutch her face, her very spine curling with distress.]
[A moment later and this spasm—this headache, or whatever it is—has faded, at least enough that she is once more cognizant. But her next breath comes no more easily. She labors, suffers, to steady her lungs.]
BETH: “...no quarrel...”He blinked.
The again.
…Had he made a blunder?
How strange, he had immediately nailed her as a combatant by the way she moved, even while blind there was a surety to her movements. The weapon was also not some sort of replica, yes it was big but it wasn’t like it was the biggest he had ever seen (that dubious honor belonged to a swordsman in Tenshi), with her recent comment he figured she wouldn’t have problem wielding it but clearly he had been wrong. Maybe she was some sort of dancer? That… would certainly explain a good deal, wouldn’t it? The paint, the weapon, the confidence.
If the old man could see him now he would laugh and berate him in the same breath.
Resisting the urge to bring a hand to massage the back of his neck he decided to continue the conversation. Well, at least once whatever ailment was assaulting her abated.
MATHIAS: “Ah, my apologies”A small bow.
MATHIAS: “It seems I was overzealous after finding another person with a sword. Though if I may? There is no need for a quarrel to come into Conflict, only the desire and understanding of what both combatants get out of it. To fight is to be Human, as it is to follow your desires”[The woman stands before him, still grasping her twitching, tormented face. This time something has changed, however. Her eyes, in a word—they work again. They have settled fully into a shade of amber. And they stare, purposefully, up at the sky. Bewildered. Distraught. And profusely bleeding from both sockets. Copious, crimson tears.]
[All at once her attention snaps back at him, as she seems to realize he has addressed her once again. As if he has broken her from a trance.]
[She threads an arm through her baldric; returns the heavy, massive sword to her back.]
BETH, hurried: “A word of advice, far-strider, if thou wilt heed.”He looked towards the falling skies as the woman once more responded to him.
MATHIAS: “I am listening”BETH, in a singsong voice, as if reciting lyrics or even poetry:
A wise-counselled man will be mild in bearing
and brandish his might in good measure,
lest when he arrive his fierce rivals among,
he find others than he even fiercer.
[A stranger figure by the minute, she watches a moment to see whether her cryptic message has sunken in. But, seemingly fully recovered from whatever affliction had stricken her so painfully, her wide-eyed, but stony stare betrays neither approval nor disappointment. As she’s turning to flee, up the beach and inland, she takes one last glace at them; Mathias, then up at the fiery sky, then back to him.]
He listens as the poem is recited, this was a first to him and the experience was novel. After she finished he took a moment to wonder on her words, they felt like they were chosen carefully, like those stories he heard about prophecies. Was she a Regalia of a fate-weaver? Maybe.
Though the message was cryptic it was also very clear in its meaning and he let out a smile at what he understood.
Once more he looked towards her and gave her a bow, it was very clear she wanted to leave now and he had gotten more than what he expected.
MATHIAS: “Thank you, may you have a good day”
