maskormenacelogs | delivered from the blast

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delivered from the blast

WHO: REINER BRAUN and MAJOR GENERAL OLIVIER MIRA ARMSTRONG
WHERE: An isolated area by the harbor.
WHEN: Tuesday
WHAT: Reiner asked for training, and Maj. Gen. Armstrong agreed. Will Reiner survive??
WARNINGS: References/potential instances of violence.

[ As Reiner heads to meet Olivier, dressed casually in a white button-down with his 3Dmg blades in tow but for the moment retracted, he takes his time thinking over his reasons to ask for training. It had admittedly been impulsive, but not anything he regretted, either -- he always felt that the responsibility of the strong was to be prepared to do what needed doing and to help, also, protect the what merited protection. The mark of a good soldier. He isn't a soldier anymore, but he still believes that; he has plenty to protect, and plenty still to overcome until he feels strong enough not to feel weighed down by the past.

There is still space between the man he is and the man he strives to be, and ways to close that distance. Even if he has no designs on needing to fight here, the worst thing he could do is be unprepared. It's his responsibility to be strong for Annie and Bertholdt now, whatever that takes.

Soldier or not though, when he sees her it's with a soldier's salute he still greets her with. He should be on time by his own count, but he still opens with: ]

I haven't kept you waiting, have I?

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[The general is standing in the middle of the abandoned warehouse near the one she'd used for her earlier meeting with Shepard and Alenko. This is a very convenient district, true, but no reason to cross her furtive wires more than she needs to.

She's standing there, her expression severe, her uniform immaculate, her sword held in front of her with the point of the sheath on the ground, balancing her hands as she held them. She turns to regard Reiner as he enters, and when he salutes she returns it for a moment, albeit in her own manner.] You always will.

[It's a simple jibe. True; she'd gotten here fifteen minutes ago. It's meant to throw him off. To put him on his back foot.

And while he's caught off guard mentally, she intends to strike. The sheath of her officer's saber clatters to the ground, and she lunges with a swift strike aimed directly at his head. There is no mistaking that this is a killing blow.]

[ Catching Reiner off-guard mentally is not terribly tough, and he does second-guess for a moment if he had really come straight here as intended or if he'd lost time along the way.

But there's no time to dwell on that thought; Olivier comes at him and instinct kicks in, sending his body in a backwards dodge and his hands dropping to his sides to withdraw his own blades to counter hers with, just barely stopping it from cutting him open. ]

Sorry, next time I'll-- [ With a hiss: ] Ah, close one!

[ He might find this tactic crazy in another circumstance, but right now it's exactly what he's after; he won't get any warning in a real attack. Once he's solid in his footing he pulls back his blades so that one is held defensively in front of him and other is swinging toward her in a counter-attack, but aimed at her side as opposed to somewhere more lethal. ]

[Her saber sweeps to the side, knocking that blade away from its mark. Olivier steps to the side, taking advantage of having her sword inside his to strike forward, cutting in underneath Reiner's arm for a blow at his side.] Vigilant. A warrior is always prepared!

It's an insult to not take your opponent seriously.

[ That word, "warrior," is the right one to say to ensure he takes this seriously (though he already was); his face hardens, jaw tensing; once again she's right. He has to work harder.

He dodges, ducking down, though despite his quick reflexes her blade catches his sleeve enough to tear it and grazes his skin. He feels the sting of the cut but is unconcerned; he can heal it before it bleeds much if it's going to. ]

I wouldn't be here if I wasn't taking this seriously -- if it were less important, I would just train on my own.

I'm not here to train you. [She practically spits out the word.] I train dogs.

You asked me to make you strong. What can someone like you do with strength? [She's relentless, barely letting him have breathing room as she presses forward. The saber in her hand dances nimbly, catching the dim light of the warehouse as she lunges forward with a thrust.]

[ He dodges again, sliding his weight around more confidently on his feet and raising both his blades to slash in her direction, first with one and then the other. ]

What else? I fight-- [ He huffs, with effort: ] And I take responsibility to fulfill my duties. As a warrior, I won't let anything stand in the way of that.

[Not bad, she finds herself thinking. His instincts are good, if his technique slightly rough. He's young, but fights with the experience of an older soldier. Olivier deftly backsteps, her saber pivoting flat to parry one blow and the other in turn. She'll let him go on the offensive for now, see how he attacks.] Your duty?

Your duty to who? Your king, your commander?

Is your strength only for fighting?

[ He's aggressive in his technique, too; skillful but aiming more as if to maim or disarm rather than kill even if she can fight off his attacks effectively. It's habit for the most part, some built-in reluctance to hold back when it's not an enemy he's up against.

He swings his blades forward, jumping in his advance to get an aerial advantage. ]

No, not them. My loyalty isn't with them. [ After all, he's a traitor. ] My strength is for what I have to protect.

[She's tall, but more than that, she's got the innate Armstrong super strength; she can throw her built-like-a-truck brother around like nothing.

So when he jumps, slashing down at her, she brings her saber up, bracing the blade with her palm to block, though the force of the impact makes her boots skid backward a few inches.

She shoves forward with that surprising strength, intending to disrupt Reiner's landing and knock him to the ground. Either way, though, her saber is going to come up to point at him, her face a glowering grimace.] That's enough.

You're not taking me seriously; you swing to disable or wound, not kill. There's no conviction behind those moves.

You will attack me with lethal intent, or I will walk away and leave you to rot.

[ He hisses sharply as he hits the ground, looking at her blade point and then up at her. Reiner's grip tightens on his own blades, but he doesn't move for the moment.

He says plainly: ]

I'm not used to training with intent to kill. No disrespect meant -- it has nothing to do with what I take seriously. [ He bows his head slightly, then stands, his blades hanging down from his hands at his sides before he raises them again. ] Can we start over?

[She lowers the saber slightly as he stands, rearming himself.] A pulled punch flies differently from a full one. Intentionally misaimed strikes are blocked differently than real ones. An enemy will not give you the luxury of swinging to wound.

Show me your conviction, Braum. Let's see how far your strength takes you.

[ Exhaling, his expression intensifying, Reiner nods his head and raises one of his blades higher. ]

Just say so, if you want me to call an attack off.

[ Without hesitating he kicks off the ground, pushing himself into in a forward leap so he can aim a strike at her neck. If he imagines he's a soldier and she's a titan, it's easy. Or even if he imagines that she's Mikasa and he's trying his hardest to surpass her. ]

You'll know.

[And she doesn't give the impression that she thinks she'll have to, either. But it's satisfying, the way he strikes at her neck. He's taking her seriously now, he's fighting to kill.

Her saber comes up and around, knocking the inside of his blade to bat his strike away. In the same motion, she steps forward, angling her shoulder so that it'll crash into his chest when he lands. The problem with jumping attacks, she thinks, is that you can't dodge in mid-air.]

And--

[ He grunts. Dodging is difficult, yes; he can swerve his weight to one side but not really evade, so her shoulder hits him even as he shifts his weight backwards the moment his feet land again.

He's able to avoid most of the impact, at least; he allows the momentum from the strike to move him back on his feet so he can come around and attempt a strike from the side. Both sides, ideally; his blades move quickly as he lets instinct carry his movements. ]

How will we know when the match is over?

[No way to guard from both sides. The prudent, cautious thing to do would be to step back, to get out of his reach.

It would also be the obvious thing to do.

So Olivier instead dashes forward, well past the range of his swords, so that at best his strike will cross behind her. And now, she's practically face-to-face with the young boy.

There's a pause.] When I say so. [And then she lunges forward in a headbutt aimed at the bridge of his nose.]

[ The blades slash through the air, cutting it sharply enough that their movement makes a hissing sound. Reiner veers backwards as she dives in as quickly as he can, and although he keeps his balance her head collides with his enough to send a sharp bolt of pain up from his nose to his forehead.

It doesn't feel broken, but he can already tell it's going to bruise and probably swell. As he moves backward he almost lets himself fall (he drops, but his left leg catches his weight) in order to get out of her range, driving his blades back toward himself -- and her.

He says nothing in response, only nods as the pain continues to send stinging tremors across his face; he can heal it, but it'll take more focus than he has time for at the moment. ]

[His hands are moving behind her. He's striking in at her - in at himself. Willing to injure himself in order to strike at her? Bold. She'll grant him that, at least.

He's falling; she lets him fall. The arm holding her saber swings around behind her, she blocks the strike coming at her back instinctively. She's half tempted to lunge up with her knee, but she isn't going to make this a brawl. Not yet, anyway.

Instead, she holds her saber there, matching his strength against her own.] Not bad. You were willing to risk cutting yourself to get at me. I can respect that.

[ He exhales harshly, catching himself with one leg and the blade opposite the one she's just deflected so that he doesn't hit the ground. The blade can recover, but in a fight landing on his back would mean the end for him -- especially against Mikasa, who would definitely be striking to kill.

But Olivier's good, very good, so her compliment means something. He acknowledges it with a nod, though doesn't oversell. ]

Thanks. [ He pushes at her saber with his blade. ] I think worrying about that in a fight holds people back.

Holding back is for the weak. If you're gonna fight, fight to crush. Never do an opponent a small injury, or you'll regret it.

That's why we drill. So when the time comes, a soldier doesn't hesitate. He acts.

[A pause.] What would you have done if I'd lunged for your chest? Bet on my being able to strike you before you could get me.

Don't I know it.

[ He nods in agreement to her assessment, thinking again of if he ever has to face Mikasa in a fight again. She's better than him by a small margin, but enough of one that he has to strike to kill at all times or else she'll get there first. Even worse, Mikasa knows his weaknesses.

It only takes him a moment to deliver a strategy: ]

I'd fall back and strike at you with my leg to knock you off-course -- that's assuming I couldn't knock you back with a headbutt first. Then once I was low, I'd aim to immobilize your legs with my blade.

Hm. Not bad.

[She steps back.] Get up.

[ He does, shaking his head briefly to clear it. He raises one blade as if in question -- are they continuing? He's ready, if so. ]

Should we go another round, then? [ A pause, then he decides to ask: ] Do you have any advice for me?

Lose the stupid jump strikes. You get some momentum and force from them, but you're committed to a direction. Unless you're in past your opponent's swing range, might as well be suicide.

Come on.

They aren't stupid.

[ Not to him, anyway, which is clearly why he favors them, but-- he takes it into consideration after another moment, reminding himself that his opponents in this kind of combat were almost always much larger and usually required the aggressive element of surprise. It would be reckless to translate that technique over, even if he was (or would be) taller than most of his possible opponents. ]

Usually I move faster than whoever I'm up against, and I recover pretty quickly. If I'm committed to a direction, so are they if they plan to strike back. [ But he nods, resuming the position. ] This helps, though. I want to know where my weaknesses are before it's "for real."

Tailor your moves to your opponent. What's worked before on other idiots won't work on me.

[She lifts her free arm, not holding her sword, and beckons him forward.] Come on. I'll show you the iron defense of Briggs.

[ He arches a brow, but opts not to argue or clarify, instead just going along with what she instructs. He steps forward. ]

What's that? Some kind of family technique?

[ Like Annie has? Either way, he's intrigued. ]

Euphemism. I'll leave the idiotic family techniques to my halfwit brother.

Less talking. More fighting.

Oh -- sorry. You're right, I'll stay focused.

[ His face goes stern again and he resumes his position, a combination of offensive and defensive so he can switch to one or the other in a moment. ]

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delivered from the blast

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so late I'm sorry @_@

it's fineee <3

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