[Fanfic, 100% OJ] Exercise

Series: Suguriverse
Length:1153 words
Genre: Action
B/D: Vulp tries to remember how to do an action scene. Suguri rolls 1 for defence.

The air was thick and still. They faced each other across an open field, blades of grass rigid with frost. No mud. Firm enough footing to lunge across the clearing in one shot. The battlefield was marked by posts strung together with rickety chain, chewed by age. Empty, but for them.

A training exercise, they called it. Physiotherapy. Stretching arms and legs that had slept for centuries, cajoling them back into fitness. It was Hime’s idea. Sora had shown no reaction, looked around with green eyes that were wide, and blank, like an animal’s. Her eyes were narrowed now, but calm. Waiting for a movement, a moment. A predator’s eyes – no, not a predator. A soldier’s.

Suguri settled into a defensive stance. They’d decided on wooden swords, this time – they could take more punishment than that, but why tempt fate? The blade was longer than she was used to. Heavier. She wondered how well she’d fare with her short arms. She was hit with a sudden envy for Sora, for the extra few inches she had in height, the extra weight. Little differences like that could be decisive.

Sora moved. The slightest possible shift of her leading foot. The sound was tiny, but there; a feint. Suguri prided herself on her speed, but Sora was fast too. If the blonde haired girl decided to bridge the gap, she’d reach Suguri long before the sound did. Harder, too. Even heavy, sturdy swords like theirs would only last for a hit or two. Better make them count.

Stillness was difficult. Landbound fights were difficult. Suguri was used to the air, the freedom of motion. A 360 degree battlefield. On land, you couldn’t dip under or over somebody, or circle around to the back quicker than they could follow. It was oddly two dimensional. Her body ached for motion, for a release of tension; her muscles felt like coiled springs, straining under the weight of their energy. She pondered beginning her attack. Sora was heavier, stockier, more apt for defence. As a soldier, she’d probably play to her strengths and punish an ill-judged attack. But Suguri’s speed was nothing to be sniffed at. If she could surge forward, provoke the counter and then dodge, it’d be her victory without a doubt.

As if sensing her resolution, Sora launched forward. Blades of frosted grass flew at her feet, clods of mud blown clear by the power of the motion. For a fraction of a second, Suguri registered wide, shining green eyes, a nose crinkled into a snarl, before moving to the important things: Sora’s right arm, the sword in her hand, lifted up high for a vertical strike, left hand drawn across her chest for balance and protection. Too quick to dodge. Suguri braced, set her heels back and held her sword horizontally across her body, slightly slanted. Too straight and the sword would break, hard; she wanted the force to roll across the blade.

There was a flicker of motion, and Sora’s posture changed. It was like watching a video with frames of animation removed; one moment her arm was in the air, the next it was curled back at her shoulder, quivering with suppressed force. Her arm shot out like a cobra, into a thrust that shot under Suguri’s guard and bit the empty air above her shoulder. Suguri realised her mistake and tightened her grip on the sword, but too late. In a single, practised gesture, Sora’s right arm jerked back and sent the tip of Suguri’s sword careening into the empty air, her left hand shooting forward to catch her jacket near the neck as the silver-haired girl tried to pivot away from the attack. There was no time to even panic before Sora’s right hand cracked down again, once, twice, the butt of her sword pounding against Suguri’s head like a drum. The world exploded into stars and Suguri felt her knees give way, Sora’s grip at her neck loosening. She fell, and Sora’s knee was there to meet her when she did, a quick sharp stab at her stomach, as bad as a knife. It kept her upright for just long enough for the sword to crack down again, and this time she met the floor with a crash, her ribs aching, her head swimming. She saw Sora’s leg move, winding up for a kick, and tried to roll out of the way.

It wasn’t enough, but it wasn’t necessary. Before the kick could come, a black iron chain shot towards Sora’s other ankle and jerked her leg out under from her. She hit the ground face-first with a thump.

“That’s enough of that, I should think!” Hime said sharply, from her seat atop the rickety fence. “Goodness me. When I said you should practice your swordplay, I rather thought you’d be fencing rather than just hitting each other.”

Suguri groaned. She felt justified in groaning. She felt even more justified in asking Hime to be the judge of the contest. She had had a feeling something like this would happen. Sora looked at her, her green eyes blank and unassuming again. Her expression was absolutely nonplussed.

“That was how we did it… in my time. On land, at least. Knock them over, draw your gun and shoot them. They made us practice with shovels,” Sora said, climbing to her feet.

“…I’m glad I wasn’t on the opposite side to you,” Suguri replied.

“Yes, well. If you could perhaps not kill your friends out of force of habit, that would be nice. We shall just have to try something else, I suppose,” Hime said, sighing. “Was it good exercise, at least?”

“No. I just ran across a field and hit somebody,” Sora said.

“There’s such a thing as brutal honesty,” Suguri grumbled. She felt vaguely insulted, but couldn’t disagree with the assessment.

“Oh, cheer up. I’ll kiss it better later,” Hime teased, and ruffled her hair. Suguri rolled her eyes. “I suggest we retire for some cocoa and a brainstorming session.”

Suguri sighed, and made to follow her. Today had driven home that, rusty or not, Sora really was from a different era. A different world. The way she fought was more efficient, and brutal, than either Suguri or Hime could muster. What would have happened if Shifu had had somebody like Sora on his side, those many moons ago?

“Hey.”

Suguri felt a hand catch her sleeve. Sora’s hand. She turned to look at her newest friend, and found her face inscrutable as always. She always seemed so placid, like a cloud aimlessly floating across the horizon. If Suguri had to guess, though, she was probably going to make an apology for being so forceful.

Silently, tentatively, Sora put her hand on Suguri’s head and gently ruffled her silver hair. A contented, peaceful smile spread across her face. For the second time in as many minutes, Suguri sighed.

Close enough.