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CHARACTERS: Ilde, Mara, Batman
WHERE: Concordia
WHEN: DAY 33
SUMMARY: This is a training montage
WARNINGS: There's some violence and a tad bit of gore.

She has to go digging in Angel's clothes for 'athletic' wear. It is not a term Ilde particularly understands or even agrees with, but it seems that it would be best to follow Mara's instructions, for the time being. Still, any fight she gets in to... she is likely to be wearing a dress, why not practice in one? She only grumbles a little as she pulls into one of Angel's pairs of stretchy leggings with its panels of mesh. She pokes around for a shirt as well, but finds it more difficult to find a fit. She finally determines something that will have to do and goes to meet Mara on the rooftop. The rooftop of their building was the best compromise to be found. Perhaps somewhere isolated in the industrial district, but then it would have been the pair of them isolated on the far side of the industrial district. If something went wrong it could be troublesome. Besides, others have already used the rooftop for their fights. She's already had to move some of the plants into safer locations.

It's her turn. She is not so much nervous as excited. She has never had anyone like Mara in her life. There had rarely been other women, at all, once she began to live in the palace.

Even fewer, after Camille had been found a witch.

The blast of cool air as she comes out onto the roof removes that thought from her. It also catches her hair and blinds her for a moment as she moves to take control of all the long blonde locks and tie them up. She uses the same bit of twine she's always used to knot off the end of the braid.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Bruce had begun to consider the rooftop of the Bearings a sort of refuge, or perhaps more fittingly, a place to re-align his focus, to reset his thoughts for the evening. The skyline of the city below calmed him, in a way that allowed him to clear his mind and reflect on the events of the day; the mission, the Nest, the hosts he was linked with, their thoughts bubbling away in the back of his mind. He was dressed more casually today (for even Bruce can only abide wearing the same suit from home for a limited amount of time), sporting comfortable dark slacks and an airy, white shirt with long sleeves that he kept rolled up at the elbows.

The waning daylight began to cast long shadows across the rooftop, and he found comfort in the isolation they blanketed him with, away from the prying eyes and curious minds of any others who may visit -- he leans against the railing in the corner, silent and contemplative, turning to look back only when he hears footsteps and, eventually, voices.

One is a woman he recognizes from the streets of Concordia below, the one playing journalist and who indulged him in a farce of keeping up appearances. The other young woman, he does not recognize -- or perhaps, is only recognized by this planet's news coverage. Regardless, it is immediately obvious that she is another host; if not by principle of simply being here, then because Bruce can feel the familiar tug of someone as connected to the Nest as he, especially when he subtly tugs at those connective strings.

Someone else, perhaps, would make their presence known before or during their training session. Bruce, naturally, remains in shadow, quietly watching with divided interest between the two. To say that he is eavesdropping is an understatement. He takes in everything he can, from the way they move to the advice offered from one to the other; which foot they favored, their reaction times, their "styles" of sparring. It's difficult to tell if he's impressed, but he certainly is interested.

It's after their session is over -- and only one remains -- when Bruce makes his presence more obviously known, straightening from his spot against the railing and stepping out to an open area of the roof.

"You picked a harsh place for a training session; the roof's surface will leave plenty of bruises if your partner isn't careful with you."

But it's less of a criticism than an observation. It's no practice mat, but the hard, unyielding surface of the rooftop makes sure one doesn't easily forget lessons learned.

Ilde had remained on the roof after Mara in order to calm herself after that last push to wield her symbiote. She is found often on the roof, it is where the plants are and she longs for their company more than she longs for human companionship. The plants are easier, there are no layers of deception or manipulation. She loves them without motive and in kind, they grow. So simple.

She feels a bit foolish to not have noticed Bruce before he spoke to her, and she turns with a wary look, blue eyes wide. She considers his statement for a moment.

"It was the most obvious place to practice, where I would not be seen." She was pretending to be someone harmless. What would her 'fans' think if pictures of her fighting with a journalist got out. "Mara was very careful with me."

For exactly the same reason, really. What would the fans think if she came into the spotlight with a black eye?

She tilts her head slightly then, considering him. "What did you think of it?"

He had expected the wary look; it's the kind most give him when he quite literally steps out of the shadows unannounced. (A habit he's taken up more than most normal people. Terror was also a common response, though they faced an entirely different manner of Bruce Wayne then.) Regardless, he doesn't seem fazed by it, nor particularly pleased with himself. He had simply been watching with interest, and there was little more to it than that.

Being careful, he thinks, sometimes defeats the purpose of training yourself to fight. This is one of the few instances that Bruce considers the excuse otherwise a reasonable one. A cover where one was in the public eye was a precarious choice, and being more careful was only to be expected. It merely meant that there would be room for improvement, when she was less restricted.

As always, he offers his opinion easily, with unyielding honesty. "Your instructor knows what she's doing. But it's hard to be creative when you're limited to covering the basics." It's neither a disparagement nor a compliment. Merely an observation.

"Your... powers, though," he continues, the real sticking point of his interest. "That was unexpected."

He expected, of course, for powers to be utilized (at least for those willing to wield them). What he didn't expect was an emotion etched on Mara's face which he was well-acquainted with: fear.

Ilde takes his honesty for what it is, and appreciates that he is forthright. She herself is a very straightforward girl, when it can be afforded. It cannot always be, there are times and places where she is forced to soften and evade, bend to the dangers of a situation in order to redirect the energy to something she can control. She feels no particular threat from Bruce right now, however, and so she answers just as plainly,

"I have trained with the Prince as well, but I did not find his methods suit me well. I am glad to start again with Mara."

She has never had another woman like Mara in her life to look up to. It is a pleasant feeling, it gives her direction, hope, and while Mara would assuredly deny it: a friendship. Ilde understands that much about the other woman, and thus keeps such comments carefully contained. She had made herself known when they met, meeting Mara's mind and letting all the places where their experiences overlapped illuminate. That was enough. Their kinship is understood, it does not need to be harped upon.

Ilde contemplates the man's other observations for a moment, but that too she is willing to be upfront about: "It was my first attempt at such a strategic use. My control is improving."

Edited 2016-09-01 21:26 (UTC)

Bruce cannot help but frown a bit at the mention of the Prince. He had only met the man once, but the conversation did not exactly leave the best of first impressions; and the fact that he was offering training to those who desired it did not seem to assuage his initial feeling about the man, as unfair as it might be.

He does not comment on it, then, but his faint glower is perhaps tell enough. He pushes forward with the matter at hand.

"A strategic use in what?" he continues, for the sake of clarification. "Anxiety? Fear? I've seen that look on someone's face before; it had hit her so quickly."

Which was, in the end, maybe not as advantageous as it sounded. Bruce believed it the emotion that was more effective starting as a slow, simmering boil, before it blossomed into pure panic. It left a more... lasting impression that way.

He is not the only one to dislike the Prince, and the elder host himself clearly preferred it that way. Ilde herself is not extremely fond of him, but she has come to understand after weathering multiple of his heated lectures that he has lost so many of them, whether he has trained them or not, whether he has loved them or not, and now he ekes out what he can from beneath bruises. She has understanding for Prince, but respect is... something else entirely.

"Yes," she's a straightforward girl, when it suits, when it is safe to be so. "My symbiote's ability spreads fear. When I began it was... a formless dread. It is recent that I have managed to make myself specific."

Bruce vacillates between being intrigued and concerned. He knew the use of fear against his enemies, having employed it in his own way when he could, but the tactic was one that required more than the element of surprise. It was, in many ways, glorified theatrics, the ability to get under one's skin, to gently ease them into panic. To make them lose their focus in fear itself, giving Bruce the advantage.

He considers his words for a moment before speaking.

"Specificity is well and good, but you still failed to use it to your full advantage. You've dealt all your cards early in the fight, and a strong-willed opponent won't be so unsuspecting the next time." And it was obvious from her actions alone that Mara appeared to be one such individual.

"It will only work with the unsuspecting," she agrees. "A last resort."

Mara had told her she needed some kind of holdout, and Ilde sees this as an acceptable option if she cannot get her hands on a weapon. She has been quite expressly forbidden from them, actually, after stabbing a ruffian to death on Avera. The Prince had not been pleased with her, and so she is doing her best to obey the mandate set before her. Still, if she were truly threatened here in Concordia... anything could happen.

"You could," he begins, though it's obvious it has a bit more to say on the matter. "Though there are better ways to wield fear, than to hit your opponent with all at once."

A part of himself questions why he should bother sharing, but it's quickly overridden by a desire to make his fellow hosts simply better at what they do. It made their chances of a successful mission higher, which in turn may eventually lead them to find a way home more effectively, assuming all the answers slowly begin to unravel before them.

"I mean a slow, simmering sort of fear. The kind that builds into panic, and clouds the judgement of your opponent. It lasts longer, and it's more detrimental."

Of course, he cannot help but comment on something else he had overheard.

"You may not have to resort to cutting someone's throat if they're too afraid to even look at you, for example."

Rather than answer, she instead simply activates her symbiote to do exactly what he had suggested. The slow simmering fear, the amorphous dread, is easier for her. She is a creature filled with fear, there is no coincidence that her symbiote simply lets it loose from within herself. She has lived her entire life in a haze of anxiety and panic, stalked by man-eating shadows across and endless scorched waste where there was nowhere to hide. Her earliest memories are of death and pain and fear. She needs no reason to be afraid, life is fear. Death is always knocking. No one is to be trusted, not even those who love you most.

The churning uncertainty develops in his stomach, hair raising at the back of his neck.

"Yes," she agrees, unrelenting. "It has been useful in the past."

Bruce feels it nipping at his heels, that stewing anxiety creeping into his chest. It's familiar to him, a double-edged apprehension that he often turns outwards, detaching it from himself. But this time it doesn't truly belong to him; it's a foreign dread, intermingling with a mental link that reveals faint glimmers of deadly shadows and unyielding wastelands.

He has long learned that while his body works on instinct, already threatening to eke adrenaline into his system, his mind is what he can control. His will is abnormally petulant, a steel wall holding in his own experiences, while blocking anything trying to worm its way in. He brings up this barrier tenfold, setting his jaw. His mouth curves into a frown, looking at her, deflecting.

"You're fast to offer a demonstration," he says, though his tone lacks flippancy.

"We have powers which words are often inadequate for," she answers evenly, she looks off at nothing, her face pale and eyes glassy. Her fear is like a sickness, and it always has been. The symbiote knows her far too well, is all too clearly indeed meant for her. She is a superstitious girl, grew up in a world ruled by a mad Godking who spoke about his great and terrible destiny in wild hypnotic oration. Sometimes it soothes her to think that she is indeed where she should be. Sometimes she still doubts, although that lessens with time, lessens as she looses her sycophancy for Dreus, as she her dependence upon the intoxicating nature of his magic lets her mind be free. She is, in steps, taking control of herself; though what that means to her may be troublesome to others.

"I have much more room to grow into this power," soft but determined. She intends to be a terror one day, she intends to eclipse her mad Godking who had burned their world to nothingness, who had promised to truly turn it into nothing but ash when the day finally came.

Power and control, her weakness, her longing.

Bruce knows all about wanting to hold tight to the notion of control. It's his own sort of double-edged sword, a merit and a failing both at once. For circumstances that lie beyond his control -- like being pulled from his world to the station, for one -- are utterly unacceptable, and he often does all he can to crush it into something resembling order and predictability.

So yes, he could understand the implication, though she makes no mention of it verbally. He continues to steel himself against the fear, feeling the waves beginning to ebb.

The next question he asks is an obvious one, as anyone who knows the power of fear might inquire the same. "And what do you expect it to grow into?" What would she expect to do with it once it could be wielded as a tool, or as a weapon?

Such a question. She isn't entirely certain. Sometimes she thinks she might delight in giving in, in becoming a monster, but then... perhaps she could be a beautiful one, perhaps even tempered and in control of herself. Did such depth of power imply madness, as it most certainly had in Dreus Fenn, Godking of a world he himself burned. She doesn't know. There is much she does not know, and she is willing to take it in with time.

"As strong as I need to be."

Strong enough to keep herself and her brood alive. Whatever that meant. Whatever that took.

That's an opaque answer if Bruce has ever heard one, one that leaves him uncertain. He hasn't time to fret over everyone's sense of responsibility in the Nest, taking into consideration how they use their powers and to what purpose. But that doesn't mean that this very controlling man won't make the absolute best attempt that he can.

"Then I would be careful that you're the one who remains in control of your abilities, not the other way around."

Whatever it may be she's trying to become strong enough for, he wonders how far she may be willing to take it.

She smiles sadly, the upturn of her lips is clearly not an expression she makes often, but the sorrow in it all fits her to a tee. She clearly has some experience with that: with losing control, and it inspires something bittersweet inside of her. She radiates it, all she's hurt and sacrificed while in the thrall of a man possessed by his power, and not the other way around. That one man and his insanity had framed her entire world, her experiences, her sense of self.

"We will see where my strength carries me," she doesn't argue with him, but neither can she promise that she will not change. In fact, it seems terribly likely that she will. It was what had caused the witches of her world to turn so ugly, so depraved, they had dared to reach, had tried to challenge Dreus.

Ilde too would dare, would overshadow. A terrible glory.

"Hopefully not far enough to slit any more throats," comes the response, this time quick and prepared. Yes, he had been eavesdropping enough to catch that much (even if he hadn't intended to, it was difficult to not hear their conversation from where he stood), and he sees little need in attempting to hide it.

And yes, there is judgment in his tone, though it is masked by uncertainty. The way his lips transform into a frown, paired with cinched brows, reveal that easily enough. The implied question of the circumstances surrounding such an event hangs in the air, though Bruce does not bother voicing it.

This line of questioning irritates her, she has been subject to everyone's censure and opinion on the subject, all of it contradictory. She is quite tired of the discussion.

"It has been requested by my broodmate that I refrain," a shrug in her tone. "And so I will."

Although it is very temporary in her mind. One day Steve will understand things as she does, Death always finds its way in. One day they will need her skills, whether they realize it or not.

The spike of irritation is certainly felt, though he does not let its recognition show on his features.

"Good," he says, frankly. And though he does not truly know her, and therefore cannot say whether or not she'll hold steadfast to it, it would have to do for now.

And besides, perhaps there was an addendum to be had.

"There are other ways of immobilizing an enemy without resorting to spilling blood," he continued, having more than a fair share of experience on the subject. The right kind of pressure points, or the right kind of force, methodically applied. "If you're willing to learn, I'm willing to share."

It's a big if, he thinks, but the offer is sincere enough.

"It is to my benefit to learn all that I can."

An answer with no value judgment whatsoever on 'resorting to spilling blood'. She has no moral objections to killing, if she killed someone and they could not stop her, they deserved their fate. It was that simple, it reflected nothing about her personality. That was her opinion, anyway. And she finds those opposed to the act more cowardly than virtuous, except perhaps for Steve, but then as her broodmate she forgives him nearly anything.

Though that may be the case, Bruce believes that if one possesses the skill set to disable threats non-lethally, they may be more inclined towards doing so, by mere principal of knowing how. Regardless, it is a possibility, and that's honestly good enough for Bruce.

He crosses his arms, assessing in his mind the best place to start. "What's your prior experience? Barring your session with Mara."

"Some time with the Prince as well, for similar instruction," and as she says it, she realizes this gentleman reminds her quite distinctly of their elder mentor. Not necessarily a good thing. Prince spoke to her in a way that she did not understand, paternal and disappointed, with expectations that made no sense to her. She has this underlying feeling that perhaps he is a good man, but there is something in his manner that frustrates her as well.

Yes, her eyes narrow slightly. She has a very similar feeling about Bruce.

"My name is Ilde."

It's irony, then, that Bruce does not hold the Prince in higher regard either. His conversation with the man, brief as it was, only underlined how utterly unprepared everyone was in regards to fighting the Enemy. It was an unacceptable answer to Bruce, and he had come away with an unfortunate first impression of the man, though it may have been unfair. Neither did the Prince's demeanor do much to ease Bruce's misgivings, though they were indeed more alike than dissimilar, if anyone was truly observant enough to notice.

Alike enough to eagerly offer training to those who may need it, or wish it, it would appear.

Still, it's hard to miss Ilde's change in disposition. Bruce could ignore it, but they both would need a clear mind to successfully teach and be taught; if there was something lingering in the air between them, he would rather bring attention to it than pretend otherwise. But first, his name in return.

"Bruce Wayne," he says, and he finds with each introduction, he expects less and less the Wayne name to mean anything. Not that it mattered. Old habits merely died hard.

"Is there going to be a problem?" comes second, purposefully bringing any tension to the forefront.

"No," an immediate and relaxed response. She may not particularly care for his personality, but it was his to have. She was actually quite patient with the faults of others, except in some very... specific and notable cases. Petre Dodrescu is a monster and she wants to see him flayed alive. Her vague irritation with Bruce Wayne's manners is absolutely nothing compared to her violent burning disgust for that creature, and she is aware of that perspective.

"I am a dedicated student."

Regardless of her feelings for her instructor, she needs to learn all that she can if she is ever to meet the lofty goals she has set for herself.

Perhaps, then, that is all that he needs to hear. That despite whatever annoyances she may be harboring against his character, and for whatever reason it may be, none of that matters if she's truly dedicated.

He'll be quick to give Ilde the chance to prove it, at any rate.

"Good. Then we'll start now."

He moves a reasonable distance away, enough room to give her leeway to build up momentum to strike.

"Come at me as if you mean to disable me."

[closed]

after the above training takes place! I can edit if that doesn't work for you

all good :3

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i am such a slug

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