armand-le-boucher:

theambitiousoperative

Another jab from Roland missed as Cecilie dodged, and he turned away from their strike, just missing it. “Good show.” He made a quick swing to their eye with his left. A second light strike was aimed at their shoulder, just above the armpit. He was going for pressure points, soft spots. He wanted this fight done fast, and with as little damage to him as he could.

Cecilie smiled nervously at the compliment, and returned a nod as they kept watching for an opening. 

Their eyes darted around, watching for motion and cues, but the cloudy, imperfect quality of vision in their right eye told as Roland’s blow connected squarely with that side of their face. Stars exploded in their vision as their head snapped back, momentarily too distracted to dodge away from his strike at their shoulder. That registered as a dull impact that rocked their body to the side, though the pain wasn’t quite as great as it might have been for someone whose nervous system wasn’t scrambled up with that of a plant. 

Their mask fell askew, and they stumble back towards the edge of the ring, scrabbling to tear it free and fling it aside before it impeded their vision too much. They fell into a defensive stance as quickly as possible, watching their opponent with wary respect.

Roland waited for Cecilie to get their mask off, but their eyes widened at the sight under their mask. It couldn’t be, he thought. This was going to be difficult. Two quick strikes with his right, one aimed at their good eye, one at their jaw. He was close to the edge of the ring, but pressed forward.

armand-le-boucher:

theambitiousoperative

Roland was surprised to see such a large turnout, and more surprised to see Cecilie. An unknown. New, and evidently one who had fought before. He met their nod with a quick one of his own, barely reacting in time. He rolled with their punch, turning his hips and exhaling. It was harder than he thought, like a gauntlet. His teeth gritted from more than just exertion as he pushed forward off his right foot, using the momentum to swing a right hook at Cecilie’s temple.

Avoid left hand. Possibly plated gloves. Exploit pressure points on face, joints.Roland’s eyes moved to their shoulders, neck, and face. This wasn’t going to be an easy one, win or lose.

Cecilie turned their head to blunt the impact of the blow, but it still rattled their skull a little. They bounced back, staying in motion as they kept a careful eye on Roland. Clearly a more analytical fellow than your average dockside brawler, judging from the precision with which he aimed his punches. That would neutralize the most significant advantage Cecilie could usually count on. They’d have to rely on their petite stature and keep moving as much as possible. 

They feinted left, then darted right, keeping him in sight of their good eye as they circled in to try and get another strike in at his side.

Another jab from Roland missed as Cecilie dodged, and he turned away from their strike, just missing it. “Good show.” He made a quick swing to their eye with his left. A second light strike was aimed at their shoulder, just above the armpit. He was going for pressure points, soft spots. He wanted this fight done fast, and with as little damage to him as he could.

armand-le-boucher:

lamealawless:

Roland and the Lily of the Valley (Cecilie) are drawn to another ring of blue irises, the second fist fighting ring. Their judge is a woman in a brass bear mask.

“Begin,” says the bear.

(Cecilie takes first post.)

Why did I think it would be a good idea to sign up for this?

Cecilie nervously bounced in place, fists held up to protect their face as they sized up the man on the other side of the ring. The flyer had made this match sound like a low-stakes brawl, something a step up from the fighting rings of Wolfstack. Walking between rows of silent, masked figures into a ruin full of ominous candlelight had been a bit unnerving.

Oh, well. They were here now, and despite any number of people watching or weirdly cult-like trappings, a fight was a fight. They’d been doing this sort of thing since before they’d ever met Mama, let alone had a human body. 

They met eyes with their opponent and gave a little half-nod, then darted forward with a low jab towards his stomach.

Roland was surprised to see such a large turnout, and more surprised to see Cecilie. An unknown. New, and evidently one who had fought before. He met their nod with a quick one of his own, barely reacting in time. He rolled with their punch, turning his hips and exhaling. It was harder than he thought, like a gauntlet. His teeth gritted from more than just exertion as he pushed forward off his right foot, using the momentum to swing a right hook at Cecilie’s temple.

Avoid left hand. Possibly plated gloves. Exploit pressure points on face, joints. Roland’s eyes moved to their shoulders, neck, and face. This wasn’t going to be an easy one, win or lose.

Casey reached forward with their free hand to touch his face again, their expression tender. Finally, they brandished the spoon.

“Get ready for the tincture,” They said in a sing-song voice, and then laughed.

Roland stifles a laugh, trying to stop his chest from hurting. “I’m bandaged up like the Mercies, and you’re trying to get me to laugh.” He sticks his tongue out at them before he takes the spoonful. “It can mend bones, heal stab wounds and worse, and yet it still can’t taste pleasant.” He kisses their free hand and smiles. “I think that I’m in good hands.”

“I am sorry. You know I’m fond of you, but family must come first.” The captivating princess gently touched Roland’s cheek as he tried to recoil, unable to move in the webbing. He looked at her, not meeting her eyes. “I suppose that depends on your definition of family, then.”

She offered a sad nod. “If it helps, the virtues that I so regard in you are what my sister needs. Your curiosity, your determination. They will make her all she can be.“ She kissed his cheek regretfully, and stepped aside. Roland hung his head.

“Beatrice?” She called to the playful prodigy behind her, as the spider-like creature moved forward. You silly thing, wrapping your own gift. Come, now. I know you’re hungry. Eat. It’s time to grow up, dear.” The prodigy extended a needle-like hand towards him, the face on it uncertain.

Roland looked down. He was shaking, his cheek still warm and his skin crawling from the princess’s touch. He looked to her, his voice shaking. “Well. I suppose that there are worse things than sacrifice for family, then. Cheers.”

The Prodigy’s needle-fingers pierced his heart, and Roland’s vision went dark.

“Farewell,” Casey said faintly, watching the Clay Man leave. They turned to Roland, gently brushing some of his hair back from his face. Their mouth is pressed into a thin line, opening slightly for a brief second as if they want to say something, and then it shuts again. They pour out a measurement of the tincture, giving him an apologetic look.

“I do wish a side effect of this stuff wasn’t horrible dreams,” Casey said. “That would make it awfully hard to rest.”

Roland laughs, and smiles. “I’ll take tincture-dreams over seeing that again easy.” He raises his arm and touches their face, smiling. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

The room was covered with strands of web-like resin. Sticky, rigid, and giving off a strange odor. He moved forward, the candle illuminating a dollhouse, beautiful, but in disrepair. There was a table with nine dolls at the center, with little pots of honey before each one, painted red. Roland set the doll by a bookshelf as best he could, nodding at it. As he turned to move, a sharp, painful jab caught his neck. Before he could lift his arm, he hit the floor.

When he came to, he was wrapped in the same webbing covered in the room, something horrific and spider-like standing in front of him, long, stick-like limbs, spindly arms ending in hands with needle-like fingers and childlike faces on the palms, watching him with a frightened expression. Roland was already shaking, but what frightened him most was the Captivating Princess’s voice rousing him.

Roland guides Casey’s hand holding the spoon of tincture to his mouth, and kisses their fingers. “There are worse things in the Neath than my family, and if they haven’t taken me from you, then neither will this.”