Heuloix Estate
Some Years Pre-Calamity
Early Morning
The sun had not yet reached its zenith, yet the practice yard was alive with metallic crashes and wooden thuds. It was not a large yard, but had room enough to accommodate a ring with enough room for two adults to spar in. The stone walls of the manor made for excellent acoustics, doubling the music of warfare of blows and harsh words.
Olivie sat against the south wall, feet propped on the stable boy's stool and arms crossed loosely about her midsection. The entirety of her attention was focused on the gangling youth training with the weapons master on the hard earth of the yard. They sparred with dulled swords and wooden shields, and Olivie knew from experience that even though the swords couldn't cut, they bruised very well.
She toyed with the end of her long braid, wincing when the younger man took a solid blow to the side, but nodded with encouragement as he shifted his guard and blocked a second strike.
"He should have never let that through," a too-dignified voice huffed from the side. The corner of Olivie's mouth twitched involuntarily and she kept her eyes forward.
"He is fighting with his less-dominant arm." She defended in a light tone. "I think his recovery more than made up for the slight."
Alfonse, resplendent in his dragoon armor and supercilious expression sniffed quietly. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down his nose at the younger elezen sparring.
His gaze shifted to Olivie, who had yet acknowledged her older brother with so much as a glance. "He's all elbows and knees."
"So were you at his age," she came back automatically.
"We're not talking about me," Alfonse replied stiffly. "We're talking about Martiallais."
With a sigh, Olivie finally graced her brother with her attention. Her smile was quick and mischievous. "No, we're not, but we could be. Like the time you went rump-first into the chocobo dung in the stable. I swear you smelled for a week."
Color tinged Alfonse's dark cheeks, and his expression went steely. He refused to reply to that blight on his past, and Olivie smiled gaily at his discomfort. The chain on her armor jingled faintly as she shifted.
"For someone working on his off-hand with awkward equipment, I think he's doing fine. Especially for his age. Once he grows into himself, he'll be excellent. A little polish, a little work, and he'll make you look bad."
Alfonse gave his sister a very unfriendly look, which she ignored blithely. "You have another proposal waiting. Father recommends you respond to this one faster than the last. -I- think you should accept it, though it's much too good for you."
His piece said, he turned on a heel and marched away, elegantly-coiffed hair shining in the sunlight and accenting his armor just so. Olivie watched him leave, a derisive sniff at his parting shot her only response. She turned blue eyes back to her younger brother, who not only successfully blocked a hit, but went in for a counter. He did better every day; she was confident he'd make an excellent fighter once he got used to his own body.
"Shoulders straight!" she called out, watching Martiallais flinch with shock. She had tried her best to keep her audience hidden from him, as he tended to do better when he didn't think he had to impress anyone.Â
He shot Olivie a sheepish look from across the yard, but she merely waved her hands in a shooing motion, directing him to keep his focus on his practice.
Some Years Pre-Calamity
Early Morning
The sun had not yet reached its zenith, yet the practice yard was alive with metallic crashes and wooden thuds. It was not a large yard, but had room enough to accommodate a ring with enough room for two adults to spar in. The stone walls of the manor made for excellent acoustics, doubling the music of warfare of blows and harsh words.
Olivie sat against the south wall, feet propped on the stable boy's stool and arms crossed loosely about her midsection. The entirety of her attention was focused on the gangling youth training with the weapons master on the hard earth of the yard. They sparred with dulled swords and wooden shields, and Olivie knew from experience that even though the swords couldn't cut, they bruised very well.
She toyed with the end of her long braid, wincing when the younger man took a solid blow to the side, but nodded with encouragement as he shifted his guard and blocked a second strike.
"He should have never let that through," a too-dignified voice huffed from the side. The corner of Olivie's mouth twitched involuntarily and she kept her eyes forward.
"He is fighting with his less-dominant arm." She defended in a light tone. "I think his recovery more than made up for the slight."
Alfonse, resplendent in his dragoon armor and supercilious expression sniffed quietly. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down his nose at the younger elezen sparring.
His gaze shifted to Olivie, who had yet acknowledged her older brother with so much as a glance. "He's all elbows and knees."
"So were you at his age," she came back automatically.
"We're not talking about me," Alfonse replied stiffly. "We're talking about Martiallais."
With a sigh, Olivie finally graced her brother with her attention. Her smile was quick and mischievous. "No, we're not, but we could be. Like the time you went rump-first into the chocobo dung in the stable. I swear you smelled for a week."
Color tinged Alfonse's dark cheeks, and his expression went steely. He refused to reply to that blight on his past, and Olivie smiled gaily at his discomfort. The chain on her armor jingled faintly as she shifted.
"For someone working on his off-hand with awkward equipment, I think he's doing fine. Especially for his age. Once he grows into himself, he'll be excellent. A little polish, a little work, and he'll make you look bad."
Alfonse gave his sister a very unfriendly look, which she ignored blithely. "You have another proposal waiting. Father recommends you respond to this one faster than the last. -I- think you should accept it, though it's much too good for you."
His piece said, he turned on a heel and marched away, elegantly-coiffed hair shining in the sunlight and accenting his armor just so. Olivie watched him leave, a derisive sniff at his parting shot her only response. She turned blue eyes back to her younger brother, who not only successfully blocked a hit, but went in for a counter. He did better every day; she was confident he'd make an excellent fighter once he got used to his own body.
"Shoulders straight!" she called out, watching Martiallais flinch with shock. She had tried her best to keep her audience hidden from him, as he tended to do better when he didn't think he had to impress anyone.Â
He shot Olivie a sheepish look from across the yard, but she merely waved her hands in a shooing motion, directing him to keep his focus on his practice.
Olivie Heuloix - The Rusted Blade
Julianya Devon - The Hospitaller KnightÂ
Balmung
