1963-11-14 - A Moment of Honesty
Summary: A student opens up to his teacher.
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alexander sif 

As instructed, Alex has fetched his belongings from his apartment back in Manhattan, and fully moved into one of the unoccupied rooms here at the Bellator. He'll keep the place in the city, if only for convenience, and because he isn't certain how long he'll be required to stay here. Wouldn't be practical to give up a place to live before such things are determined with certainty. A good night's sleep, and Alex is ready for his first day of training with the Asgardian goddess, in the rear grounds. She had ordered wooden weapons, but it seemed appropriate to arrive in his armour, and with his sword, for appearance sake more than anything. He steps out through the rear doors, and takes stock of whatever might be going on in the yard.


Early riser. When it came to training, Sif took to the Valkyrie method of never sleeping yet always swinging. Though, she -had- to have a little bit of her beauty rest; after a long night of eating and drinking mead, one had to clear the systems and the mind of all that befuddled them to rise earlier than the ward she was given.

But the rear grounds of the Bellator was set up exactly the way Alex thought it would be, or not! There was at least a Mu ren zhuang off to the side, slowly being put together by one of the commoners that was gifted to Lady Sif during her time here. The secondary shed which housed the weaponry, the tiny smith, was alive and a'glow with the creation of metal weapons and others.. the slow knocking of the wood seems to bring the feel of medieval, though the distant horn blaring and the sirens draw the mind back to current states.

A table was laid out with all manners of wooden weaponry; from a bo-staff to a glaive. A mace, a long sword, short sword, broad sword, katanas.. all picked and plucked from the wooden shed and recently sanded down for smoothness. In other words, it was a busy scene, and Sif remained in the middle.

Instead, there was no armor to adorn her body. Leather straps lace along her middle to hold the black leathered bodice upon her top. The same leather was afforded to her slacks, cut off just below the knee so that her flat boots, which were strapped tight and securely could fit with a twisting tie. Her dark hair was braided randomly, yet fit into a high bun, small wisp dance along her face as the wind blows. And when she hears Alexander, The God of Fear approach, she turns to look over her shoulder with a slight shake of her head.



The command comes as no surprise; he wasn't expecting to train in full regalia. Certainly not on the first day. But it also seemed inappropriate to show up in anything but. He gives a nod, and sets to removing the Japanese-inspired armour, setting it carefully to the side. His sword, Grasscutter, is carefully set down as well, and he approaches Sif naked from the waist up; a pair of loose cloth pants provide some modesty, and a pair of soft-soled plain shoes for his feet. His steps carry him directly in front of the Asgardian, a few feet away, and he gives the woman a short, curt bow, eyes remaining on her throughout. "I am ready for our lesson," he says simply, waiting for further instruction.


There were a lot of things that Sif were considering. Never has she ever been put to train someone, so the first time, just may wind up being her last. At least, before she calls upon an old friend to train the young man for her. Other duties aside..

So when he approaches her, she gives a slight shake of her head, gesturing to the side of her.

"We will not spar or use weaponry today." She states plainly. Whether or not she knows that he was beaten by a whelp of a man was suspect, but their bodies would be the ones in motion. Not just the arms, the feet, the legs. The soul and the heart.

"Your father are one in the same when it comes to the way we fight. While my style may be more brutish and brutal, there is not a thing that we do not, and should not know about various styles. The control. The way we move. The way others move. We seek intent; the smallest quirk of our opponent could mean that they will strike from the left. A large thrust could mean that they've left themselves open. We must be ahead of them at all costs. To the point that we will be revered as we deserve."

She doesn't wander as she speaks this, only remains with her hands behind her back. "You shall follow my movements. 12 path Tan Tui. Pacing is important. Deliberation is important. We shall do this for a week until it is memorized by the muscles. Until you breathe it. Until it moves you. Until it speaks to you."

She nods in his direction, then grins. "We shall begin."


There is a bit of disappointment noticeable in Alex' eyes, but he doesn't vocalize it. He simply nods his agreement at the statement that they won't be training with weapons. He moves to her side, as she instructs, keeping a distance of a few feet between them; enough to move freely without risk of collision. The cold November air doesn't seem to bother him; if it does, he doesn't show it. The movement of his body will warm him, either way. In truth, such exercises are old hat to the young man; he was trained in such movements as a boy, and though the style differed, the practice was not dissimilar. He doesn't say anything about his previous training, though, preferring to let his performance speak for itself. Alex is at least cognizant enough to know that bragging and self-aggrandizement will not be well-received here, by her. And so he watches the woman, echoing her motions, committing the steps to memory.


Her movements were slow and deliberate. Her body straight. Turned to the side to avoid unwarranted hits to the young man. The opener was such of a singular arm, rounding out in a half arc with her free fist thrust to the side. The second movement pushes the rounded arm out, her foot stepping out at a shoulder width apart, bending as both arms end out in an L formation. With a slow draw back, the sides were switched, held, arm soon curled down as she lifts and issues a low kick. The low kick which allows her to be stiff as a board where others would move.. and she contiinues.

One would think that she wasn't watching with the way that she focuses on her own form, yet every now and then, her eyes cast upon him at key and pivotal moments. Sometimes there was a 'tsk'. And another hiss of her breath. Then a slight sigh as she breaks her own formation with a gesture for him to continue.

"I enjoy your arrogance." Lady Sif says completely, her arms pressed low upon her back as she strolls. Why, she could even move into the line of fire but she would still move.. not that she does, either way. "-Slower-."


And here he was trying to keep his attitude in check. Alex breathes rhythmically with his motions, his movements fluid and precise, if a bit fast. He accentuates each imagined strike, a habit from his prior learning. He can't help but smirk at the comment about his arrogance, which he tries to stifle, but may not be entirely successful in doing. It's a momentary shift in his expression, but it was there. At the order to slow down, he does so, though in doing so his movements become slightly less controlled and steady. One of the drawbacks of starting over, when you feel like you already know so much, is that the basics are often more difficult to perfect again. He knows it, too, as his expression shows a level of frustration as he continues to move through the kata, noticing each step is not exactly as it should be.


There! Some levity for once. The little smirk was seen, but it was not commented on. Though the young man listens well.

Sif could see through it all, his knowing. The way his arm slightly trembles with the need to speed. The need to continue on as he would with what he learned to not be taught anew. That was when once he stops in horse stance; Sif takes a slight step forward to correct his positioning with a press of her fingers against his hips. "Dip, just enough to keep your knee and your hip even. Legs apart just enough to hold that stance. You are a strong one. But can you sustain? Is your stamina where it should be, for a young god?"

Once he adjusts himself, she'd finally take a seat. Though her seat was no where near a chair, nor upon the ground where the grass once grew. It was right upon his left thigh, and while she remained in her mortal seeming, there was a thought to let her guise slip so that he could bear the brunt of her godhood. But she, at least, was nice.


For all of his frustration and arrogance, Alex at least takes instruction well. He adjusts his position exactly as he is bid, standing with his legs apart, knees bent precisely as the Asgardian Goddess has ordered. He still doesn't reply verbally at the question, understanding it to be rhetorical. When she sits on his thigh, though, he falters ever so slightly as he adjusts his stance to accommodate the weight. It too is momentary, but the waver is not imperceptible. "You are heavier than you look," he comments at last, but holding the weight without further difficulty, at least for now. The kid may have not inherited his father's Olympian strength, but he's definitely stronger than he appears. Can he hold out, though, is the question.


Sif momentarily flails as he adjusts, possibly creating an even deeper press of weight than she intended. Yet once he was settled, that particular closeness allows her to adjust her 'standing'. A misplaced elbow to the ribs, a foot that kicks his own, a slight jostling as she attempts to get comfortable upon her current perch. His comment, while it draws out a smirk, has her elbow lifting to bump his chin -hard-.

"Excuse me."

Whether or not he falls and takes her with him remains to be seen.

"I have been curious as to why your father suddenly deem that you are in need of more training. Tell me all that has transpired before his decision."


ROLL: Alexander +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 83


All of the shifting, elbowing, kicking, Alex bears it well enough. Sif isn't light, and perched upon his thigh as she is, holding the weight while maintaining his stance is difficult, but he manages. The elbow strikes his chin, though, and his concentration goes out the window. Perhaps he had let his guard down too much, perhaps she caught him off guard. Perhaps he just got too cocky for his own good. Whatever the case, Alex stumbles, and falls backward, breaking his fall as best he can under the circumstances.

Whatever position the two end up in, whether Sif allows him to regain his composure after the fall or not, Alex isn't very happy to have lost his footing so easily. It's a rather large blow to his ego, if nothing else. He's better than that, and he knows it. "It wasn't martial training he had in mind, Lady Sif," Alex says, using the honorific that she had initially told him not to. "Discipline and self-control were his concerns." He seems reluctant to reveal it, but he does so after a moment. "Before he contacted you, I was.. beaten. By a mortal. In public. I.." he pauses, taking in a breath, and releasing it as a sigh. "I used my power inappropriately, and I paid for it," he says. The bruises under his eyes are all but healed, and his nose has by now popped back into its original shape, but keen eyes would see the evidence of his injury, faint though they might be.


She was prepared for this. She could not have been called the Goddess of War if she were not prepared for a little bit of pain in the making. The upset to his balance has her sprawling, her arm caught to lessen the blow that her body would have put upon him if she fell atop of him with her full weight. Though it was a quick movement, one leg crossing behind the other to twist and draw down to her knees. She would not straddle him; no. But only kneel beside him with an expression that was unreadable for now.

That is what you get for calling her fat.

Though, the chinks within his mental armor were seen, and her head tilts briefly at this revelation. There was a little frown, a frown that gives her a thought, her eyes lifting towards the house as she lets out an insufferable sigh. "So you were weak. You sullied his name by taunting someone you could not beat. Someone who possibly lacked a far lesser power than your own. You say discipline and self-control? Martial training provides that." Her hand lifts, fingers straight as a board, which soon drops down upon his chest. Not hard. In fact, that show of force that she did was incredibly light.

She could see the injury of course, and yet perhaps that was the reason as to why she had asked. "How are you to help your friends, those you gave your word to, if you cannot control and conduct yourself wisely in public?"


"My father is the /last/ person who should talk about self-control," Alex says, practically a mutter. Indeed, Ares is not well known for his patience and temperance. "But yes. He was embarrassed to see his own son bested by some whelp of a mortal human," he says, not even attempting to hide the bitterness in his voice. "I understand that physical training will help with my.. flaws," he says after a moment. "Otherwise I would have argued against it. I am not a neophyte, Lady Sif. I have trained in the arts of combat since I was a boy. But my father did not have a hand in it," he says. His training came from a much more malevolent source than even Ares, which may explain his lack of discipline. But then, Ares may not have imparted much more of those qualities himself. Whether or not the story of what transpired in Phobos' youth reached as far as Asgard, he is not certain. "I am willing to concede that I have work to do," he says at last.


Sif barks a quiet laugh at his first observation. "As to be judged by your reason here." Her comment was quiet, but she would not speak again until he was finished with his plea. She does nod though, knowing that he was at least wise beyond his years. No one would ever admit their failings after an embarrasment, even if they had an inch of pride inside their very bones.

"I see."

Those were her only words before she presses her hands to the ground, allowing her bottom up first, then her whole self rising afterwards. Her hand reaches out to offer him a helping hand. "Then we will continue with the training of the first path that I have showed you. The second path will come within the week, when you have improved with your movements." She deliberately avoids the fact that he was humiliated by a mortal. The story was told and it was done. Now is the time to move forward. "In the meanwhile. We will spar. You will not know when I am coming for you. I could be anywhere, and no where at once."


It could very well be that Alex is so willing to admit to his flaws because his father was blunt in pointing them out, and one does not argue with War himself, if one knows what is good for.. oneself. Whatever the case, here he is, with his soul laid bare, so to speak. He gives a nod at Sif's decision. "I look forward to it," he says with a tiny bit of a smile coming to his lips. The youth shifts his position, taking the Goddess' hand to help him up to his feet. Despite his Olympian heritage, he is exactly as heavy as he looks, which is to say not very. "I hope I do not disappoint."


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