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The rear yard of the Bellator is quiet, and cold; it's winter. Alexander is, once again, training as per Sif's instructions, though the Lady of the house is nowhere to be seen currently. In her place, or perhaps unknown to her, is another woman, one who counts among her handmaidens; Brenna Halgrimsdottir, a young (for an Asgardian) blonde woman, decked out in leather armour, wielding a long wooden training sword and a shield. Alexander wears similar gear, and the same armament, though his eyes are covered by a thick blindfold. Blindfighting, apparently, though Brenna has no such handicap. She circles the youth, occasionally moving to strike, causing Alex to attempt to block, dodge, or otherwise react, but unable to see as he is his reactions are sloppy, delayed, and inaccurate. While his instincts are excellent, his training has never prepared him for complete darkness. "Too slow, Phobos. Concentrate." The girl says, her voice a pleasing alto but with an edge, almost a passive-aggressive tone. And then she hits him again, striking the wooden sword against his right shoulder, hard enough to make a dull *thud* as it makes contact. Alex tries to move the shield to block, but again, not fast enough.
*
Winter suits the redhead well enough. Not any trouble for her, this chilly weather or the numbing bite of frost when the hours are at their shortest. The lady keeps her own hours and, by comparison, the younger lady occasionally ventures into a room decorated for her own purposes. Oddly, Scarlett's chamber may be the most spartan of them all, containing little more than a folded up blanket and pillow, a pot and cups for tea, and things in a locked cabinet that give neither comfort or succor. Her weapons are offered by the Asgardian handmaidens; likewise, any practice garments. It might be odd to see another Midgardner who defied Hela — in her own head, laughing in her sacrifices myriad and many — similarly dressed in fine Asgardian attire. Her leggings and long-sleeved tunic are useful enough, and her choice for the day? A pair of matched scimitars, wood, but decidedly light and curved. They might be an unexpected choice, and someone needs to give her an axe for the sheer strength she possesses. Nonetheless, she seems to favour something lighter. The name in use - Phobos, the god of fear - bends her ear in a way she does not readily show upon her face. A click of her tongue against her palate is warning enough of another person, but she goes wide of the blindfolded man. Mischief, though, that's something never to be feared. Right? A pull of the blade from its sheath, and she waits for Brenna to hurry through turning her back and instructing the man with the shield before she strikes. Might as well make it two against one. "Merry day!" will only be audible once the first strike is engaged; she is called the soul thief and Rogue. It stands to reason she'd backstab to roll them critical bones. Right?
*
Alexander is not faring particularly well against one, but Brenna is not really giving him a chance. While he may be quick beyond any human standard, against a full-blooded Asgardian the playing field is quite level as far as physical ability; Brenna has the advantage of strength, certainly, but she is at least doing him the favour of holding back so as not to break his bones, or the wooden weapons. And while she may be in the role of instructor, she does not offer much in the way of constructive criticism or helpful advice. From watching for even a short time, it can be assumed, rightly so, that there is some animosity there, at least for her part.
The wooden blade strikes his arm, just before the shield comes up to block the attack too late. Brenna offers a 'tsk' sound only, continuing to circle. Alex' brow furrows into a frown, his patience wearing thin. "You are enjoying this more than you should, Bren," he comments, trying to focus on her voice to face her as she moves, keeping his shield and sword at the ready. Brenna turns to regard Scarlett with a polite nod, but she keeps silent for now, preferring to not give away her exact position so obviously. Scarlett's arrival doesn't go unnoticed by Alex, from the soft clucking of her tongue, but only when she speaks does he recognize who she is. "Good morning, Scarlett," he replies, "Come to watch, or play?" The question receives a sharp look from Brenna, between both Scarlett and Alex, and then she attacks again, with a strong blow to his chest. This time, Alex, through either luck or some miracle of perception, manages to move the shield into position fast enough to block the attack; Brenna, with a bit more fury than might be expected for a training exercise, spins around to slam her wooden shield into his side, fully throwing the slim young man off his feet, to land a not-insubstantial distance from where he stood. "Do not leave yourself unguarded, Phobos," she says with some venom, before looking toward Scarlett again. "You are welcome to join us, Lady Scarlett," she offers, her voice softening in deference to the woman. Apparently her vitriol is reserved for Alex.
*
"I've never been certain how to approach these things" admits the young woman, tapping the Asgardian between the shoulder blades and darting away. Speed with her is considerable, though nothing in comparison to the great strength wielded inside her lithe figure. She is something like a hunting cat with the force of a rocket or a steam engine; outside wrappings do not match the interior content.
The wooden scimitar slants at a blocking angle, intending to prevent a counterattack blind. She swings several steps back and swivels in an arc, following whatever constitutes a clear path for her. It isn't one safely followed, for she reverses her retreat abruptly if Brenna — or Alexander — aims for her. "Dare I ask the cause of such fervent attacks? Have you won the balance of the day's challenges, or was there some affront for which I am ignorant? I do so hate being unaware of the affairs of the household, to avoid causing offense." There should be a smirk attached to that, but she speaks honestly.
Her neat bow comes quick to Alexander, a greeting presumably enough, and likewise a good way to warm up to see how flexible and supple her muscles feel at the moment.
*
"No affront," Brenna says, but any reasonable person would understand it was not a truth. She is angry, and making little effort to hide it, but she won't admit it openly. She shortly afterward drops her guard, and discards the wooden shield and sword to the ground. "You have a new training partner, Alexander. I will leave you to her. Apparently I am only to be favoured when you lack options, after all," she spits toward the blindfolded young man. Alex is silent, but lets out a long, quiet sigh as the Asgardian departs. Hearing her footsteps fade, he lift the blindfold, blinking as the sun reaches his eyes, and turns toward Scarlett. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he says, a bit of a grimace coming to his lips. There is an adage about a woman scorned, which Alex might do well to remember for the future. He replaces the blindfold, and readies his weapon once again, lifting his shield back into place. "If you are of a mind for it, I would be happy to continue," he says simply, trying to let the unpleasantness between himself and Brenna fade from his immediate concerns.
*
One does not wisely ask a relative stranger and sparring partner who can take her at full strength about his love life, or rather, if the handmaid resents him as the result of a spurned romance. "Such if life," she muses, watching Brenna depart and measuring her stride in terms of steps over time. Let there be no cause for dismay or disapproval, as she slows her orbital pace. "You truly wish to fight with me blindfolded? I suppose there could be an advantage to that. I usually practice my poses in the same way." A curve of her lips deepens the bow, but does not linger long. Work waits to be done. "I suppose we can. I need more experience to improve my form. No doubt Lady Sif will say I resemble a ten year old girl, if I am lucky, by the end of next year. Her view of matters is particularly lengthy." Perhaps he understands; perhaps Alex isn't bothered.
She waits for him to settle and then lightly circles back the other way, looking for an opening around that shield and testing the range of his hearing.
*
Alexander lets out a little laugh. "Wish to? No, certainly not. But it represents a very noticeable lack in my training," he says. He would much rather fight with all of his senses at his disposal, but such will not always be the case. Furthermore, his recent excursion to Hel has made it clear that eyes cannot always be trusted. "A ten year old girl?" He is confused by the statement, to say the least, raising an eyebrow behind the blindfold, even as he turns to attempt to follow Scarlett's movements by the sound of her voice and motion. He has other senses he can rely on than those of his ears, but for training purposes, he leaves those aside. At least for now.
*
"Yes. I have the skills of a child by her reckoning. She might be right."
In that spirit, the dancing young woman goes quiet and slides her feet over the grass and the dirt, attesting to an attempt at stealth at least. There is a particular way to move like this, checking his reactions. She feints on an attempt, poking at him, and then swiveling immediately in the opposite direction to put herself behind him, if she can. Alexander's reactions are still something of an unknown after one sparring attempt, but she knows how to read someone in combat, if not always act on the knowledge she has. So too there's a brilliance to her talent for dodging aside from danger. Being capable of escaping an attack again isn't the most useful of them all. Nonetheless, she offers a smile in passing; he cannot see it, but there her benediction lies.
*
"I expect that in the eyes of Lady Sif, there are few who rate higher," Alex says with a smirk. He holds the Lady in high regard, and certainly means no disrespect by the comment. Scarlett's motions are followed, though his reactions are slowed by his reliance on senses he does not normally rely on. The first tentative attack comes, and he doesn't react quickly enough to block it, even if it were just a feinted motion. The woman moves again, and will find herself momentarily at his back, though he turns quickly to almost face her, but not quite. Shield and sword still held at the ready, and then he strikes where he expects her to be, though his accuracy leaves something to be desired. She could easily avoid the blow, or parry and strike with impunity. This, unfortunately for Alexander, is how we learn.
*
Learning is painful, sometimes. It requires much consideration by wandering in circles and stabbing, slashing, and poking at an opponent. Bruises blossoming in a garden of painful rose and lilac blotches serve as badges for those willing to leave their comfort zones, literally. The redhead darts away, and then snaps the sword out at a horizontal stroke that lacks efficiency in speed, though it has a considerable amount of strength tempering it. If she succeeds, he's going to have a hell of a bruise on his flank, and if not, maybe they can laugh about her attempt to chop down a tree with a scimitar. Her footwork is light, though, and that may be her best quality. Newer with the weapon but not with the practice of moving. "Have you been recovering from Lady Sif's adventure?" she asks, once the strike is attempted, moving away and giving a bit of a hint to where she is, tracing towards one-o'clock.
*
The voice certainly helps Alexander to focus and accurately face the woman, when she speaks, but without it he has difficulty tracking her movements with any speed. The strikes are borne with little more than a *huff* and perhaps a wince; he won't complain audibly, but he'll suffer the bruises for certain. "It was a pretty harrowing experience," he admits in response to the question of Hel. "But I am no worse for wear over it, I think. Even so, it was not an experience I should wish to repeat. The memories the Queen of the realm inflicted on us were.. difficult to relive." He has a high tolerance for trauma of that variety; Alexander's past history is rife with demonic influence and memories not entirely unlike those he experience in Hel. At least there, he didn't have to slaughter members of his own extended family. "How have you fared, since our return?"
*
"You do remember," murmurs Scarlett, her thoughts whirling and twisting upon the axis of many a patient angle. Theirs is a strange dance, one met with a growl from her if a responding smack happens to catch her on the arm or slip through her guard to strike her on the side. It takes a fair bit of mental discipline to stand still and take the hits, to push through, as much as it does to speak. "I have been, I suppose." Been what? That's an open contest. "In these times, I feel as though I'm a bit adrift. Wait while people accuse my liege of assassination. Go forward and wait for the court to decide what to do, but I dare not join up with ACT-F or anything that would put their faction at risk. No one has been particularly forthcoming regarding what transpires, and now we're facing much uncertainty. Doubt." She spins the sword around, obfuscating her exact position. "There is naught I can do to redeem myself, or him."
*
Slowly, Alexander gains some effectiveness in his defense, learning to predict where the attacks are coming from, before they land. Not always, but he is certainly improving as they spar. He even manages to land a few well-timed strikes of his own. It is, however, a slow process, and he will require more than just one session to perfect his ability to fight without the use of his eyes. "So you are more than simply a student," he comments; it's not a question, her statement made it clear. Her use of 'liege' to refer to Loki. Alexander, while loyal to Sif, and in turn to the will of the Asgardian royals and would not choose to betray them, does not pledge allegiance solely to their cause. Loki, Thor, even Odin himself, are not his masters, at the end of it. But he will not act against them, certainly, even if that comes out of respect for the Lady Sif alone. "It is a tricky line we walk, we of mixed allegiance. I follow the Lady Sif; she is my mentor, under order of my father," the order being given to Alexander, though; on the part of Sif it is a rather large favour. "But I am an Olympian. Zeus is my King, and as much as my father is an enormous bag of assholes," such language! "I must abide his wishes. Fortunately for me, the designs of the Asgardians and the will of Olympus do not oppose one another." At least for the time being. "The laws of Earth are something I find myself forced to live and work within, but certainly they do not supersede the wills of Gods."
*
Determining what she is in relation to the Asgardians is a difficult situation, albeit this is a young woman in Sif's acquaintance who has stood among the royal court as one silent bystander, for the most part. Time does not quite challenge her affiliations, though certainly the outrageous demands upon the land of the free, and this citizen, is trying at the best of times. The pursuit of happiness and ideals that do not involve assassinations by Trickster, cause no small amount of likely frustration. Or not; maybe she is one of those simple sorts. "Your father sent you to Sif? That would be easier, in many respects. You know the boundaries." The girl spins, and then takes away the ability to hear her at all. She's airborne, sliding past with barely a ruffle of the wind, defying gravity by spinning over topside, facing him upside down as she lashes out with an aggressive flurry of blows, slashing in several directions as she spins over to come upright in a spiral. "You are set in your place. Me, not so certain of my provenance, am permitted a broad enterprise of freedom, but I have not found that entirely easy. Does one walk the right path, or will it only be in hindsight I determine my choices successful or not? And most of us find the laws somewhat restrictive, unless we are adult white males privileged by enough money or land to wield influence. I'm none of the above except white."
*
The flurry of blows comes as a shock, unable to hear her move now that she is airborne, and he struggles to keep up, absorbing impact and strike as best he can, but it is well beyond him. Even as she speaks, he is too beset upon to form a solid defense, and in due course he stumbles to the ground, thoroughly beaten. The blindfold is lifted, and removed. Bruised and battered as he is, the match is over. "I yield," he says simply, setting the sword and shield to the ground. "My father believed I needed discipline, which he was unwilling, or unable to provide. The Lady Sif agreed to take me in, though I believe she was not altogether happy to do so. I hope that I have proved to be worth the inconvenience." He pauses, and gives a bit of a shrug at the statement of 'white male privilege'. He can't deny it, and certainly he has benefited from his skin and gender more than some are able. But he has never really considered it. "Those of us who can, I believe, should make the rules we see fit, and live according to honour first, and the laws of man second. To do otherwise is a disrespect to our heritage and abilities, I believe."