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[Bjorn]

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Bjørn
Running a hand through his shower-damp hair, Bjørn crossed the short distance to hers, gravel and dried leaves crunching underfoot. Slung over his shoulder was a worn canvas backpack filled with both weapons and traps. He figured he’d bring along some options in the event things spiralled once again. This time, he wouldn’t let things end as they had Thursday night. In fact, he had every intention of starting things differently too. Over the weekend he’d tested out one of the three pills he’d unearthed; another was pocketed in his backpack. Whether or not he’d take it to make a point would depend.

A scurrying fox caught his attention as he walked down the footpath leading towards the main building. Pausing, he dropped to his haunches and reached out an arm. Clicking his tongue, he remained completely still as the four-legged creature approached. For some reason, his human passing privilege extended to all warmbloods. When he heard something down the path, he was still sitting on his heels, the fox’s maw clasped around his hand as his fingers tickled the bright orange fur.


Caligrace
The sound of dried leaves falling to decay beneath a heavy boot signalled his arrival, and she tried to keep her nerves to a minimum as she tossed her pen down. It bounced and rolled off of the table, before landing on the floor - only to disappear beneath the couch. Counting it a loss that was easily replaced, she pushed from her desk and closed her eyes. It had only been a couple of days, and though she was better, the shame still hung heavy in her chest. It caused her to hesitate, body slightly turned to face the door, before she shook her head.

“Get it together,” she muttered under her breath as she straightened her shirt, the green tank fitting tight to her body. She had spent a little more than an hour deciding what to wear - and though the thought of impressing him had filtered into the decision, in the end, it had been what she thought would be most comfortable and practical for whatever he had planned. The shirt covered more of her skin then the sports bra had, only an inch or so of flesh visible between where the hem ended and her faded skinny jeans began. The denim was comfortable - not as comfortable as the leggings had been - but more durable, and she had forgone the sneakers for a pair of black boots, the heel more modest than what she usually wore.

Her face was devoid of make-up, and her hair was hastily twisted into a braid that hung over a shoulder. Sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, she made her way down the path, his hunched form already in sight. “I see you’ve met Fin,” she said by way of greeting as she came to stand behind him, the fox soaking up the attention with a look of pure bliss.


Bjørn
“Fin?” he hummed rhetorically, dragging his thumb under the animal’s jaw as it quipped up at him. Its pelt looked deceivingly soft, the multicoloured hairs thicker and far less yielding than they looked. Bjørn didn’t stop his ministrations or look over to Caligrace, his gaze focused on the creature. Fin stretched over the gravel, its tufted tail gently slapping at his boot. “They won’t get in the way, will they?”


Caligrace
“He’s the more social of the bunch,” she explained, her attention tearing away from creature and man, to search the west side of the land. “The others are out there somewhere. You might hear them rustling around or see a few while they’re playing, but they usually keep to themselves.”

Freeing her hand from her pocket to brush loose hair behind her ear, she quirked a brow as she glanced back down at the fox, watching as he practically glowed beneath the attention. “I can’t promise you won’t find that one under your feet, though, especially now,” she laughed.


Bjørn
Growing up, home hadn’t just housed three rowdy boys, but three dogs and two cats. There’d been also a few fish and a hamster at along the way. It was his fondness for nature and most of its inhabitants that had led Bjørn down the path of sustainable architecture. Even now, the farmhouse was little more than a hollowed structure, its insides as much a craft project as the piles that crowded his bench. It would be easier to work on it now that the days grew shorter, the time he could devote to the project increasing night by night. “We’ll take it easy,” he said, shaking his hand free. He didn’t immediately move from his position, forearms coming to rest on his thighs.

“I’d like to avoid another uh,” he paused, pressing his chin on his shoulder as he looked back. Faded jeans came into view. At least she wasn’t dressed for a spinning class this time around. His gaze dropped to the ground, shoulders dropping. A droplet of water slid from his hairline, the soft collar combat jacket soaking it up. “We’re going to talk about that when you’re ready to. Until then we’ll avoid telepathy, and any other triggers you have.” He remained low, gravel crunching beneath his boot as he shifted his weight onto his back foot, turning his body towards her. His gaze jumped straight to her face, “Do you know what they are?”


Caligrace
Without the attention to keep the fox in place, the creature took off in the opposite direction, though true to his social nature, remained just in sight. She knew that he would be back the moment he wanted something from them, but for now, she turned her attention back to the man. She had expected him to jump to his feet the moment his hands were free, so when he stayed crouched, the nervousness began to show, her fingers now twisting absently at her shirt. It stretched beneath her attention - and when she released it, snapped back into place, only to have her pull at it again. It wasn’t until he managed a look over his shoulder that she forced her hands to stop and slipped them back into her pockets, where she finally remained still.

“I’m okay to talk about it whenever you want to, if you want to,” she added hastily, her eyes closing as she mentally berated herself. Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, she bit down on the skin to stall any further commentary as he moved, and though she thought to take a step back to give him space, she couldn’t seem to get her body to cooperate. She remained where she stood, her head tilted as she swept her gaze across his face, though she hadn’t a clue what she was looking for.

“Telepathy is fine,” she began, shrugging a shoulder. “It’s never been triggered by voices in my head - though not many have used that form of communication with me.” She stopped, then, and lifted her gaze skyward, her attention drifting as she tried to think back on the other times. “It’s only happened twice before in the years since I’ve developed it. The first time, I think was to be expected. There really wasn’t a specific trigger there, unless you count my e--” She caught herself in time, and her jaw tightened before she forced herself to relax.

“There wasn’t anything specific there, just a bunch of **** hitting me at once that I’d never felt before. The second time was triggered by a fight at the club. I was already struggling with the crashing wave of emotions, and the sudden aggression did me in.” It was that time she focused on, her gaze once again growing distant as she tried to think of something specific. “It wasn’t anything like what happened with you, though. I guess the only thing I know to ever trigger it is just an overwhelming amount of emotions at once, and usually, I just… shut down. I don’t do…” she trailed off, then, and waved her hand, as if to conjure the memory from thin air.


Bjørn
“Yeah, like a panic attack, but just…” From where he was crouched, forearms on legs, his hands motioned an explosion. His mouth soundlessly did the same. He was paraphrasing Every’s words, though didn’t ascribe them to her. They all had their demons, and though he couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like being at the whims of other people’s emotions, he knew what it was like to have one’s body become the battleground.

At that, Bjørn pushed himself up to his full height, unfurling like the beast he was. Rolling broad shoulders back and repositioning the canvas strap, he studied her blankly. “You should meet Elliot,” he finally said, “He, uh, took me in when I was going through some ****. He has the same emotion”—he motioned in undefined circles at her face and then his—“thing. Maybe he’ll have some idea.” The man was often at the pub, surrounded by crowds. Bjørn vaguely wondered whether restored humanity had dampened the effects of it on the now-sorcerer. “Did it start after you got bitten?”


Caligrace
The way he spoke of her condition, as if she were a bomb primed to explode, caused her to smirk. How often she had heard that she was dangerous, a menace to society - of course, she didn’t say any of this to him. He more than likely already thought her insane, to tell him that she was haunted by a childhood friend who hated her might just send him in the opposite direction. She knew that wasn’t what he meant when he had begun to speak, but the connection in her mind wasn’t far off from what she thought of herself. When it reached that point, she often did feel as if there was something inside of her waiting to detonate, and it only needed a push.

It wasn’t until he stood - his full height allowing him to tower over her - that she snapped out of her thoughts. Sweeping her gaze over him, she took in his attire without expression, before finally settling her gaze on his, her lip still tugged nervously between her teeth. The way he studied her unnerved her, and she wanted to look away, but forced herself to remain as she was. “I’ve heard of him,” she said, her hands slipping from her pockets to run through her hair. “I don’t know if talking to him will help, to be honest, but I’ll think about it.”

Dropping her hands back to her sides, then, she hooked her thumbs in the loops of her jeans. “It did, shortly after. My turning was… violent,” she cleared her throat, and shrugged. “I always thought that had something to do with it, but I don’t know.”


Bjørn
“Aren’t they all?” he countered without bite. There was no further allusion to his own siring, though the swell of bitterness that coated his tongue was matched by the shadow that flitted through his gaze. As the years went on and the subsequent trauma became manageable, the details pertaining to his final night as a human crystallised. “I’m not too good with crowds or noise,” he admitted, “so I get the whole overwhelming thing. To an extent anyway, so we’ll just have to play it by ear.”

Bjørn shifted his weight from one foot the next, hand curling around the strap of his backpack. He seemed momentarily unsure of himself before adding, abruptly—as if he’d never find the courage to otherwise: “How many pills a night do you take?”


Caligrace
His remark had her laughing, though there was no humor to the sound. “I guess they are,” she admitted, her arms coming to wrap around her middle. If she hadn’t been watching him, she’d have missed the shift in his expression, but she didn’t bring it to attention. It was his nightmare - and she understood wanting to keep it locked away, especially from someone new. “It helps to know that you can kind of understand how it feels,” she admitted, before shifting where she stood, the toe of her boot absently crushing a dead leaf as she watched him move.

Whatever she thought he was going to say after his fingers gripped at the edge of his pack, the mention of her habit wasn’t it. In an instant, her entire body stilled, and her eyes shot to his, the specs of green that usually remained subtle within the golden depths brought to life by the light behind him. As a child, her father often told her that her eyes were a dead giveaway to her mood, and over the years, she had begun to catalogue each change. If he had known her as well as very few others did, he’d have been able to tell by her eyes alone that she was afraid.

The lie was on the tip of her tongue, and she even parted her lips to voice it, before she sighed. If he was asking about the pills, she had to assume he wouldn’t let it go easily. “It depends on the night,” she answered, her voice steady despite the way her hands shook, “but it ranges anywhere from four to eight, eight being uncommon, but not as uncommon as I’d like.”


Bjørn
Bjørn did his best to school his expression. Every had told him Caligrace might benefit from having someone who didn’t judge her, and he was in no position to do so. Still, he balked internally at her answer. He’d only taken one pill and it’d been enough to mellow him out for a while. How on earth could she stand after eight successive doses? He wouldn’t even attempt that himself... If she’d been a human she’d likely already be lost to the throes of addiction, if not dead from an overdose. It was likely her strength that kept her from crumpling to the pills was the same that was dampened by the pills...

Then again, what would he know? He’d tumbled down the rabbit hole and believed himself in control the whole time. It was only when he found himself faced with the reaper hovering over his best friend that he had realised just how far… The thought of Klaus seized his heart.

A wave of sadness—not pity, no. No, it was more like an undercurrent, swelling and plunging to greater depths. It’d been years, and in its wake he’d learned to manage. At first it was impossible to tread water, then he eventually swam, and now he seldom did more than dip his toes in. The effect just that—a fleeting thought—had however, was proof of how dangerous it’d be to wade back out there, even as a proficient swimmer. Blinking away the opaque film that’d settled over his eyes in that fraction of a second, he worked his jaw and gazed thoughtfully down at her. Caligrace wasn’t immune to another’s emotions, and it’d be as much a feat of his to keep his own under control.

“You need to stop,” he said. “I don’t know how we’ll get you to but…” he shook his head. Though permanent death may not await at the end of the rabbit hole, that was seldom what drew people that way. This sensitivity of hers needed to be managed, though as all things, it was easier said than done. “We’ll figure something out. Until then, we train.”


Caligrace
She hadn’t realized her jaw had tightened until it began to ache, and still, she couldn’t relax. The question had taken her by surprise - and now that she had answered, she waited. She waited for him to shake his head in disgust, for him to lecture her, for him to just walk away. Her spine remained straight, her shoulders tight, her hands still shaking at her sides. It would be what she deserved, she knew that, and she wouldn’t fight him on whatever he chose. So, she waited - and she watched him, her darkening eyes scanning his face, as he watched her.

It was only the sudden swell, the charge of emotion between them, that had her reacting. Her eyes closed, and she took in a breath, the motion steadying her as she waited for it to pass. She didn’t focus on it, she didn’t try to look too deep into it. She let it rock through her, and her jaw tightened more, her molars threatening to crack as she forced her eyes to reopen. Wherever he had went, whatever memory had triggered that turmoil, was something dark - something deep, and she wasn’t anywhere near ready try and pick it apart. As soon as it had emerged, it had vanished, leaving nothing but a void in its wake. By then, she was staring at him again, watching him as he studied her with that thoughtful gaze, her own eyes swirling with her own emotion.

His response had her choking on a laugh, and she nodded her head. “I need to stop,” she repeated, her eyes flashing with that fire, before she raised a brow. “I know that. I know that I need to stop. I didn’t even want to start in the first ******* place.” She wasn’t yelling at him - she wasn’t even raising her voice, nor was her anger directed at him. It was if she couldn’t stop herself from talking, though, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. “I was told it would be beneficial, I was told that it would make it easier, because it helped her. It was because she seemed to always be on top of the world, that she didn’t suffer like I did, that I believed her. It’s my fault I’m like this, though, because I was smart enough to know that it was wrong, I just didn’t care. I was desperate,” she muttered, in part because she wanted him to understand - and in part, because she wanted to hear it for herself, to taste the words she’d never spoken aloud on her tongue.

“I’m willing to do whatever I need to, but don’t feel obligated to help me, you’re already doing so much with training me,” she chuckled, “but I won’t turn your help away, and I’m grateful for it.”


Bjørn
Bjørn scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d not bothered to shave, and likely wouldn’t for a while. There was something about still being able to change his appearance that he relished in. He’d met vampires who were stuck in their bodies, unable to alter the slightest hair. He feared one day he’d become like them, but the fear wasn’t enough to keep him impeccably groomed night in night out. That, and the tech he relied on to watch himself go through the process wasn’t water friendly, turning the once simple process of shaving into an ordeal. He’d do it in the shower if he wasn’t afraid of it being uneven; the cuts would heal easily enough if he messed up otherwise. Dragging his hand over his mouth, chin, and throat, he cast a glance out at the property.

“A professional might be more helpful if it’s that bad, but…” He had been down that road. The aged linoleum and beige plaster ceilings… “Yeah,” he shrugged. Whatever. It was an offer he’d intended to keep open, but there was only so much he was capable of. Just because he’d spent the better part of a year institutionalised didn’t give him all the answers.

“I thought we’d start with some basic stuff. Where d’you want us?”


Caligrace
“I was sent to a professional in the past, when I was human. All they did was give me a prescription, pat me on the head, and tell me that I’d grow out of my anxiety.” It wasn’t something that she kept hidden, so she had no trouble admitting that to him. In some things, she was an open book, and being able to do something without being weighed down by the guilt was freeing, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. “I don’t trust them,” she finished, her palms facing upwards as she shrugged. “I wasn’t saying I didn’t want your help, anyway, because I do. I was just doing the whole ‘you don’t have to’ spiel that is usually custom there.”

It was then, that she truly laughed, the darkness easing from her eyes. It seemed that no matter what happened, there was always a serious moment between the two, and while it wasn't exactly a bad thing - that didn’t mean she wanted to dwell on it. He seemed as ready as she was to change the subject, and she stepped around him, pointing down a dirt path to their right. “There’s a clearing down here that I thought would be good. No plants, few critters, and it’s quiet,” she explained, before turning and walking the way she’d pointed. “I came out here earlier and put a couple of benches out so you wouldn’t have to put your things on the ground.”


Bjørn
At the mention of benches, Bjørn cocked a brow. His backpack would end up wherever if ended up, and the same could be said about his jacket. If there was one household item he’d not cheapened out on it’d been the washing and dryer combos—the two sets of them. “A little dirt never hurt nobody,” he quipped, following after her. His eyes tracked the foxes, the one he’d petted earlier—Fin— indistinguishable to him from the others.

Reaching the clearing, he began to shed the layers—backpack and jacket without much care for where they ended up. His jacket slumped to the ground. Stepping away, he pushed up the sleeves of the lightweight hoodie he wore below. “Last time you couldn’t get out of my hold—twice—so we’re gonna work on that. Cuz there’s no point in any of this if you can’t get yourself unstuck.”

He stepped up right into her personal space then, neatly rolling the second sleeve to just under his elbow. The same mismatch of metals and leathers adorned his wrists and fingers.


Caligrace
Stepping into the clearing, she pulled her phone from her back pocket, her fingers quickly sliding over the screen to power it off. Carefully tossing it onto the bench, she simply gave him a look at his quip, her gaze following the path his jacket took. Her fingers twitched, and she hard to physically stop herself from picking it up and placing it someone safer. Over the years, she had learned to accept things as they were - she couldn’t control every aspect of her life, her death had proven that, but sometimes - the little things still got to her. It was easy enough to shake off, and she was turning to face him, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched him.

“If we knew each other better, handsome, I would swear you did that on purpose,” she teased, before her gaze dropped to his hands as he began to roll up his sleeves. He was speaking again, and she shook herself from wherever her mind was trying to go, her eyes jumping back to his. In the second of her distraction, he had gotten closer, his scent filling the space between them. It was familiar - yet at the same time, it was still too new, too unknown - and she had to fight to keep herself from moving. Instead, she focused on what he was saying, listening to the way he formed the words, and used them to bring up the memory of their last session.

“It sounds easy enough,” she grinned, though she knew it was going to be anything but. He was too strong, too fast, and far more equipped for this. When he moved to roll up his other sleeve, she didn’t allow herself to get distracted, and instead, studied him. “What do I need to do?”

[Caligrace]

Bjørn
Bjørn didn’t know about easy enough, at least not for her… yet. The goal was to break it down so that it would be—sooner than later. He was here to train her, and while his approach last time had clearly taught them something, it wasn’t getting her closer to the goal. When he’d asked about her goals last time, a string of words had tumbled from her mouth: not to die, protect, beneficial, strong, how to fight, whatever you can give me. He’d had time to think on what she’d said, and he’d prioritised her desires: If she learned to fight, she would get stronger through practice. If she got stronger, she’d be able to protect herself. If she could protect herself, death would keep its distance. It wasn’t a promise, but at least she’d had thrown everything at it.

Caligrace’s quip about wanting to be beneficial and about how she didn’t want to be a burden… He’d realised since last time that she was far more fragile than he’d expected. This time, Bjørn had to frame things differently to not strike that exposed chord. He had to give her the tools to build her confidence up from the bottom, one small step at a time. This couldn’t be about anyone else but herself. **** being able to protect others. The best way to do that, as he’d mentioned last time, was for her to be capable of protecting herself. That was where they were starting tonight.

“Ball up your fists and hold them up in defence.”


Caligrace
In the back of her mind, she knew that she should find it unnerving to have the man so close, and in some ways - it was. In others, though, it seemed natural. Maybe that’s what unnerved her, in the end, the fact that she didn’t seem to mind him in her space. The thought was fleeting, her attention more focused on the way he watched her as he gave his order, the words forming an image in her mind. Defense position, she repeated, her thumbs loosening from their hold on her belt-loops. She didn’t move right away, that image still forming, and though she couldn’t recall exactly where she had learned it - she knew that it was something similar to what he asked of her.

When she lifted her arms, she didn’t step back, her fingers curling until her nails bit into the palms of her hands. If there was one thing she knew - one thing that she could do right when it came to fighting - it was how to throw a punch. That had been something natural to her, and when she was a teenager, it had benefited her once or twice. That was when she was human, though, and the only thing she had to worry about was one of the football players getting too confident in his charm. The world she was in now was darker and far more violent. Her arms raised to protect her face then, her hands curled into fists that - glancing to them - appeared almost laughable compared to him.

“Like this?”


Bjørn
Anyone could render some approximation of the defensive position, but the devil was in the details. Reaching forward to cup her wrist, Bjørn used his other hand to reposition her thumb so it’d lie at a perpendicular angle across her first two fingers. His touch was a smidge lighter than firm. “If you tuck, you can break it when you punch hard enough,” he explained. Palm still flush to the underside of her fist, he splayed his fingers around the outer ridge of her wrist and tapped his thumb along the inside bend. “Keep this straight or you can break it, too.” With that, his touch fell away and he grasped her other hand to do the same. If it weren’t for coupling of precise movement and no-fuss explanation, the whole ordeal would have been a fraction more intimate than necessary. “When you hit, you use these two”—he tapped her index and middle knuckles with the tips of his fingers—“Always the knuckles, if not you’ll…” She should know where that sentence led.


Caligrace
She had thought she’d had it figured out - and then he was touching her, his fingers curling around her wrist and adjusting her thumb. For a moment, she allowed herself the distraction, but then she gave a quick, almost unnoticeable shake of her head. “That sounds painful,” she mused, her gaze locked on the way his hand circled hers. Running her tongue over her lower lip, she memorized the position he put her in, and only briefly felt a touch of disappointment when his hand fell away. Focus, Caligrace, she snapped mentally, the lecture something she was beginning to wonder if she’d have to tell herself repeatedly. At the tap to her knuckles, she frowned, her fingers adjusting in the slightest, so it was more comfortable - but still doing exactly as he ordered. Laughing quietly as he trailed off, she gave a single nod of her head. “Okay, I think I’ve got it now.”


Bjørn
“Good,” he hummed, tugging the second hand an inch ahead of the other before stepping back. His arms dropped to his side for a brief moment, fingers twitching. It had to be the adrenaline that was making his skin itch, the slowed pace at which they were going causing him to grow restless. Shaking his hands out before lifting his arms back up, he mimicked the pose, one leg sliding back as he bent his knees slightly. “You want your centre of gravity to be low enough that you won’t topple over, and you’re gonna use—you ever play softball?”


Caligrace
When he stepped back, she remained where she was, the position not entirely uncomfortable - but it didn’t feel right. She didn’t use her body for things like this, and she had to get her muscles used to the new positions. Her gaze dropped to his hands when he shook them out, then raised up his arms - over his chest - and finally to his face, a thoughtful glint in her eyes. After a second, she moved, his words registering just as his shift in position did, and she tried to copy him as she shook her head. “No, I was more into the arts than sports,” she admitted, before her nose wrinkled. "I was a cheerleader, briefly, though, if you know any references involving that," she grinned.


Bjørn
Bjørn kept his mind from straying to cheerleaders, though the thought of Caligrace in a uniform with a high ponytail, bouncing up and— “No,” he replied resolutely. “I don’t.” His experience with cheerleaders was limited to shimming them out of their uniforms. “You want to throw your weight into the punch, so you got to use your knees. Push off the ground and let it travel from foot through hip and shoulder into hand.” He unfurled his fists and held loosen open palms before her. “Give it a go.”


Caligrace
“That’s a shame, it could have been helpful,” she said, fighting a smile. It was an easy fight, because the second he continued to speak, her eyes widened, all trace of humour gone. It wasn’t the direction that he gave her - though she did struggle to understand exactly what was expected of her - but the fact he wanted her to try and punch him. The shock only lasted a few seconds, and then she was narrowing her eyes, her head tilting to the side as she once again swept her gaze over is primed form, studying him. Slowly, she took that step back, her boots digging into the soft dirt beneath their feet. Let it travel, he had said, and that's exactly what she attempted to do. Pushing from the ground, she threw her fist out, and aimed for one of his hands - assuming at the last second, that he hadn't intended for her to try and hit him in the face. The stance he had taken had reminded her of the trainers in some of the fighting movies she had rented to watch, in a futile attempt to educate herself from the safety of her room.


Bjørn
Caligrace wouldn’t be breaking any bones with that kind of hit, but the impact made his hand bounce back. “Good,” he lectured, bending the fingers on the targeted hand before extending his palm open once again. “Again,” he quipped, dropping his shoulders and rooting himself into the ground. He would keep telling her that—and various reiterations of it—until they built up a steady rhythm and the heat started building in his palms.


Caligrace
The impact of her hit barely jarred her, and she frowned. On one hand, she didn’t actually want to hurt him - but on the other, she knew that she could do better. The hesitation lasted no more than a second, and she was moving again, alternating her fists - left, right, left - until her arms started to grow tired. A quick shake of her hand had her armlet shifting, a single prong of the clasp digging into her skin as it came loose within the leather. She tried to ignore it for the moment, her eyes focused on the way his fingers flexed and his body shifted, taking note of the subtle changes. She didn’t know what they meant - but it wouldn’t have mattered. Right then, he was her only focus, the world around her nothing more than a blur as she prepared another strike, this one with more strength than the previous, her heel slipping through the dirt.


Bjørn
The heat began to spread into the heel of his palm and wrist. It was far from incapacitating, but there was no point in continuing until the heat turned to pain. Not when he’d already figured it out. “Stop,” he said, voice clear and levelled. There was no strain or heat to the word. It was, he decided, the best way to create boundaries—start, stop, and any variation of. Dropping the defensive stance, he shook out his hands and rolled his wrists. He nodded approvingly. “Yeah, good, but”—he stepped forward and off to the side. The difference in height made it just a tad awkward as his hand cupped her hipbone. “Keep his forward facing,” he stepped behind her, second hand gingerly cupping the other hipbone. His thumbs pressed into the small of her back. “You’re losing impact by straining here. Keep this tight, but pivot,” his hands showed the motion across the waistline of her jeans.


Caligrace
When his voice broke through her focus, the command delivered with clarity, she stopped moving. Her arms fell to her sides, fingers slipping beneath the leather of her armlet to wiggle the prong back into proper place so it’d stop biting into her flesh. The entire time, she remained focused on him, her eyes narrowing when he stepped out of her line of sight. There was a second where she braced herself for an attack, and when his hand came to rest on her hip, she tensed. If she had been human, her breath would have become trapped in her lungs the second she felt the weight of his hands against her. Instead, she remained still, her eyes falling closed. She heard everything he said, and she tried to conjure an image of what he meant. “Okay, tight, but pivot,” she repeated, hoping he didn’t notice the catch in her voice when his hands moved across her waistline. Steadying herself, she tried to do what he said - with his hands still on her hips, her body tightening as she twisted as he had motioned, her fist miming a punch. “Like that?”


Bjørn
The scent of coconut rose to meet his nose as she moved, sweetened air filling his lungs. It’d been no wonder that he’d mistaken her for human that first night. When she moved, his thumbs slipped upwards, pressing into the sliver of bare flesh. The lack of heat radiating from her skin broke the spell, as it often did with their kind. He kept himself from enjoying the contact, returning his hands to their original spot. “It has to flow more,” he instructed, pressing one hand into the front-outer fold of hip and thigh. His thumb remained modestly placed above the curve of her backside, eventually slipping to hook over the side belt-loop. “When you turn, straighten the knee out. Don’t just bend it inwards. Push off your heel, onto your toes so that and,” he stepped back, dropping the hand from her thigh but keeping the other anchored on her hip. It was hard not to admire the view when he looked down between them. “It’s got to flow, not ripple.”


Caligrace
Her eyes remained closed, her focus centering on his touch and the sound of his voice. It was easier for her to concentrate this way, the world around her non-existent. The touch of his skin against bare flesh - though fleeting - nearly broke that concentration, and she was thankful when he adjusted his hold, her teeth biting into her lip. “Okay,” she said slowly, her tone betraying her uncertainty - though that didn’t stop her. Focused as she was on his instruction, she barely noticed when his thumb moved again, and instead, shifted her body in subtle ways as if getting used to the movement. It wasn’t until one hand dropped that she moved, putting his instruction to use. She turned, and attempted to straighten her knee out - but she knew instantly it was wrong. Shaking her head with a hum of frustration, she tried again, this time moving as he had instructed. She moved quick, putting weight on her heel before rocking forward, her fist once again aimed at that invisible target as she felt the way her muscles reacted to the motion.


Bjørn
“Do you feel a difference?” he asked after her second try. The fact that she was self-correcting was progress in and of itself. Half the work was learning how one’s body should move. The body, as skilled as it could become, always defaulted to the lowest energy setting. It was why people slouched and dragged their feet, why they slumped forward in their seats. In spite of being vampires and the physiological changes that entailed, they had experienced life as human and those bad habits seeped through. Bjørn remembered his first brush with martial arts, clad all in white with sweaty toes curling into the brightly coloured mat. He remembered the way it felt to be manhandled, how awkward the direction felt. Eventually he’d learned, and it’d become second nature. In due time, it would for Caligrace too. The important thing was, as tedious and irrelevant as it felt against the backdrop of supernatural powers and gunpowder, to nail the basics. So that was why he asked her if it felt different, because it was up to her to gauge the changes, not against her opponent, but within herself.


Caligrace
The action finished, she fell back into her previous position, her arms loose at her sides as she remained standing with her back to him. His question gave her pause, and she finally opened her eyes, bringing the darkened tree-line around them back into focus. She didn’t speak at first, giving herself time to think it over, to remember how her body had felt. After a few seconds, she lifted her hand to brush the hair that had fallen loose aside, before looking at him over her shoulder. “I do,” she admitted, a genuine smile in place as she tried to think of how to explain it. It was probably a different shift within her than what he might have felt, had he been in her position before. “I felt stronger, but also in more control. I can’t really explain it, but I did feel a difference.”


Bjørn
He hummed in understanding as he glanced around. It was just as hard for him to explain it as it was for her. It was harder to keep his gaze in check standing behind her, especially when she looked up at him over his shoulder, one side of her neck exposed. Licking his lower lip, he stepped back around—the other way— and cast a glance towards a curious fox loitering about the perimeter. His jacket was apparently of great interest. Glancing back at Caligrace, Bjørn folded his arms across his chest, hands tucking into his armpits. “Where would you aim the punch?”


Caligrace
Relief was instant when he seemed to accept her answer, and she instantly stopped trying to search for the words to string together to explain it. Hooking her thumbs into the loops of her jeans, she stretched her fingers out as she watched him. The loss of him at her back was noticeable, and she tried to ignore the way her body reacted to his lack of touch by following his gaze towards the fox. “I think that’s Tam,” she said without much thought, before his question drew her attention back to him. “I’m going to assume that the face is probably not the answer you’re looking for, because it’s too simple,” she chuckled, her hand sweeping through her hair before dropping back to her side.


Bjørn
“Simple? ******* painful. It’s all bone,” he countered. “They can duck easily. The ear is better”—he stared her down, expression going impish—“if you can reach it.” He slipped one hand away from his body and scratched absently at his cheek, smile falling. “Otherwise, the throat or”—he used his free hand to tap the spot between the clavicle bones where the strings of his hoodie were bunched together—“this ******* hurts right here.”


Caligrace
“Well, at least I knew it was going to be the wrong answer,” she teased, her arms coming to cross over her chest as he continued on. It took a moment for his words to register - she had been too focused on the change in his expression - and when they did, she couldn’t curb her tongue. “Bite me,” was uttered in the next second, the response automatic and not thought through in the slightest. Her height had never been an issue for her - and the spark of amusement in her eyes gave that away. Despite the change in her tone - and the brief remark on her height - she had filed away the information he’d provided.


Bjørn
Torn between reminding her he’d already done so once and offering to do it again, Bjørn kept his mouth shut. “If you’re going to go for the face or chin,” he continued, hand dropping from his breastbone. “You’re better off doing—give me your hand,” he beckoned, his hand out, palm facing skywards.


Caligrace
There was a moment of uncertainty, where she didn’t know if she was thankful or disappointed in his lack of response to her remark. While it hadn't been an actual offer, it did conjure the memory of that first night - and she wasn’t convinced she would have minded if he chose to react. With a quick shake of her head to dispel that line of thought, she listened as he spoke. Any other girl might have felt insulted that he had continued on as if she hadn’t said a word, but she just laughed, and quickly closed the distance between them to rest her hand in his upturned palm. "Show me your ways, gorgeous."


Bjørn
Bjørn rolled his eyes at her. The thing about immoderation was that it cheapened the sentiment or deed. There was no harm in being complimented, but Caligrace’s hackneyed compliments were beginning to feel insincere. Dismissing them felt like the best course of action, which was exactly what he did as his fingers encircled her hand. He folded her fingers and angled her wrist so that the heel of her palm was facing him. “If you want to aim for the face or chin, or even the nose…” His hand skipped down to her elbow, cradling the jut of bone and pushing upwards until the arm was fully extended. “The meaty part here”—he used his opposite hand to press into the heel of her palm—“can deal damage without risking as much of a break. But you have to keep”—thumb still pressed into her palm, his fingers wrapped around her wrist—“this from flipping back else you’ll sprain it.” Not that a sprain was the worst injury one could suffer, but any injury avoided was a better chance at succeeding. His fingers fell away, one hand showcasing the position as his other tapped on his shoulder. “The movement, like the punch, travels through from the legs, but it’s straighter. No pivoting, just—” he punched up into the air, well above her head and away from her face. Even without bending his knees and putting all of his weight into it, the movement proved as quick and efficient as any punch.


Caligrace
The ability to compartmentalize was something that she had always possessed - and more than that, it was something that she did well. When he folded her fingers to position her hand the way he wanted it, all other thought was pushed aside. She paid attention to what he said and watched his hand as he straightened her arm out, her curved fingers flexing to get used to the strange position. There was more information for her to register - her gaze jumping from his hands to his face and back again - but she didn’t allow herself to miss a single word. A sprain on a vampire wouldn’t do a lot of damage, but she knew that wouldn’t mean that it wouldn’t cost her in the end. The scene that played through her mind - a beast from his shared memory snapping her wrist - caused an almost imperceptible shudder that had nothing to do with his attention. When his touch disappeared, her eyes instantly snapped to him, just in time to watch him in action. “Impressive,” she admired, her smile faint, before she nodded. “Okay, so don’t pivot, but still use my legs…” As soon as she finished speaking, she took a step back (so she didn’t accidentally strike him), and mimed his earlier action, her fingers curved, palm facing him, and aimed for his face - but far enough away to not make contact.


Bjørn
“Yeah, that’s the ****!” His hand dropped to his side as he watched her imitate the motion. It wasn’t hard in and of itself, but it was unnatural to someone who wasn’t used to moving their body in such ways. “This is good for incapacitating,” he started, arms crossing over his chest and hands tucking into his armpits once more. (Many claimed that crossing limbs over body signified closure, but Bjørn was convinced the people who made body language **** up had never experienced the gangly life). “Could be even fatal if you hit hard enough to give whiplash or crush the larynx, but”—it was clearly a bracketed statement, a fleeting thought that’d become vocalised—“The best places to hit are the chest, just here”—he dropped his arms and pointed to the solar plexus—“The kidneys, and the—” His fingers pointed to either side of his body where the kidneys were, and then dropped to the juncture of his legs, framing if half-heartedly. As soon as the message was clear, he properly folded his arms over his chest. (That crossing of limbs over body did signify closure: an absolute aversion to getting hit below the belt). “The shins are pretty good for kicking, either from the front or kicking back.”


Caligrace
His praise had her grinning, and her arm dropped back to hang loose at her side, fingers outstretched once again. The positioning had been unfamiliar to her, and she tried not to think about how it would feel if she accidentally crushed her fingers against the body of a beast when they were bent at that angle. It caused her to wiggle her fingers restlessly, and then she was moving her hands, her thumbs hooking into the waist of her jeans at either side of her waist, her stance relaxing as she listened to him. Her eyes tracked his movements, watching with interest and calculation as he tapped his chest, then moved to the kidneys - and when he moved to frame that, she laughed. “I think everyone knows about that particular area,” she said, her glance lasting only as long as his show did, before she was focusing back on his face with amusement. “With my height -” She cast him a glance, daring him to make a comment on it, before continuing, “I’m going to assume that using the shins first would probably benefit me. Get them on my level and all?”

[Bjorn]

Bjørn
“Well, yeah, but, no,” he replied expertly. “It’s just bone, so it’s going to hurt whether they topple over or not. With enough force you can break it, make a run for it or a weapon. It’s one of the best places because you can kick it no matter how you’re positioned,” he explained. Licking his lips, the excess of air passing through them as he breathed and talked drying them out, he dropped his arms and beckoned her to him. “Come here. Turn around.”


Caligrace
His explanation had her raising a brow, the knowledge of how easily one could become incapacitated surprising her. Physical altercations were never the way she dealt with something, and though she knew how weak a body could be, she had never put much thought to it. These last two sessions with him had changed all of that. When he motioned her closer, she didn’t hesitate, her hands dusting off the front of her jeans as she stepped into his space before automatically turning around, her back facing him. It seemed that they were more often than not in this set-up, and she couldn’t say that she minded. Tilting her head back, she glanced at him over her shoulder, her expression curious as she kept her arms loose at her sides, body relaxed - though hopefully ready for whatever he had in mind.


Bjørn
Each position offered its own set of advantages and disadvantages. The idea for today’s training session was for Caligrace to have a better understanding of what each circumstance would present her with and which means were available to her at any given time. The allurist sought empowerment and this was the quickest route to it, but even the quickest route was slow. Meeting her eye, Bjørn reached around her without a word. A full foot difference meant his stance widened and knees bent to accommodate to their position. His body folded forward as he clasped one hand across his opposite wrist, just above her waistline. His chin pressed lightly into the top of her head. When he spoke, the sound of his voice was deeper, the thrum moving through his throat and chest. “Say you get ambushed from behind,” he tightened his grip and pressed her into him. “All the **** you just learned is useless, except…”


Caligrace
He always managed to surprise her with each new lesson, and this time was no different. Their eyes met - and whatever she had thought he might show her, his next move hadn’t made it to the list. When his arms came around her, she forced herself to remain relaxed, even when a thrum of energy coursed through her, causing her to bite the inside of her lip. She felt him shift, his body changing to once again adjust to her height. It had never been a thought in her mind, how her height might prove to be an inconvenience to someone else, but there was a brief flash of that doubt before it vanished. The embrace wasn’t supposed to be intimate - she knew that, but she still reminded herself of that fact, even when his hold tightened and she was pressed against his chest. This wasn’t supposed to be something she found herself enjoying - and she tried to think of him as an attacker, and as Bjorn. “From this angle, I wouldn’t be able to hit them - not easily, at least, but I could... “ Her voice trailed off, and she hesitated, her throat working. “I’d kick them,” she finally said, and she tried to move to mime the action, but found that his hold made it difficult as she shifted. After a second, she lifted her boot, and pressed it against his shin - though she wasn’t sure if the position was what he actually had in mind.


Bjørn
Bjørn wouldn’t have minded if Caligrace had kicked him with all her might, but he appreciated the calculative approach she took. He didn’t shift his legs or relax his hold. “Yes,” he said, shifting his head slightly. “You’re short and lightweight, but you’re strong,” he continued, shifting his hands so that he was actually gripping her as an attacker would, fingers splayed over flesh and bunched up fabric. “You can use their arms to leverage and swing your weight forward to kick with both feet. Try it”—he pressed his mouth just above her ear, cool breath shifting the red strands—“Gently please.”


Caligrace
At his answer, she dropped her foot, the sole of her boot once again finding purchase in the earth. “At least someone thinks so,” she whispered, her tone light. She was many things - but physical strength was never a trait she’d claim to possess. His grip changed, then, and she felt the fabric of her tank wrinkle beneath his hands. Her grip on her focus was already frayed, and then his head was bending, breath dancing across her ear. “I’ll try not to hurt you.” There was a moment where she paused, her eyes drifting closed, and then she tightened her jaw. Ignoring the spark of fire in her veins, she curled her fingers around his arms, her hold tight as she tried to figure out exactly what he had meant. Going with her first instinct, she used her grip on his arms to shift forward, and in the same second, attempted to lift herself from the ground just enough to be able to kick back, her plan to aim for his shins with just enough strength to make the impact noticeable but not painful.


Bjørn
Bjørn had expected the shift and tensed his body in preparation. When her fingers gripped at his forearms, the touch was electric. His muscles tightened, as did his jaw, and he braced himself for what followed. One shin out of two was better than none, and she’d headed his plea to be gentle. There were so many ways this could go, and eventually they’d run through all of them. For now, he hummed his approval and resisted the urge to straighten backwards, picking her up entirely off the ground. Some attackers might, though in that case the thighs and knees would be just as good targets as the shins. “This won’t always work, so you’d also rely on your elbow. It’s probably the strongest part of the body you can jab with, provided you land somewhere soft.” He loosened his grip once she found her footing but didn’t pull away. On the contrary, he pressed the line of his body to hers, the fit only slightly dampened by the position. In any other setting this would have been a welcome start to something, and there was no denying his mind skipped across the possibilities like a stone across water. It had a ripping effect, his eyes darkening and face pressing into her hair. Her scent was heady, but he remained focused, keeping the skipping stone that was his mind from plummeting to the depths of his thoughts. It instead landed on dry land just over the edge, the consequence of a controlled throw. Still, the predatory streak within him had roused, and when he gave his instruction, it was as much for her good as it was for his. “Free yourself,” he commanded, velvet coating his words as he plastered his cheek to the side of her head, pressing her firmly to him. If she’d been human and he’d had used all his might, he would have easily crushed her... to death.


Caligrace
The attack had been uncomfortable for her, to say the least. It wasn’t a position her body was used to being in, and she had been in plenty in her life. She had expected him to lecture her, to tell her to try again, then he hummed. The approval was clear in the sound, and she felt control slipping as the sound seemed to vibrate through her. His effect on her was unnatural, and she was struggling to grasp the tendrils of her focus. When he spoke, she tried to concentrate on his words, but she found her mind shifting, images that had nothing to do with her training filtering into her thoughts unbidden. Drawing her tongue slowly across her lower lip, she waited to see if he released her, knowing she actually needed to distance to get herself back into control - but he didn’t. In fact, it felt as if he might have been closer than he had been before, if that was even possible. That didn’t stop her from leaning back even more, before she caught herself from sinking completely into him. This time, she couldn’t stop the soft sound that escaped her throat, a mix of content and frustration. In that moment, she wasn’t sure if she were toeing the lines of their partnership - or completely obliterating them - her mind was that much of a mess. It was only the command that snapped her from the chaos, and she choked on a laugh. Yeah, not really wanting to, she thought, before piecing together his instruction. Without wasting a second, she attacked, her moves quick - her elbow was thrown back, aiming for his stomach - and she pushed once more at his arms, her body bending forward with more strength then she thought she possessed, her feet aimed for his shins. His grip was like a vice, making everything that much more difficult, but she tried to not let it deter her as her body shifted against his with each rapid attempt at an attack.


Bjørn
“I’m starting to think you don’t want to get away,” he teased, the edge of his words as sharp as the jolt from a live socket. There was apparent desire in his tone, though it was undeterminable whether it sourced from physical attraction, unbidden lust sparked by contact, or the sick thrill of the hunt. The most likely answer was that they were all entrenched in one another. If she’d been human the adrenaline pumping through her would have triggered his fangs to come out, and the thrum of warm blood would have become an inexorable lure that had him sinking them into her neck. Caligrace wasn’t human however, and neither was he. The growl that reverberated through him might ripple through her given how close he pulled her in. His fingers splayed across her barred waistline, teasing the underside of her ribcage. “Fight harder,” he admonished, the words growled as his natural instinct was to fight her in turn. Bjørn allowed himself to indulge, the boundaries firmly in place despite how aggressively he was toeing at them. As if to restate what this was, he cut through the haze he felt, reminding himself of his purpose and Caligrace of hers. He’d given her instructions, but he hadn’t beckoned her to follow them in this instance. “If I were to kill you right now,” he breathed down her neck, his eyes closed as he willed himself to focus on the pain rather than the pleasure. “How would you stop me!?” Remember, he urged, unaware of whether the words were contained to his own head. No rules.


Caligrace
“You may never know,” she responded, her attempt at keeping her tone neutral shattered when the slightest quiver took over the words. Running her tongue along the blunt edge of her teeth, she tried to ignore the effect his voice had on her. Lines were beginning to blur, her focus torn between what she needed to do and what she craved to do. Every instinct screamed at her to reach a hand back, to tangle her fingers into his hair, but instead - she dug her nails into his arm, fire beginning to enter her blood. Lust and something new, something raw, began to swell within her, though she was unsure if it was triggered by the sound of his growl or her own almost animalistic need to win. His hand against her waist, his demand for her to fight, had awoken something inside of her, and she ground her teeth together, so she didn’t lash out with her tongue. In a real fight, the wicked bite of her tongue wouldn’t save her, nor would her charm. She knew that - beasts didn’t discriminate when it came to slaughter. Her eyes snapped open, then, the gold replaced by a dark amber as the heat rushed through her veins like wildfire. The touch of his breath against her neck on fueled that flame, and she felt her lips curve into a smirk as she gave the slightest shake of her head. “I’d kick your ***,” she grit out. Clarity sparked through the chaos in her mind, and she shifted her stance, just barely. The nails that had dug into his arm loosened, and she put more strength into her next act, this time acting on pure instinct. Slamming her elbows down against his arms, she tried to break his grasp that way, to give her enough room to twist - if it worked, before she’d slam her elbow back, aiming for the softest part of him that she could reach. Not depending on just that, however, she wasted no time in kicking her left foot back against his shin. She didn’t want to hurt him - but neither did she hold back, using her size and speed to her advantage.


Bjørn
Bjørn was no stranger to intrusive thoughts, but with his senses muddled as they were the self-control he often wielded was near non-existent. Let go, the little voice sang as he fought the image that popped into his mind. Caligrace dropping forward like a sack of flour. No, he didn’t want to let go. There was a part of him that was enjoying this far too much; the fingers carving crescents into his forearms did little to dampen his zeal. The thrust of her elbows into the nook of his own was far from pleasant, but his arms didn’t waver. It was just as well given she used them to hoist herself forward. If he’d not been poised to resist, and twice her size, Bjørn had no doubt he’d have stumbled forward. Instead, he remained rooted, his shins almost exactly where they’d been when her boot retraced her earlier swing. It hurt. Had he really wished to kill her, it wouldn’t have deterred him. However, the mismanaged slam of her elbow was. It didn’t reach his torso, his arms still tightly wound around her, but it loosened his grip. And just like that, the spell seemed broken. He pulled back, shifting his stance as the dull pain radiated through his leg. He reminded himself it’d dissipate soon enough. “Good,” he commended, a tightness to his voice that was due to his tightening grasp on himself. He needed to clear his palette, to place much needed distance between them. He wouldn’t move away until she’d found her footing however. “If I’d wanted you dead though it wouldn’t have been enough. Remember, no rules. If I’d trapped your arms down too, you’d have been fucked.” That… was not how he meant it, but still hazy he couldn’t keep his brain from chasing after the dissipating thought. Yeah, there was no doubt in his mind that a part of him wanted that, just not that way. “If you have powers, make sure you use them too.”


Caligrace
For a moment, she wondered if she’d any impact on him at all. He remained as steady as a rock behind her, until that last second, where she felt him shift. His hold loosened, and she swallowed back the disappointment that rose within her, the feeling unwelcome. She knew she needed to rid his effect on her from her system, but he was still close, his scent enveloping her in a way that wasn’t at all unpleasant. Digging her feet into the earth beneath them, she managed to find the purchase she needed to keep herself upright. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she fought the urge to rest back against him - her muscles seeming to tighten as she battled a war within herself. His effect on her was disorienting, to say the least, and it bothered her that she wasn’t upset by it. “Thank you,” she heard herself speak, her voice hoarse as she looked over her shoulder at him as she felt him pull away. “I guess I’m lucky you didn’t want me dead this go around,” she managed to tease, her dark eyes sweeping over his features before she nodded, his word choice causing her to choke on a quiet sound before she found her clarity again. “The one I know how to use well would have hurt you, the others… I’ll work on mastering. They’re not easy,” she admitted. What she didn’t say was how she hated to use the power she had gained at her turning, insects far down on the list of things she ever wanted to use. The thought of using it on him - well, there was absolutely no appeal to it at all. Using one hand, she brushed the hair that escaped during their interaction to the side, fingers tangling in to wild red tresses as she attempted to put some order to it, before she gave up entirely and dropped her hand back to her side.


Bjørn
“The creatures are good for practicing those,” he replied, rolling his sleeves back into place. Maybe their next session should be spent at the graveyard, giving him time to cool off. The physicality of the fights between them would only increase as she got better at it. A wave of heat rolled down his spine at the thought of their limbs tangling together, her hair twisted in his fist. He knew better than to chase the fantasy, and let out a steady breath. What they were doing here—what he had offered and set out to do here—had nothing to do with pleasure. Business and pleasure were not to be mixed. This was about teaching Caligrace what her body could do for her. It was about empowerment. It wasn’t about learning the many ways he could take control of her and her body. Bjørn turned his back to the allurist, walking towards the bench where his backpack was. Adjusting himself through his pants, he dropped to a crouch and brought the bag to the floor. “Have you dealt much with traps?”


Caligrace
Fighting the creatures he mentioned had far less of an appeal than fighting him, the image of their decaying flesh and grotesque teeth causing her to shiver. It was almost enough to chill the fire that pulsed through her, and she closed her eyes for a second. The spell had been broken the moment he had pulled away, but the aftereffects continued, and she wasn’t as strong as she usually was when it came to him. Taking a minute, she tried to remember when she had last felt such a strong… connection... with someone, and her mind came up blank. There had been lust and attraction, but nothing like that. Figuring the aggression and adrenaline had to play a key role, she tried to push it to the back of her mind as she finally turned after she heard him walk away. Smoothing her hands against her shirt, she tried to smooth out the wrinkles in the fabric, her eyes focused on the motion instead of the man that was now digging through his bag. “No,” she spoke without looking up - before realizing she couldn’t avoid him forever. “The only interaction I have with them is when someone trapped me with poison darts and sensor turrets when I was first turned. So, I’ve never really tried to get up close and personal with one since then,” she finished explaining, taking a couple of steps towards him - before she stopped herself a few feet away.


Bjørn
“That’s a good enough reason,” he acquiesced, retrieving from the backpack a few hunting knives he’d collected over the years. They weren’t the finest money could buy, but they were cheap enough that they were dispensable—if necessary. The switchblade he’d gifted Caligrace on their first second meeting was far more reliable, but unnecessary for what he had in mind. “We’ll save traps for another day though,” he said, ascending to his full height. The last thing Bjørn wanted was to trigger memories that’d guide them down the path they’d stumbled upon last time. He spun a blade across his knuckles before flipping it up in the air and catching it by the blade’s tip. He was clearly at ease. Holding it out to her, he asked: “What about knives?”


Caligrace
While she would have gone through with whatever he had chosen to do with the traps, she couldn’t deny that she was relieved when he seemed to change course. That was, until he stood and danced a blade across his hand as if it were not a dangerous weapon. She had to admit, the way he moved was impressive - and that she found it far more attractive than she should have. Quickly shoving the thought away, she flicked her gaze from his to the knife he held comfortably between his fingers. “I’m familiar with them,” was all she offered for a moment, before she rolled a shoulder back and curled her fingers around the hilt. The weight felt unfamiliar in her hand, and she took a moment to test it - her fingertips sliding along the blade before she gently pressed the tip into her skin. The pressure was nowhere near enough to cut her, and she glanced back to him. “I’m far from a master. I wouldn’t even say I was an apprentice, but I’ve handled one a time or two.”


Bjørn
Bjørn watched her, resolutely not thinking about something else eliciting that kind of attention from her hands. Reaching for another blade from the stash, he toyed with it in an attempt to disperse the restlessness he still felt. “Knives are easy to carry and conceal so it never hurts to carry one around. The switchblade is pretty good but depending on what you’re hunting a sturdier weapon is better.” The weapon he casually swung between pinched index and thumb was an elite hunting knife, the edge jagged and clearly military in origin. “You should always carry one—in your boot, pocket… bra?” He’d seen Every pull all sorts of **** out of hers. It’d lost its appeal very early on. Shrugging, he threw the blade up and caught it by the hilt. He tapped the side of his head with the blackened tip. “With enough force you can stab through bone. That’s a critical on one of us, fatal on others.”


Caligrace
Her examination of the blade complete and catalogued into her memory, she watched him as he grabbed another. The sight of him with a weapon - no, she would not go there. It was getting tiresome, the way she seemed to be brought to a school-girl level whenever he did something remotely attractive. He’s just a man, she scolded herself, though she knew he was anything but. “I always keep the switchblade with me,” she said without thought, before bending down and using the tip of the blade to pat her boot. In that, she was already a step ahead of him - though the thought to hide it - or anything - in her bra had never once crossed her mind. Slowly straightening back up, she bit on her lower lip as she watched him expectantly, her own fingers still toying with the knife. “I really hope wherever you’re going with this doesn’t involve you stabbing me with that,” she teased, her amused gaze jumping from his to the blade as he tapped it against his skull.


Bjørn
“A little knife-play don’t hurt nobody,” he teased, a sweep of Texan drawl coating his words. His throat felt thick at the sight of her, his body still settling back into itself. Dropping his arm to his side, he continued to toy with the knife. What she revealed about the switchblade took time to fully sink in, his brow furrowing. “Would you have used it if I’d not let you go?” The tone suggested he doubted she would.


Caligrace
“Oh, so you’re into that kind of thing,” she countered, her eyes darkening for a second at the change in his accent. You’re in such trouble, she thought as she brushed her hand through her hair, expertly removing the tie that had attempted to control her braid. Using that as an excuse to temporarily remove her gaze from his, she slid the tie over her wrist - before she was glancing back to him, her smile more telling than she would have liked. “On you? No, I honestly don’t think I would have,” she admitted, “but I can’t say that I wouldn’t have had you been another man - or a beast with ten inch claws.”

[Caligrace]

Bjørn
Bjørn watched her impassively. The fidgeting helped, the occasional poke of the blade against his thigh grounding. His gaze followed the sweep of hair, eyebrow arching. He considered jostling her perception of him by revealing what Klae had promised would come, but fearful of setting up expectations he couldn’t meet, the telepath chose to keep quiet. Nodding instead, he motioned towards her with the blade. “What if you were attacked with a knife, would anything we just do help you out?”


Caligrace
Turning her attention from him to the blade in her hand, she spun it between her fingers, watching as the tip pressed into the pad of her thumb. She was careful not to apply pressure, the thought of piercing her skin making her uneasy. It was pathetic - and hilarious. She was a vampire unnerved by the thought of pain, worried that she would actually harm herself beyond repair. None of this was spoken out loud, of course, her self-deprecating thoughts kept locked tight inside of her mind. “I think so,” she answered, her eyes finally moving back to his, the colour once more lightened to its usual shade of gold. “I could try to incapacitate my attacker by aiming for their shin, or by punching them in the throat, if I could be quick enough,” she added on, her nose wrinkling in uncertainty.


Bjørn
The tilt of his head and awkward draw of his lips into a pained, closed-mouth smile was suggestive of his disagreement. “If someone comes at you with a knife, you’ve got other—better—options,” he said, glancing to his left to assure no woodland creatures would be harmed when he threw the blade down into the ground. It landed less than a foot away from his boot, two-thirds of the blade buried into the damp earth. “Stretch your arm out, as if you were going to stab my stomach,” he instructed.


Caligrace
All it took was once glance at his expression to know that she had answered incorrectly, and her only response was to lift her shoulders in a shrug. She hadn’t lied when she told him that she knew next to nothing about knives. Her experience had been limited to a few very specific incidents, where she had acted on pure - and horribly wrong - instinct. “Running?” Her attempt at humour was more to shake the nerves from her system, her eyes drawn to the blade that he embedded without effort into the ground. Her wariness didn’t stop her from following his instruction, however, and she was shifting her position, her arm outstretched, the blade levelled with where his stomach would have been from her angle.


Bjørn
Bjørn chuckled. Running was good if you could outrun the assailant but living in Harper Rock had taught him that if he didn’t sometimes put an end where one was needed, a slower, weaker person might suffer in his stead. “If I saw the blade coming, I could step out like so”—he did as he explained— “and put my hand on your face, pushing you backwards”—he gingerly pressed his fingertips along her hairline—“Knocking you off balance, even sliding up behind.” He backtracked, repositioning her arm so the blade hovered just over his navel. “If I didn’t see it early enough then I’d have no choice than to step inwards to avoid the blade, but I could, again, push your head back and use my weight to topple you, or”—he folded his fingers and slowly inched the heel of his palm towards her face—“Like I showed you before.” He dropped his arm. “I’m taller so that’d be easier but if the assailant were taller than you—if it was me coming at you—you’d” he paused, shaking his hands out and soundlessly berating himself. “Let’s switch, it’ll be easier.” Bjørn didn’t want to find himself with her in his space, his control only just returned, but this would do her no favours.


Caligrace
The sound of his laugh helped eased what was left of her nerves, and she was able to focus completely on him when he stepped towards her. She was careful to keep her eyes on the blade, but she was certain he wouldn’t accidentally impale himself. When his fingers found her hairline, her eyes narrowed in contemplation. He continued to move, and she watched him, her focus on him unwavering. “Basically, go on the offensive as fast as possible,” she said, her voice quiet. She hadn’t meant to speak out loud, her eyes no longer on his face, but on the way his arm moved, and his body twisted to avoid the knife. There was more to it, she knew, but she was taking her time in committing this lesson to memory, even when his palm came towards her face. That was a move she already knew, and she still memorized it, finally looking back up at him. “Do you want me to keep my knife or…?” The question trailed off as she watched him, one hand motioning towards where his was embedded in the dirt.


Bjørn
“No,” he replied, holding out his hand. “If you need a knife, you’ll have to use the one in your boot,” he rectified, gaze dropping to her feet. After all, that’d be the one she’d have access to unless—“Or take this one from me.” Bjørn had no intention on forcing her hand, but it was becoming clear that Caligrace did not rely on her advantages as naturally as she should. She’d have to abstain from letting her aversion guide her actions, and maladaptive avoidance had to be switched up for aggression. Survival was nothing but adaptation.


Caligrace
Though she had only just obtained the knife, she truly didn’t want to part with it. There was a second of hesitation as she narrowed her eyes on him, before she flipped it the way he had - though far less smooth - and handed it over to him, hilt first. Her lack of practice had the blade digging into her skin, but with no blood drawn, she labeled it a success. “Let’s hope I don’t need one, then,” she said with a grin, though she hoped that if it did come down to it, she'd be able to do what she needed to against him.


Bjørn
Bjørn thrust the knife in her direction as soon as his fingers wrapped around the hilt. It was up to Caligrace to dodge whichever way came the fastest. He didn’t aim to strike her, though he made it awfully clear he was a thread short from pulling all punches. This time he'd keep things serious and not allow himself to become ensnared by her. His steely resolve was apparent from the way he moved without warning, and from the words that dropped from his lips: “Hope is for the living.”


Caligrace
He had started his lesson by saying something about seeing the blade coming - and she hadn’t. She had thought he’d give her a second to prepare, to walk her through it again, but he had reacted without so much as a warning. Something dark flashed in her eyes, and she was moving on instinct, his brief lesson flashing in her mind. She twisted her body at the last second, moving to the inside of the attack, but she was a second too slow on the offensive move, her hand coming up, fist aimed for his face. Realizing at the last second what she was about to do, she tried to pull back on the momentum and strength - not actually wanting to strike him - well, not entirely, at least.


Bjørn
Bjørn felt the impact ripple through the bone as her knuckles connected to the hollow of his jawline. He had mentioned the throat as a suitable target, but her fist was off-centre. His tongue seized upon impact, teeth clamping down on the muscle. It was startling, but there was something about pain that sharpened his mind. Now a perceived threat, his perception of her shifted and he sunk his free hand into the red curls at her nape. Action-reaction. Cause-effect. Caligrace was compact, easy to ensnare. He bent his outstretched elbow, seeking to close in with the knife. His aim: to wrap around her and press her to him, blade to throat as he’d done back at the lodge. It was in her best interest to react before the trap closed in on her. His lips remained tightly pressed together, blood welling in his mouth.


Caligrace
Her eyes widened when she felt the impact of her attack, her lips parting to speak the apology that hung heavy on her tongue - but the words never formed. She was never given the chance. He didn’t stagger, he didn’t look at her as if she were mad. Something in him had shifted, and she had - absolutely no time. His hand moved into her hair, and her eyes narrowed as that burn that was beginning to become familiar filled her. His arm moved, and she moved her own up, attempting to block the momentum of his attack. She was already inside of the blade - and she realized she didn’t know how to get out. With her eyes never leaving his face, her free hand moved, fingers curving in the way he had showed her - her palm aimed for his solar plexus, even as she began to shift back on her feet, trying to twist out of his grasp, even with his hand still in her hair. There was nothing hesitant about her actions - she was acting on the pure need for survival.


Bjørn
Bjørn felt the impact to his torso and staggered, his grip on her mane tightening as he took her with him. “We’re not parrying,” he huffed through bloodstained teeth. The position she’d assumed was a snag in his plan to step behind her. It wouldn’t keep him from doing what any assailant larger than their victim would do: constrict. Purposely dropping the blade to avoid hurting her, he snatched her wrist with his free hand, showcasing the short-lived efficacy of her block. He’d have to drive home the importance of keeping one’s joints—wrist, elbow—unyieldingly straight. The fingers in her hair splayed through the strands, hand cupping her nape and sliding around to firmly encase her throat. “If you can’t shake them off,” he grunted, voice low and rough as gravel. “Make yourself a pain to hold onto. If they’re taller than you”—his breath smelled of rust and damp quarry—“Get them to your level.”


Caligrace
Digging her heels in, she tried to keep herself from falling into his stagger, but her strength couldn’t compare to his. She went with him, her eyes narrowed as her gaze swept across his face, taking in the blood - blood that she had caused. Where she expected to feel guilt, was something else, something darker - something primal. Paired with the ache his fingers twisted in her hair caused, she was falling out of her element - and she didn’t care. Her gaze unwavering from his face, she hadn’t noticed him dispose of the knife until his fingers were curling around her wrist, trapping her for the second time. A spark of fire flared in her eyes, and she tried to free her wrist with a sharp twist of her arm. It was a rookie move, she knew that, but she wasn’t ready to give up the fight. Not even when she felt him loosen his hold on her hair, his touch sending a shock through her - before he was gripping her throat. It wasn’t as painful as she knew it could have been, but the firm touch had her hesitating, and she listened as he spoke, her eyes narrowed. There was one way she knew, for certain, to bring a man to her level - and it wasn’t something she ever planned to do to him. As his scent washed over her, she twisted, trying to dislodge herself from his hold - free hand going to the one around her throat, nails digging into the skin of his inner wrist as she tried to twist his hand from her, while she moved her left leg and attempted to kick his foot out from beneath him.


Bjørn
There it was. That spark of autumn; the sweet spice that weighed down her airy scent. It suited her almost too well given her natural colouring. Not that he didn’t like the way she usually smelled or that it didn’t befit her, but this was something else entirely. It had a warmth to it that defied the coldness of their darkest nature. Even at this level they existed on similar frequencies. Bjørn was too wrapped up in the heat of it all to go down with either of their comfort in mind. Foot swept from beneath him, he staggered to the side and back. His knee landed hard on the ground and he groaned, struggling to balance himself on his other foot. The hand at her throat recoiled from the bite of her nails, relinquishing its hold altogether. The momentum of the drop wasn’t put to waste. He yanked on the wrist he still held captive, pulling her down to him. With his opposite hand, now free and sore from the red crescents marring his flesh, he gripped the back of her knee and yanked. It wasn’t guaranteed to work, but if it did, she might find herself no less grounded than he was.


Caligrace
There was something almost animalistic about the way she felt when she watched him stagger, his body losing that balance he had held so tightly to. Her gaze followed him as he fell, his knee sinking into already ruined earth beneath them. The sound he made mixed with the scent of his blood had something awakening inside of her, the fire burning hotter in her veins at her small victory. When his hands freed from her throat, she released her clawed grip on his wrist, her lips parting to say something - when she realized that he wasn’t going down alone. It had only been a second - if that - from when he had crashed into the ground, and now she was moving with his momentum, her body toppling forward. With a quick move, she tried to find purchase by digging her boots into the grass. It might have worked - had he not taken advantage of his freed hand to grab her. Paired with the way he’d pulled her forward, she’d not had a shot in hell to keep herself upright. The leg not trapped in his grasp buckled, and she used her free hand to grab onto his shoulder as if that would stop her as she started to fall forward, her boot losing traction in the dirt.


Bjørn
Falling was inevitable. With practice one got better at avoiding it, but the threat was always there. The best way to deal with it was to learn how to fall. The best way to survive was to adapt, and that’s exactly what Bjørn did. Using the foot still rooted into the soil he pushed up and off to the side. His knee did the same, lifting minutely off the ground as he rearranged himself at an angle to avoid injury. All the while, he sought to take her down. The hand once wrapped around her wrist now grabbed onto her waist, reaching around her midriff. With her legs no longer rooted, she was at the mercy of his strength as he redirected the both of them. Both his knee and heel lost traction, severing any command he had on what followed. It wasn’t at all graceful, but he managed to pin her to the ground. His arms tucked beneath her falling form and his legs awkwardly tangled with hers, he had to way to brace for the fall than face-planting into her shoulder, his nose taking the brunt of the fall.


Caligrace
Somehow, the situation had gotten out of her control - not that she was certain it was ever in her control. The last of her traction left her, her foot coming completely out from beneath her, just as his hand left her wrist. There a brief second where she thought he was going to leave her to crash to the ground - but then his hand was on her waist, and he was twisting, changing her trajectory, so her back hit the ground. She had thought to use her arm to stop her fall, but had changed her mind at the last minute, and decided to just let gravity take control. It was better than risking injury if she landed wrong. What she hadn’t expected was for him to fall on top of her, and she tried to put her hand up to slow his descent, but she was a second too late, his face meeting her shoulder. “****,” she groaned, a choked laugh escaping as she laid pinned beneath him.


Bjørn
Bjørn freed his arms from under her body and shifted awkwardly onto grubby forearms. As he did so, he pushed his upper body off her, head hanging low. His eyes were pressed tightly together, the crinkling of his nose painful but necessary. He could feel the small fissure in the cartilage of his nose threading itself back together. Blinking away the film of water from his lower lashes, he looked up before briefly turning his head to the side. He lifted one elbow off the soil, using his shoulder to wipe the trickle of blood from his nose. His tongue slipped over his teeth a few times as he swallowed any lingering blood before speaking. “Good,” he finally said, pausing for a second to look down at her before pushing himself off and to the side.


Caligrace
She didn’t rush to push him off of her - half in part of his need to heal, and half in part because she didn’t dislike the pressure of his body on hers. As much as she wanted to reach up and brush her hand across his skin to help wipe away the blood, she kept herself still, her own body still reeling from the fall. Lifting her arm when he finally moved, she picked some grass from her hair, but realized it was a futile attempt while she still remained on her back. Without the weight of him on her, however, she bent one leg at the knee, her foot digging into the ground as she glanced over at him, raising a brow. “Good? That’s all you’ve got to offer after all of that?” Her tone was light, but her eyes still held a touch of fire as her gaze swept over him, biting into her lower lip. “Time with you is never boring, at least,” she chuckled, one hand running over her face before dropping it to her stomach, fingers toying with the hem that had risen during the commotion of their joint collapse.

Bjørn
Bjørn would have been easier to placate weren’t it for his failure in controlling the fall. As he pushed himself off her, he documented his mistakes: he’d braced Caligrace for the fall. Had it been an enemy or creature he’d have braced himself for the fall instead, arms too quick to get pinned under the other’s weight. He might have gone as far as using the drop’s momentum to push himself back up or do a forward roll over. Instead, he’d fallen short of his expectations. It would be remedied, and the fact that Caligrace had exceeded his took the sting out of the humiliation he might have otherwise felt. “I still pinned you,” he pointed out, setting his hands flat on the on the ground and pushing himself up onto his full height in one fluid motion. He didn’t straighten entirely, reaching a grubby hand towards her to help her up, should she accept it. “If I’d not dropped the blade earlier, you’d have fallen on it. But you did better than I expected,” he commented, testing his nose with his opposite hand. Tender, but not broken. Cartilage hurt, but it wasn’t as bad as bone breaking. Swiping his thumb under his nostrils, smearing the little blood left, he smiled. “You’re a fast learner. And that is good. You’ve got a lot more to learn. Let’s try that again.”


Caligrace
“I can never please you,” she teased as he reminded of her she'd allowed herself to get pinned, her eyes closing for a second as she took stock of her body. She was sore - but not from the fall. She was using muscles that had laid practically dormant, but the ache was almost… pleasurable. Fighting the urge to stretch out like a cat might, to allow herself some relief, she opened her eyes just in time to see his hand outstretched for her - and, though she could have made it on her own, she accepted it. Using her bent leg to propel herself up, she moved with a grace that still managed to surprise her from time to time, her hand dropping from his the moment she was steady, to begin the futile attempt at brushing some dirt and mud from her jeans. Of course, she didn’t realize that there was a streak of it against her cheek, and her hair was messed beyond repair. “**** it,” she muttered, hands finally stilling as she looked up at him with a grin at his compliment. “I’m full of surprises,” she laughed, her gaze dropping to the blood he’d smudged before flicking back up back to his. “Where do we start?”


Bjørn
Bjørn watched, amused by her fussing, and half-heartedly brushed away the wooden chips and dirt from his forearms. He clapped his hands and left it at that.; dirty nails be damned. **** it was as good a philosophy as any in this case. Instead of replying immediately, he bent down to swipe his knife up and out of the ground. “When you tried to block me”—he motioned the way his elbow had bent to bring the knife closer to her face—“You used your forearm, which was good thinking, but you should have tried to”—he brought his opposite hand to act out what he was explaining—“grab my elbow and twisted it out. Sprained it. You’d, come here.” He beckoned, tapping the bend of his elbow for her to assume the role.


Caligrace
Picking a blade of grass from her hair - it was annoying her, contrasting with the red in her peripheral - she waited as he snatched up the knife, a brow raised. She knew that she needed to learn to handle herself with weaponry, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy the thought of impaling herself on the blade. Keeping that thought to herself, however, she crossed her arms over her chest as she listened, only nodding once. “Got it.” Not hesitating for a second, she stepped back into his space, her hand curving around the bend of his elbow where he’d indicated, her grasp light as she waited for further instruction, gaze expectantly locked on his.


Bjørn
Bjørn didn’t close in on her as she stepped into the space before him. It was best their limbs didn’t crossed so she could better see and do what needed to be learned. “Use your weight. I won’t break that easily,” he teased, flexing his arm to showcase the strength of his muscles. Tensed, he could bear more of her weight, which she’d need to shift to accomplish his next instruction. He reached for her right hand with his left, pressing it to his flank. He kept his hand over hers. “I’m not going anywhere, right? I’m strong, I’m tall, and I’m confident—I have a blade and I’m convinced I can overpower you,” he stated, becoming a mouthpiece for any potential assailant. There was a shift in his tone when he reverted to himself, subtle, but definitely softer. “But you’re stronger than you look. Your being smaller makes you spry, less weight to work with. So you can use that against me.” His hand dropped from his side, hovering about the small of her back in the event of a slip. “If you anchor yourself you might throw me off if I’m not expecting it”—which he was—“but you can also shift your weight onto one foot and kick me, or kneel me. If you’re bearing your body weight on me and you knock me off my rhythm”—he really needed to stop rewatching John Mulaney, the smile tugging the corner of his mouth so out of place in this moment—“you can direct my fall, or at the very least, get away.” By now it was expected she would follow, her eagerness something he was coming to count upon.

[Bjorn]

Caligrace
It wasn’t unusual for someone to feel overwhelmed with so much information coming at once, but her mind didn’t work like most. It had only strengthened with her death, and though there was a slight ache in her temple, it didn’t last long. It barely even deterred her as she felt his muscle tense beneath her hand, and she rolled her eyes with a smirk. “Noted,” she replied, fingers tightening on the flexed arm playfully before loosening. She’d always known he was strong - memories of that first night replaying in her mind - but to feel the muscle beneath her hand was different. He was definitely not someone she’d want to face in the midst of a real battle, that much was certain. Laughing quietly at herself, she kept her body relaxed and loose as he reached for her right hand, his touch sending that familiar shock through her, but subtle enough that she kept her focus. It helped that his words reminded her of what she was thriving for - survival. While it didn’t exactly dampen the attraction, it helped her keep her focus, her eyes dancing from his, to her hand, to his elbow, and back again. His tone shifted, and had she not being such attention to him, she might have missed the softening. “I guess that’s a good thing,” she smiled, her tongue brushed across her lower lip as she nodded along with his lesson. It was clear by the hesitation in her eyes that she wasn’t sure she’d fully grasped what he was saying, but it didn’t stop her from trying. Using the hold she had on his elbow, she adjusted her weight to try and twist it away from her, testing the motion first, the hand on his flank pushing out against him, fingers slightly tangled in his hoodie.


Bjørn
“Cute, but no,” he taunted. His hand came back to rest on the hand at his flank, covering it completely given the size difference. He squeezed it as he spoke, as if drawing her attention to what it was: an anchor. “You can’t push a wall down, CG. You got to knock it down.” Bjørn lifted his knee between them and gingerly tapped her thigh with it. His boot settled back on the ground, his stance stable and his hands stock still. He was purposely setting the stage for her to act it all out, but direction wasn’t his forte. So focused on trying to mash it all up into titbits, he hadn’t noticed her name had been put through the same thought process.


Caligrace
Her nose wrinkled at his taunt, a flash of irritation dancing in her eyes. That was all it took, and her focus had completely shifted, her expression changing. She still had that softness about her, but there was something dark in her eyes now as she listened to him. It can’t be that hard, Summers. He’s just another challenge, another mountain in your way. He only had to show her once, and this time, she was ready. When she moved, her fingers tightening on his flank, using him to keep herself steady. Her hand on his elbow pushed outward - the strength behind it unmistakable, even when she twisted her hand. That was the only thing she was careful with, not wanting to actually break bone. In the next breath, she had lifted her leg, jean clad leg moving to slam into his thigh. There was a moment where the foot she used for purchased began to slip, her focus having been solely on taking him down and not her own safety. She tried to think of everything he had said, but it was already too late, her balance off-center due to her own mistake.


Bjørn
It wasn’t a one step forward one step backward dance, but it resembled a bit of a shuffle nevertheless. At least they were inching forward. The hand at his side shot out to steady her, fingers splaying across the small of back to interrupt the downward slide of her body. For someone whose name suggested gracefulness, the allurist certainly lacked a fair bit of it. Not that Bjørn was one to talk. Impact had him staggering half a step back, his stance widening ever so slightly. “Better,” he encouraged. His expression wavered, the ache ebbing from his thigh. At least she’d not hit the crown jewels. Perhaps next time he’d wear a cup… Just in case. “Maybe next time you should skip the heels?”


Caligrace
Had it not been for his hand, gravity would have won once more. The thought of sprawling on the cold ground didn’t appeal to her, and she took a second to steady herself against his hand before she was straightening, her hand dusting against her shirt. “I need to work on my balance. I don’t think the heels have much to do with it. I’m just not used to my body being used so thoroughly,” she muttered, hands lifting to run through her hair, fingers loosening some of the knots so that the red curls fell freely around her shoulders. “I usually only wear heels, so I need to at least try and learn how to handle myself in case I’m at the club in stilettos and someone tries to rip my heart out, right?” The words were spoken with a light tone, but there was nothing light about the image in her mind.


Bjørn
Caligrace’s comment about her body and the thoroughness with which it hadn’t been used most certainly did not cause Bjørn’s lips to quirk. He ironed out his expression as his left hand fell away from her back. He dropped his right arm and began toying with the blade once again. “Getting your heart ripped out at a club,” he mused, face turning impish. “How very Gaga circa 2009.”


Caligrace
His words eased some of the tension inside of her, and she laughed, shaking her head. Stepping back when his hand fell away, she clasped her hands together and finally gave in to the need to stretch out her back. Curving her spine, she rolled her shoulders back before dropping back into a relaxed position, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’m surprised you know that reference,” she teased, her eyes dropping to the blade in his hand. “It can happen, though. You might be shocked at some of the things that happens within Myth’s walls. Some humans can put us vampires to shame."


Bjørn
“I’m not big on clubs,” he admitted. There’d been that brief stint at Nightmode which hadn’t hurt. Bjørn had been capable of coping from inside the DJ booth above the crowd, the cacophony of sounds muted by the heavy-set headphones he wore for spinning. “Not unless I’m at the booth, but even then…” He shrugged, fairly certain his aversion to excessive sensory experience was shared knowledge. He had lost so much when becoming a vampire, including the things that’d made him feel most alive as a human. He wasn’t surprised by Caligrace’s words.


Caligrace
“I get it,” she said as she rocked back on her heels, fingers slipping into her back pockets. He couldn’t handle sounds and lights like she couldn’t handle emotion. “I wasn’t much of a club person before I was killed. In one, to be exact. I would have figured that would turn me off of them for eternity,” she shrugged, then, having never really spoken about how she came to be a vampire. Of course, she didn’t offer any more information than that. Maybe one day, if he asked, she would. “It’s gotten harder since then, with the --- well, you know,” she laughed, her tone at ease. Picking up on the mention of a booth, she raised a brow. “You play music?” Her head tilted as she asked, her gaze sweeping over him with new interest.


Bjørn
That’s something they most certainly did not have in common. In true Norwegian fashion, Bjørn had once lived for parties. That’d all changed after his turning. Music still made him happy and took up some of his free time, but limited by his condition he didn’t indulge as much as he’d like. On the other hand, Caligrace’s account of her past and preferences seemed even more at odds. She didn’t like clubs as a human but was killed in one, and while she still didn’t favour them, she now owned one? Yeah, sounded complicated. More complicated than he cared to deal with at the present. This was also why he shrugged when he replied, clearly not overly keen on sharing. “Not play, just tinker about with it. Turntables and ****.” With that, he threw the knife up, watched it twirl on its way down, and caught it dexterously. “How you feeling? Need a break?”

Caligrace
It didn’t surprise her that he had been simple in his response - he’d offered her bits of himself here and there, but it didn’t take a genius to understand that this man preferred to be encased in mystery. It was one of the things that drew her to him like a moth to a flame, and she kept having to remind herself that she couldn’t push him to talk. Communication was key to developing any kind of relationship, but things were still new, still fresh - and she honestly wasn’t sure if he even wanted anything outside of training. For now, she’d let it go. Filing away the information about the turntables, she tore her gaze from his to watch the blade he’d casually tossed flip through the air, before landing into his palm with an ease she found herself envying. “I’m fine,” she said, her hand lifting to brush the pad of her thumb against her lip as she offered him a teasing smile, “why? Am I getting to become too much for you to handle?”


Bjørn
Bjørn’s mouth slowly stretched into a cheshire grin. His gaze dipped to the thumb tracing her lower lip before levelling with her eyes. “You’re something alright,” he replied. He then reached with his thumb, aiming to gently swipe at the dried mud caking her cheek. It’d been there for a while, and no amount of fussing over her appearance seemed to have made her realise.


Caligrace
The way he smiled did something to her, and she had to fight to hold onto some semblance of control. This man in front of her went hot and cold in the blink of an eye, and it was leaving her in a state of utter confusion - and she couldn’t say she minded. When his hand lifted, his thumb brushing over her cheek, she twitched slightly. It was unexpected - but not entirely unwelcome, and that in itself, left her mind spinning. Levelling a questioning stare on him, she dropped her hand from her lip, her teasing smile still in place, despite it having changed slightly at his touch. “And do I want to know what that something might be?”


Bjørn
Bjørn thumbed the mud off her cheek almost too reverently. A lapse of judgement, perhaps. There was no denying he wanted to touch her, and not just like this. No, his mind had filled with all manner of thoughts. This was tame in comparison, but far too intimate. He broke eye contact, gaze flicking down to her body before settling back on her face. He resolutely looked at her cheek and not into her eyes. If he had, he might have found his widened pupils matched. The streak across her face might as well have been the line he was crossing, his actions, like his thumb, smearing it. The thought of there being no boundary was terrifying. Tendrils of doubt and fear lashed out at him from the depths of his mind. His hand fell away, and his smirk faltered, settling into an uncertain smile. The tumult he felt couldn’t be tamed and twisted into words that could convey what he thought of her truly. His teeth ground together as his smile hardened, darkened. The sharp lines of his jaw became more noticeable before he opened his mouth to speak. “No, you don’t.” He was answering both her question and the rhetorical one he would never voice her way: Do you want more from me than this?


Caligrace
Something told her to remain still as his thumb continued it’s motion across her cheek, as if he were a skittish animal primed to run if she moved too quickly. Her hands remained at her sides, even though they itched to reach out for him, to curl into his hair. She wanted to touch him, to close the distance between them, and yet - she remained perfectly still. In the past, she might have made that move, but not now - and for some reason, not with him. That alone confused her as much as everything else involving this man. Her hesitation spoke volumes to her - but she still didn’t pull away from him. She didn’t stop him. She waited until his touch fell away, and watched the shift in his expression. Running her tongue along her lower lip, she realized belatedly that her own smile had changed, disappearing beneath the confusion and confusing emotions she felt. She found herself waiting to hear what he said, wanting to know what he thought of her - of this, of them - but as much seemed to go with him, he didn’t answer. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” she heard herself reply, her gaze unwavering as she focused on the changes - the smirk that gave way to uncertainty, which finally landed on a dark smile that should make her uneasy, but it only fueled the conflicted array of emotions he arose within her.


Bjørn
Her response drew a chuckle from his throat. He worked his jaw as the clearing’s perimeter drew his attention. “I think,” he started, realising it’d be easier to segue than abruptly change topics, “That you need to work on your balance. Join a yoga class or something.” Much like a row of coulisse rolling into frame to block sight of the theatre’s backstage, Bjørn had figured out which cords to pull. Caligrace had glimpsed at multiple facets, but this—the home brand sarcasm Every and him both hid behind so tactfully—would be new, perhaps. Refreshing for him. There was no warmth to his teasing, no streak of the charm she brought out in him. This was who he was, and not the uncontrolled mess she'd managed to reduce him to.


Caligrace
And just like that, the spell was broken. She couldn’t quite control the change in her expression - the brief wince that came before the raise of her brow. Whatever softness had been in her eyes eased slightly as the fire lit inside. “I see,” was all she said at first - and then she took a step back, her arms coming to cross over her stomach. It was to be expected, she told herself, as she watched him. Being around him was like constantly suffering from whiplash, and it shouldn’t affect her, but it did - and it drove her mad that none of it appeared to be negative. He shifted from warm to sarcastic and distant in a matter of seconds, and still, she couldn’t shake the attraction. “I would think for my first attempt, my balance was decent. At least I didn’t end up on my *** again,” she muttered, fingers absently bunching her shirt up at her sides. “But, if you don’t think you’re up for the challenge of helping me with it, I guess I could go find a yoga instructor. I’ve heard great things about them helping with flexibility,” she said, her teasing grin back in place.


Bjørn
Bjørn licked his lower lip into his mouth, remaining stock still with his gaze focused on the clearing’s edge. His attention unwavering from where two foxes were rustling the brushwood, he cocked his head to the side. Left brow arching high, he unlocked his jaw, expression fleetingly thoughtful before going blank. Yoga. Yoga pants. Caligrace in yoga pants. His head tilted a little more, mind’s eye picturing the slant of her body in one of many ascribed poses. Blinking, he glanced down at her body, head still tilted to the left. His gaze swept upwards until he met her eye. When he did, he curved his lips down a la DeNiro, and shrugged. He held her stare for too long a second. “You need all the training you can get.” If he’d been determined, she would have never stood a chance. It vexed him however to know, on some level, that he would never be determined when it came to her. Everything in his life was a matter of constants, but she was slippery, a presence that roused contradictions he had neither the patience nor drive to deal with. “Give it a go, see how you go. And if the teacher’s hot, let me know.” At that, a darker, subtler version of the cheshire grin returned. The blade spun between his fingers as he lifted his arm. His head straightened as he downturned his gaze towards it. Then, without warning, he threw the blade across the clearing. It sunk into a tree’s trunk - as aimed. The nearby foxes scattered. That made him feel a bit better. At least some things in the world still worked like they should.


Caligrace
If there was any clarity to be had when she was in the presence of this man, now was the time for her to find it. She remained still as she watched him, the rustle of leaves not enough to distract her. The sound was a familiar one, though it had taken some getting used to when she started spending her nights alone here. It wasn’t enough to break her concentration, and so she noticed when he finally focused back on her. Perhaps she should have taken the chance to look away, because when his gaze swept across her body, she swore she could feel it as if it were his hands. Tightening her fingers into her shirt, the material inched higher on her torso, and she forced herself to relax her hold. When their eyes met, she was certain that hers reflected everything she was feeling inside, but she forced herself to not look away, even when he began to speak. “That’s fine with me,” she said, her voice not as strong as it normally was. There was a quiver, a touch of a bite, and then it was smoothing out, all sugar and no spice. “Oh, I’m sure he will be. I’ll be sure to send you a few pictures, though. Do you think I should do private sessions or a class?” Her question was posed as she finally loosened her hold on her shirt, arms lifting above her head to stretch her back out. She barely glanced to the knife, though the sound of it connecting with the tree caused her to jolt, a brow raising as she tried to pretend that it hadn’t happened. “That poor tree did nothing to you,” she said, her laugh light as she dropped her arms back to her sides after a second.


Bjørn
Surprisingly, the thought of it being a man instructor didn’t bother Bjørn that much. It wasn’t as if he’d lain any form of claim on her, and jealousy could only source from the fear of losing what one had. He had nothing beyond these moments with her, and these prescribed training sessions, yoga sessions—private or group—aside, were still going to take place. It was the commitment he’d made both to Caligrace and to Every. His words might have tasted a little bitter as they’d left his mouth, the bile sourced from the turmoil within, but they were truthful. All training helped. Training was exactly what they were here for and she’d claimed not to need a break. Folding his arms over his chest, hands tucking under his armpits once more, he took a step to the side. In doing so, the blade he’d handed her earlier and dropped mid-fight revealed itself to be between them. “Pick up the blade and try to knock mine down,” he instructed. “Easier to practice on a non-moving target.”


Caligrace
His lack of response should have spoken volumes, but she hardly thought twice about it. There was a second when she thought she was beginning to fit the pieces of his puzzle together, and then like it was struck with gale force wind, the image was obliterated. There wasn’t another man like him in the world, and she was surprised at how determined she was to crack his code, to get within his mind and see what he was truly about. His effect on her kept her off-balance, and she was starting to wonder if any kind of yoga would be beneficial. With him around, she would always be spinning out of control. Running her tongue along the edge of her teeth, she arched that brow again as he gave his order. Taking the steps needed to reach the blade, she bent down and swept it from the grass, her fingers curling comfortably around the hilt. She didn’t move to stand at his side, and instead stood in front of him, her eyes locked on the knife embedded in the tree. “Easier, maybe, but far less fulfilling,” she muttered, the words slipping off her tongue unbidden. She wasn’t thinking about striking him, no, not in the least. Tossing him an innocent smile over her shoulder, she turned back to her target and focused back on the knife before aiming. The blade slipped clumsily from her fingers, though the strength she’d put into it allowed it to fly the distance - just… still off the mark.


Bjørn
The telepath arched his brow but said nothing. He didn’t allow his gaze to linger as she reached for the blade, instead turning his attention to the tree. At her words he offered a toothless smile as insincere as he could muster. Still, he kept quiet, and waited for her to throw. Once she had, a fox scurried out from the underbrush where the knife landed. The corner of his mouth slanted upwards, “Great aim, Cruella. You looking to get a new coat this season?”


Caligrace
In that instant, she wished that looks could kill, because the glare she leveled on him should have caused him to drop dead at her feet. Her eyes narrowed, lips parting to make a comment, but she quickly snapped her mouth shut and made a sound akin to a growl. Instead, she headed for where the knife had landed, her anger ebbing as she crouched to peek beneath the brush, before scooping the knife up. It was only when she made it back to him that she put her smile in place, blew him a cheeky kiss, and then turned and took aim. This time, she was prepared for the weight, her fingers loosening at the last second. The knife flew through the air, and though it didn’t strike his - it hit the tree directly below, stuck for a second, and then fell to the ground.


Bjørn
He was quite proud of that one and it showed. Raising both brows, he said nothing else, instead watching her march off in the knife’s direction. When she returned, he remained quiet, his amusement a little more subtle. His gaze flitted from her back to her arm to the tree, following the blade as it whizzed through the air and landed not far from his. At least, it did for a while. “Aim’s good, strength’s what we need to work on,” he announced, already decided on how they’d do that. Knives, trees, and innocent foxes were hardly the answer. His smile softened as he thought of baseball, and having found a way to combine something he loved with something he’d…. come to love. Fighting wasn’t in his nature as a human, not the way it’d become so now, but he genuinely enjoyed the thrill of it. “Though next time we’ll meet back at mine instead.” There was a part of him that simply wanted to go sit on the clearing’s edge and play with the foxes, unwilling to have his presence associated with danger.


Caligrace
When she had thrown the blade, the frustration that had started to build within her ebbed away, leaving her feeling almost weightless. As he spoke, she ran her hand over her face, before her fingers tangled back into her hair. They were small signs, the way she constantly played with her hair or bit into her lip, things she didn’t even notice she did. Those fingers in her red strands twisted and delicately pulled, before dropping back to her side as she listened to him. His voice would always have an effect on her, it seemed, no matter what he was saying - or how he was saying it. Offering him a brief nod, she took a couple of steps towards the tree, before she paused and looked back at him. “Are you finished with me - or, I mean, training, then?” So caught in her thoughts had she had been, she’d managed to actually stammer over her words, which was unusual in itself.

[Caligrace]

Bjørn
Bjørn watched Caligrace go, curious as to whether she was going to try again. She was an eager learner—a fast one at that—and he half-expected her to keep practicing her throw. He’d have been content to keep watching her do that. They’d gotten a fair bit done already, and though there were gaps here and there, he was happy to leave it at that. Their training had started later than the last time. The early morning hours were quieter and stiller. He’d gone to work, showered, and was now here. Unless tragedy struck in between now and dawn, he had no qualms about spending more time here if it was welcomed. If the allurist had phrased things differently he might have said as much, but the accidental play on words and the tree framing her took him back to their first encounter. If anything, it highlighted where the line was now drawn; they’d crossed that particular stretch on that night. Shaking his head and shrugging—a perfect contradictory combination of where he stood on the matter, Bjørn found his words. “Training never ends, but we can call it a night,” He glanced up at the sky, Adam’s apple working along the long line of his throat as he added, tone uncertain. “I have no idea what time it is anyway.” That’d be one unfortunate strength training exercise for Caligrace, to cart his torpored *** indoors. Then again, he wasn’t sure whether she’d be just as content to leave him out to get a tan. He had no idea what she thought of him.


Caligrace
Torn for a moment between grabbing the knife and taking a seat, she stood in the spot she had paused, her fingers tapping anxiously against her thigh. The last time they had done this, there had been no question about her leaving. Tonight, though, there was no reason that either of them had to take off in a haste, and it left her uncertain. After a second, she finally moved, her direction changing to lead her to the bench where her phone was. With the grace she lacked during parts of their training, she dropped herself on the wooden seat and turned her phone on. While she waited for it to power up, she bent down to remove her boots - she actually preferred to not have shoes on when she was at the farm - and rubbed absently at the rosary bead tattoos that curved around her ankle before the cross was inked into the side of her foot. When the screen finally lit, she glanced down at the time and shrugged. “It’s not too late. We’ve got time,” she smiled, before moving back to her feet, her toes curling in the grass. “Unless you’ve got somewhere to be, you’re welcome to stay. I’m not heading in for a while. I've been trying to spend some time with the foxes. I haven't been here as much as I'd like to have been lately, and with Freyja gone..." Her words trailed off, and she didn't realize that her tone had gained a bit of bitterness as she spoke the words, her smile still warm and relaxed.


Bjørn
Bjørn went to salvage up the knife from the tree trunk once Caligrace changed course. He shooed away the fox that was sniffing around the second, fallen blade, and picked it up too. There was no point in leaving it behind for the animals to get hurt. The animals who, now that he was close enough and weapons weren’t flying, were taking an interest in his shins. When he dropped to his haunches in one fell swoop, they jumped back. It was easy for him to forget how big he was, especially to smaller creatures. The gentleness with which he approached them however more than made up for his intimidating presence. Stuffing the two blades into his hoodie’s pouch, he clicked his tongue and held both hands in their direction. As one fox plopped its head into his hand, he glanced back at Caligrace. We’ve got time. Bjørn didn’t know how much Every might have said about his sun-induced narcolepsy (or if they talked about him at all in fact) so he remained apprehensive about her meaning. He was about to ask for the precise time, but she kept speaking. The mention of Freyja had him looking back down at the foxes, his fingers scratching at the dried grass, making the dead leaves rustle. Bit of a lost cause, Every had called her. “Freyja as in your”—sire was still too awkward to say out-loud—“the person who made you…” It wasn’t a question. His next words were, albeit noticeably hesitant. “You said your turning was violent, in a club?”


Caligrace
Once she was standing again, she locked her fingers together and lifted her arms over her head, bending once to the side - before arching her back. She'd never admit it outloud - but her muscles ached more than she was used to, her back feeling tighter than she'd felt it in years. Every so often she would reach her hand up and curve her fingers around her shoulders, hoping to ease some of the tension that had settled there. Tracking his movements, she smiled when he dropped to a crouch and began to interact with the foxes. They seemed to accept him - some, more so than they had accepted her. For the moment, she chose to keep her distance as to not scare the few that had come to him away. Instead, she made her way to the middle of the clearing and eased herself into a seated position on the grass, hands behind her as she leaned back, legs crossed at the ankles. Her phone rested against her thigh, the device silenced, so when it went off - only the screen lit up. Ignoring the messages, she continued to watch him, her teeth abusing her lower lip. His question had surprised her - his interest, even moreso. She wasn't sure if she should answer, if he was really wanting to know, but the story seemed to want to be told. "Yeah," she started, gaze moving to the sky to study the moon, "I went there on a whim. I can't remember much of the before, but she cornered me in the bathroom. I don't know if you've ever seen her, but she's tall - strong. I was human, I didn't stand a chance,” she whispered, and glanced to him, then. “Do you want to know how?”


Bjørn
Bjørn’s brows knitted together. His fingers threaded through one fox’s thick pelt while the other continued to shake up the leaves, leading to his hand getting ambushed repeatedly. He shook his head when asked if he knew Freyja, though the woman remained elusive. Though he didn’t look over at Caligrace while she spoke, he was clearly paying attention. “If you want,” he replied, briefly glancing over his shoulder at her. Every had said that the allurist could use a sympathetic ear. It cost nothing to listen, if she wanted to share.


Caligrace
She had thought he’d have gone cold on her again, perhaps changed the subject - part of her wish he had, but that part wasn’t as strong as the side that wanted to be heard. She never spoke of that night, even as the nightmares ate her alive. She needed something to keep her hands busy - but for now, she remained as she was, fingers stretched in the grass behind her. “I was drugged the minute I walked in the door,” she began, her voice quiet as she seemed to go within herself, to the memories waiting. “I didn’t know it at the time, of course. I was stupid, naive. I took the drink without thinking twice, because I didn’t really want to be there. Liquid courage and all of that. It didn’t take long to **** me up,” she ran her tongue over her lower lip, her voice unsteady, now. “Like I said, I don’t remember much of the before - but I remember the during. I found her, in the bathroom. She had killed someone - and I remember apologizing for bothering her. That was when she snapped. Later on, I realized she thought I was someone else, someone she loved and lost. She moved so quickly - slammed me against the wall with such force, she broke my back. Then, she was throwing me across the bathroom, and that’s when my skull was cracked open.” Her voice caught, there, and she had moved to sit with her knees drawn to her chest, face buried in her arms and hidden from his view, though her words could still be heard. “She grabbed me again, and slammed my head against the mirror behind me, and I remember knowing I was dying, but I couldn’t do anything. I tried, somewhere in the midst of it, to fight back. I don’t remember the exact point, but in the end, it didn’t matter. My spine was severed, I was paralyzed, my skull was split open and practically shattered, my arms broken… and then, as if it wasn’t enough to just let me die, to leave me there, to leave me alone - she ripped out my throat.”


Bjørn
Bjørn’s hands stilled. The fox to his left barked—taunting him. His hand was nipped as he tried to shoo the animal away. In the end, he was so focused on her story that his hands mindlessly continued to move. He raked his fingers through the pelt of the fox straddling his crossed legs, unblinking gaze blind to the scene before him. It became clear now why she’d reacted so violently to the onslaught of his memories; they’d no doubt triggered the post-traumatic response anyone would have to such an ordeal. He found himself breathing in slow and steady, having stopped completely during the telling. Licking his lips, he blinked the clearing’s edge into focus and glanced down at the fox he was petting, its fur raised. Whatever conversation the two animals were having, it was very different from the one theirs. He prompted her to keep going, his voice raised as the foxes ‘ growled. “So she realised her mistake and gave you another chance?” The animal perched over his knee sprung forward at the other, the two disappearing in a tussle inside the bush. Taking the opportunity to shift his position, Bjørn dexterously pivoted so he’d face the inner circle of the clearing and Caligrace, sitting in its centre. He scooted backwards until his back pressed into the tree trunk, then crossed one ankle over the other.


Caligrace If she allowed herself to move, gave herself a chance to look up at him, to see his expression - he’d see the haunted look in her eyes. Reliving that night was harder than she thought, but she still kept her sanity about her, fingers digging into her arms. The sight of the woman that night was prominent in her mind, the ferocity in which she attacked her causing her body to tremble and ache, as if she were there again. When he spoke, his voice seemed to ground her, and she made a soft sound in her throat. “Not exactly,” she whispered, the taste of her blood on her tongue distracting her for a minute - as did the pain in her lip. Releasing the violent hold on it, she breathed deep and steadied herself. “She thought I was her ex-girlfriend, she was screaming about me never leaving her again,” she continued, her eyes falling shut as she tried to bring up the remaining memories. “That was the last thing I remember, to be honest, but she told me her side. I was a second away from death. She said she could hear my heart, and it was one beat from stopping forever - a second, a beat - was the difference between me dying there, and me being here now. Anyway,” she said, clearing her throat, “she thought I was Nine, and she was going to make sure that Nine never left her again. In that second, she turned me - or, in her mind, Nine. If she had realized in that second that I wasn’t Nine, she would have let me die.”


Bjørn
With his back pressed to the tree and the knife digging for dirt under nails, Bjørn’s full attention turned to her. He watched her as she spoke, his breathing shallow and slow, as if he could taste the air. Her blood didn’t elicit any strong reaction from him, but he could smell it. His gaze unwavering, nearly unblinking, the rest of the clearing fell away. His brow arched at the mention of girlfriend, but he ironed out his expression. When Caligrace stopped speaking, he rolled his tongue across the inside of his lower lip, tasting his words. There was no way to mince them, to sugarcoat them, so he said exactly what he thought: “She sounds like a psychotic *****.”


Caligrace
His comment made her choke on a laugh, the sound harsh, broken - and entirely unlike her. Only then did she lift her head, her skin stained with dried tears - which, she quickly began to wipe away. Her eyes never found him, and instead, she looked back to the sky. Hugging her knees tighter to her chest, her tongue working absently against her teeth before she spoke again. “After that, she kept me locked in Corvidae for months on end. I can’t remember how long, actually, that she refused to let me out. She kept bouncing between guilt, anger, depression. She wanted to protect me, to keep me shielded from the world, so I never got to really…” She stopped, then, her hands brushing across her jeans before she curled her fingers around her calves. “I don’t remember exactly when I finally took matters into my own hands and left, but I remember that I had absolutely no skill to defend myself. I didn’t want to eat - I was starving, a wreck, confused, and I depended on her. She made me dependent on her,” she whispered, her eyes dropping to finally - finally - look at him, the gold so dark - so lost. “I grew to love her - not in the way she wanted, maybe, but she became my best friend. My only friend, actually. The only one to never leave me -- well, until recently,” she shrugged.


Bjørn
Bjørn hummed wordlessly, just short of agreement. His attention dropped back to the hunting knife as he switched it from one hand to the next. He gave it a twirl then restarted the same nail treatment on his opposite hand. He thought back to Elliot Lancaster. Elliot’s departure for Australia had been abrupt, leaving a void in the young telepath’s live. The challenges subsequently faced in the man’s absence became a steep learning curve, but he’d come out the other end with more to show for it than he’d have otherwise. Licking his lips, he began to recite in Norwegian, voice quiet: “Millom Bakkar og Berg ut med Havet, heve Nordmannen fenget sin Heim. Der han sjølv heve Tufterna gravet, og sett sjølv sine Hus uppaa deim....” He glanced up, though his gaze was unfocused, looking past her shoulder at the opposite edge of the clearing. Norwegians were resilient by nature, and the poem he was quoting was a national favourite by one of Norway’s most beloved authors. His hands stilled, head tilting slightly as he continued, clearly at ease. Melancholy, sadness… they crept into his voice, though he didn’t waver. He missed home. The sting only hurt more when he realised all this might have been avoided had he not taken his family for granted and gone to them for Christmas rather than take a trip north with the boys. And yet, the poem about adversity—an ode to the resilience of the vikings and those that’d come afore them, also gave him the strength he needed to face that pain. “It’s about adversity,” he said after a beat, taking a moment’s pause after finishing, needing to feel the weight of it fully settle around him like an unseen cape. “By Ivar Aasen. It’s about how harsh life in Norway can be, but how it’s also the most beautiful place one ever did see.” He chuckled, the smile he flashed her sad, but quick to morph into his signature smirk: “Life will kill you, but we’ve survived it. **** Freyja, and anyone that fucks with you, basically.”


Caligrace
The memories fading from her mind, she was finally able to ease back into herself. The uneasiness and fear that had crept into her veins gave way to warmth, and when he started to speak, the words unknown to her - but still beautiful - she relaxed. Slipping her legs from that bent position, she allowed them to straighten out in front of her, fingers finding their way back to the earth beneath her. When he spoke, she didn’t feel the need to protect herself - the way she’d curled in on herself having been an unspoken defense. Her gaze was unwavering as she watched him, the shadows slowly ebbing from her eyes. When he spoke in that tongue, she felt as if he were weaving a web, and she was ensnared. It was a language she had never learned - and rarely heard, if ever - but she could feel the emotions in the way he spoke the words, and that was all that mattered. As it finally came to an end and he began to explain it, she filed away the author’s name for later. It took a moment to find her voice, and when she did, it was still soft - but that lightness that was so irrevocably her had started to return. "I've never been, but now, I think I'll have to remedy that," she said quietly, her fingers idly toying with a blade of grass she'd pulled free. His last words - well, she let them settle silently in her mind as she smiled, though she offered no verbal response. Her look would have said it all - he'd managed to find her in the darkness, his words alone bringing her back to the surface - and for that, she was grateful. **** them all, indeed.



Bjørn
The idea of travelling set alight something in his soul that had long gone cold. Norway, New York, Texas… Oh the places he longed to see again and the people he’d loved to speak to again. His head dropped at the thought, the blade lodging itself back under one nail to scrape at the dirt. Something sharp twisted within him too, a vice that bit into the softness he harboured so protectively beneath all the dented layers. Bjørn swallowed around the knot in his throat, then licked his lips and looked up at her. The smile he gave was toothless and didn’t reach his eyes, but it was genuine and exhausted. He held her gaze for many seconds, expression blank but open, and then spoke: “I should go.”


Caligrace
For a moment, she still didn’t speak. She remained where she was sitting, her posture relaxed, her eyes searching his - before she finally cleared her throat. “It is getting late,” she said, before tilting her head, “or is it early? I can never really tell.” With that, she was moving to her feet, her phone sliding into her back pocket as she dusted off her jeans. Time with him seemed to stand still, and had he not said anything, she might have remained seated in the center of the field as the sun broke the clouds. While it might not necessarily hurt her - she hadn’t been eager to test the power she’d come into - she wasn’t sure what it would do to the telepath across from her. The thought of him burning - no, as much as she was reluctant to end their time together, she would never risk that. Without a thought, she walked towards him and smiled down at him as she offered her hand. She knew he didn’t need her help, he had proven a thousand times over he was more than capable, but it didn’t stop her from offering it nonetheless.


Bjørn
Late, early… All Bjørn knew was that as soon as the sky began to lighten he had a matter of minutes to get himself to a safe place. Mastering tome-making had given him all the insurance he needed, though even if tucking the book into his front pocket had long become habit, there were nights when he forgot it. Tonight—this morning—he’d have to settle on walking, his pockets empty save for the hoodie’s pouch. Retrieving the second knife from it, the telepath prepared to stand when Caligrace extended her hand towards him. He arched a brow at her, clearly amused, but said nothing as he clasped it not too gently. To stop her from toppling into him or from falling flat on his ***, he pressed his back into the tree and used his legs to shift his weight. It wasn’t as graceful as it’d have been had he not had to keep himself from tripping into her. “Thanks.” He released her hand as soon as he towered over her, and walked towards the benches. The half dozen knives still on the bench were placed into his backpack, a glance spared her way, “I thought of leaving these for your to train, but the itty bitty woodland creature committee shouldn’t be put through that hardship.”


Caligrace
He always managed to surprise her - and when he took her offered hand, it was no different. The firmness of his hold didn’t bother her, and as soon as he was standing, she stepped back, her hands slipping into the back pocket of her jeans. She was exhausted, and it was beginning to show in her eyes and the way she moved. That didn’t deter her from following him to the bench, her brow arched as he started to pack up. “You know, one day, you might regret poking such fun at me,” she grinned, before bending down to slip her boots on. Once they were in place, she picked up the switchblade that had fallen free and slipped it into her front pocket.


Bjørn
Shrugging the jacket over his forearm and the backpack onto his left shoulder, Bjørn feigned serious consideration. He was only partially set on selling the act as he said, “Yeah, no, I”—he sucked air in through clenched teeth—“I’m going to disagree with you there. But I would be sad to see Fin go.” Cheshire grin creeping onto his features, he began to walk backwards, watching her pocket the blade.


Caligrace
“You do understand how maddening you are,” she retorted, her brow still arched as she gathered up her hair and pulled the tie from her wrist to secure it in a messy bun. Her eyes were alight with amusement as she glanced past him to the tree-line, where the faint rustling of leaves began to pick up, and shook her head. “I guess I know if Fin goes missing from my room tonight, I know where to look,” she laughed, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. It seemed no matter what she did, her hair refused to stay fully captured.


Bjørn
It was sheer dumb luck that had his mouth clamping down on the stupid before it came out. It’d have been far too easy. Turning his back to her to avoid any accidents, he raked a hand through his hair. It was getting longer than ever before, and he only tied off the top into a bun when he was alone. Robbie had made sure of that, the sound of her laughter still ringing in his reddened ears. Pushing it out of his face, he glanced over his shoulder. “Thursday, same time?”


Caligrace
Falling into step beside him - as well as she could with her shorter stride - she took a moment to glance between the trees as they walked. It was quiet - peaceful, even - but there was something unnerving about her being there by herself. The grounds were too large, the farmhouse too empty, too exposed. The thought of someone -- knock it off. “That sounds fine,” she responded automatically, not even bothering to consider her schedule. Anything else could wait until the next day.


Bjørn
“‘kay,” he responded, hooking his thumb into the strap of the backpack. “I’ll see you at mine. Though”—he glanced down at her feet—“Wear tennis shoes instead.” Bjørn understood her desire to train in what she was accustomed wearing, but he wouldn’t risk rolled ankles. “Heels considered though, you did good today.” With the gate nearing, he held out his fist. “Pound it.”


Caligrace
They neared the end of the path, the farmhouse coming into view on one side - and the exit on the other. Her brow arched as he spoke, lips twitching into a frown as her nose wrinkled in just the slightest to show her displeasure at his request. She was beginning to think he had a problem with her wearing heels in general, though she couldn’t quite figure out why. Maybe she’d ask him one day - or just show up in heels regardless. When his hand lifted, fingers curled into a fist, she blinked. “I -- right,” she said slowly, and mimed his actions, though it was clear that she was far from comfortable with it. However, her smile returned, brilliant and warm, and she tipped her head to her house. “I’m going to go take a hot bath and try to get some reading in before I crash, so I’ll see you Thursday.”

[Bjorn]

Bjørn
That was… awkward. Like everything else though, they’d work on it. Dropping his hand, Bjørn jutted his chin out, silently acknowledging her words. He resolutely did not think about the image they painted. No, he focused on just how long he had left to get himself sorted before daylight knocked him out cold until dusk. Turning towards the gates, the telepath made for the exit. Halfway past the gates, he turned a full 180 degrees, taking two steps backwards before coming full circle and continuing into the night. Somehow it felt all very anticlimactic, but he couldn’t quite figure out why.