crimson flash .

"I'm sure-- why? Do you not want to?" While she and Marisa had never been extremely close, Eirika still saw her as a trusted ally-- someone she wished to call a friend. "I have no intention of forcing you to play games you don't want to play." 'I'm no child,' she wants to say, but she holds her tongue.

Which is only kind of true. She doesn't want to do much of anything. Blame it on her upbringing or her line of work or just genetics; Marisa boasts a rather impressive inclination to follow instructions. If Eirika wants to, and Eirika wants her to, then she will. Not like she has anywhere much better to be.

What she doesn't say, of course, is that she would prefer a game with less text and considerably more sword, but it really isn't that serious.

"Uh..." She thumbs through her cards, frowns, thumbs some more, and then sets one down rather unceremoniously between them. "I play... this."

"I can only do so much... I at least helped those who were missing sleep... i think they may still be sleeping.." She had felt bad for them! So she offered those who wanted a safe place to sleep to stay in the infirmary "It was hard to find someone to help so... I'm very very grateful!" she meant it.

She turns down a corner, following the minimal instructions they had to work with. Gaze diligently to the floor boards, it takes hardly another minute of walking to spot their target: a rather normal looking hole, for likely rather normal rats.

He could not say, necessarily, that it was a point of pride, but more a matter of fact; he had survived worse than this, and if they wanted to break his composure, then they might need to exercise him with something rougher than a nice morning jog.

So, he ran. The tilt of his mouth was not quite a smirk, but neither could he claim that it was entirely in earnest, either.

One minute, huh? Well, it was easier to move without the set of armor, regardless of the piecemeal of his uniform, and Dimitri took off into the mist at a hearty pace, vaulting himself easily over whatever fallen logs or cracks in the earth might have stood in his way.

He did not turn back, as such, but he did begin to veer his course, just so.

He would never presume to make the hunter hunted - it was he attending this seminar, not the other way around - but…

On one, she assumes the speed for which she has been named.

To chase him is easy, she is built for the deft speed of sword fighting and has dedicated a lifetime to honing it. Were the matter so simple, she doesn't doubt that this may be over and done with before lunch.

She realizes in moments that she had underestimated him, watching beneath her feet as the trail of crushed leaves and snapped twigs disappears over a rather large stump and does not reappear.

Marisa may be fast, but she's no hunter. As she skirts around it, eyes darting in every cardinal direction as though waiting for an arrow to appear before one, her body tenses.

Crack- Her head snaps west and she wastes no time bolting after the sound. Metal sings as her blade is drawn in preparation for their training to begin in earnest. She rounds another corner, heartbeat loud in her ears, and watches as a young deer bounds away from a fallen branch.

So she is.

Marisa skirts a glance at her companion, looking away just as quickly. Were she a more suspicious woman, she might think that this is all some elaborate joke. Rats stealing instruments, playing them, and that somehow having to do with a bunch of disappearances?

And she's investigating them with... a squirrel?

But, again, it's a job. And it is her job. So it is what it is.

"You, uh, seen them take someone?" Hard to imagine a rat kidnapping somebody, but it's also hard to imagine one playing a tuba. So it's probably just a her thing, since evidently one of those was possible. "Or is it more of a guess?"

It was just an excuse to hang out with Marisa again, a woman he’s come to admire like a second big sister. She wasn’t the most.. talkative, but he still appreciated her company. He just kind of signed up without reading what the mission exactly was! Fate must’ve been cruel for them to be put on a ghost hunting mission, of all things…

"We'll be fine." Though she's not sure she wants to know what Tethys would have to say if Marisa let her little brother become some animal's evening snack. And she would like to avoid being at the other's mercy ever if at all possible.

Marisa sighs.

"Come on, then."

She doesn't wait for his answer, striding towards the tree line without so much as making sure that he's following. He's old enough to fend for himself, anyway. What was he now? Older than ten, definitely, and she's pretty sure most people have killed at least a coyote by that age.

It felt like a small festival. Several boulders ranging in size were set up all across the courtyard. Participants, burly and meek, were already giving these stones the good ol’ one-two. A mixture of dust and BO overwhelmed the nostrils, like a pot roast if all the ingredients were moldy and rotten.

But what shined through even more was the determination to absolutely curb whatever rock was sitting in front of them. 

He wouldn’t say this was his first idea when it came to catching up with his long time partner, but it’d make do. Marisa was oddly inspired to punch rocks, and Joshua wasn’t one to turn down The Crimson Flash’s interests. 

“So… you… punch rocks often?” Despite the fact that Marisa had been his sword for so long, he figured this kind of thing would’ve come up. Perhaps there’s a reason she doesn’t bring it up. It’s best not to think too much though, as he grabs a pair of steel gauntlets.

Straps tighten, leather already chafes against his bare forearms. “Or do you just like watching these guys break their knuckles on some slab of bedrock?” A gentle yet firm jab to her elbow before walking over to a vacant space, sizing up the rock before him. Was he really gonna do this?

A punch that reverberates through Joshua’s core, plated knuckle meeting stone with no purpose aside from pure, unadulterated, carnal desire to break this rock.

Marisa watches, wholly unimpressed, as her liege straps himself up for what may just be the stupidest thing she has ever heard of. He knocks an elbow against her, which earns nothing more than a huff from her.

And then he does it, a man of his word as always. She sighs.

"I wasn't the one who suggested this," she reminds with a pointed look before reaching for a pair of gauntlets for herself. To the blade there was a certain elegance, a required balance and speed that crafted an art of its violence.

To the fist there is brute strength, and Marisa has never exactly prided herself on such a trait. But if Joshua wished to make a challenge of it, who was she to argue with her prince? Him and all his thousand stupid whims.

Sometimes she's not so sure why she agreed to do this for the rest of her life.

Fingers flex, shoddy iron and old leather creaking as she inspects them. If she's going to break something, they certainly won't help. Whether that something is a rock or a bone. She raises her right hand.

Nothing happens. As she shakes out her fist, grimacing, the rock stares back unscathed.

in the silence, tethys picks up on the swordswoman's measured breaths, noting how they seem to rhythmically match the cadence of her blade work.

impressive as always.

she waits until marisa comes to a halt. then, with a faint smile, the dancer peels herself away from the pillar and draws close.

"imagine that! the crimson flash finally sets down her swords," tethys says, tossing her braid over her shoulder. she winks. "now that you're finished for the day, why don't you walk with me? there's something i'd like to discuss."

Marisa casts a glance over her shoulder, hand still hovering over a hilt, eternally ready to draw. Crimson meets her gaze instead, and familiarity settles over her shoulders like the dancer's own silks. As relaxed as she has perhaps ever appeared, her hand falls away from the sword.

"Tethys," she greets, pivoting to face her then. The other leaves no room for question of when she got here or why, which Marisa is fine with. In fact, she hadn't really been looking forward to asking.

There's a tradeoff, however. A suspicious brow quirks, but she nods anyway. Discussions with Tethys were dangerous things-- often spent red-faced and impossible to escape-- but Marisa has yet to turn down a single one.

The two swordfighters take the measure of one another, pacing slowly. The audience crowds around them, but despite this and the fact that Ayra's weapon — a sickle — is meant to show them the importance of good technique, she forgets all about them. Nothing matters but the opponent in front of her. "I would be insulted if you held back."

The other woman strikes at her in a flash, with admittedly impressive speed for (she assumes) someone who lacks Holy Blood. Oh, this is going to be a challenge indeed, and she would not want it any other way. The cut across her leg bleeds, and she smiles for the first time since coming here.

Rather than close the distance as she would usually have, the princess uses her opponent's retreat to her advantage and stays far from her instead. A weapon as unconventional as this adds to the challenge, so she ought to wield it the way it's intended.

Ayra 8/10 HP hits Marisa 10/10 HP with Throwing Sickle at range! Bonus hit does not proc! [Rolls: 9 and 3, -1 HP, Marisa 9/10 HP]

A unique weapon for a fight like this, she thinks. It is only for a matter of seconds that it leaves the other woman unarmed, but seconds are all that Marisa needs.

Her weight settles itself again, muscle shifting as a lifetime of memory has taught it to. Fingers flex, wearing themselves into the grip on her sword, and she exhales

Marisa [9/10HP] hits Ayra [8/10HP] with Killing edge! [Roll: 10; -1HP; Ayra 7/10HP]

The woman that opposes her looks no less out of place with a blade in hand than Marisa feels. This is meant to be a lesson for those around them, but it will be one for her too the way that every battle is. A formidable opponent only serves to make the experience more interesting.

They pace a slow circle across from one another. She can make only the simplest of observations-- which hand her opponent may favor, what foot she leads with-- but they are enough. Marisa cocks her head. "Don't expect me to go easy on you."

And then she becomes her namesake, darting forward in a blur of incarnadine and silver.

Marisa [10/10HP] critically hits Ayra [10/10HP] with Killing Edge! [Roll: 17; -2HP; Ayra 8/10]

Momentum carries her strike along the entirety of her blade's edge and she allows herself to follow it, ducking past the other's reach. Sand kicks up in her wake, still settling as she skids to a halt. Her weight shifts, settling back to center with ease. A few stray cheers have risen from their audience, and Marisa diligently pretends not to hear.

An ugly one, but one nonetheless. Marisa crosses her arms as she peers up at it, though no matter how hard she squints it gets no easier to make out what it's supposed to be. An animal, maybe-- there look to be feathers chiseled in random places-- but the silhouette would speak to something more human.

But she doesn't really care, so she turns her back to it with disinterest.

It'll be an easy night. Ghost stories rarely have merit to them any more than some stray cat, and even then Marisa has faced monsters enough not to be too worried about the potential of one. This is a killing job the same as any other, just with a whole lot of extra nonsense shoveled on top of it.

"Sun's about to set," she casts a glace at Ewan. It would be hard to have called him her first choice for something like this, but it'll be fine. At least there will be someone to name whatever stray animal they find that's been tormenting these people.

"I'm going to check the woods. You stay here. I won't be long."

Not that she's complaining. There are far worse things, anyway.

One hand on her sword and the other holding a somewhat tattered piece of paper, Marisa stands at the start of the tree line. Seminar had suggested that there would be more than one boy in attendance, and watery sunlight begins to creep over the horizon her hope that someone else might show wanes to none.

Well. She clears her throat, lifts her paper, and squints for a moment. "Uh. Good morning, this is a training meant t-" Her voice is mechanical and unnatural as she reads, and perhaps it would've been bearable with a crowd, but... "Oh, whatever."

The paper crumples in her hand, is shoved rather unceremoniously into a pocket, and Marisa unsheathes her sword.

"You get a one minute head start." She taps the hilt of her blade. "Start running."

Already she regrets agreeing to this.

"Princess..." She doesn't look up at Eirika as she speaks, still squinting to make out faded words against their too-bright backgrounds. "You're sure this is the game you want to play?"

It had been wishful thinking to assume that the other's invitation would have implied a proper sparring match, which Marisa only realizes now that she cannot back out. Well, she could, but she's not in the habit of disrespecting nobility.

Unfortunately.

She thumbs past another card, disinterested. The worst part of all these words is that none of them matter. 'Support' this and 'strategy' that... She moves to the next.

"Ladies first, then."