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Who: Clara & D'Artagnan
Where: Vague outdoor area
When: Vagueish sometime this weekend
Rating:PG?
Summary: Clara is curious about sword fighting so she gets herself a lesson.
The Story:

After their first meeting, Clara feels secure in the fact that D'Artagnan will teach her a bit about how to handle a sword. She's not all that fond of weapons and never has necessarily had a particular interest in them before, but she likes having ways to occupy her time and with some of the warnings others have given her she thinks it's a good idea to at least be prepared. So she arranges a time for him to meet up with her outside, and ignores the little voice in the back of her head that tells her this could end in disaster.

She arrives early to their meeting spot and gives herself time to sort out her uncertainties. She doubts he'd let her hurt herself, and even if she did, it would only be a scratch or two. But still, she feels ridiculous for just so eagerly leaping at the chance to get her hands all over a sword. She tells herself that it's not just a way to pass the time, that it's also educational, and that makes her feel a little better about it. She probably shouldn't have worn a dress to do this, now that she thinks about it, but she wears one to everything else so this shouldn't be an exception.

By the time he arrives, she's entirely relaxed about the whole thing, and is found leaning up against a tree with her arms crossed over her chest. She can handle this, no problem. She's got everything under control.

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D'Artagnan arrives with two swords, one much duller than the other. That's Clara's. (He's not stupid, you know. At least not about this.) He would have brought the wooden training ones, but figured that may have been a bit patronizing. He spots her leaning against the tree and grins at her, making his way over.

"Hello again," he says, ducking under a low branch. He's secretly glad there's nothing for her to push him into anywhere around. Teaching her to fight while wet would be mildly annoying.

"Are you ready to learn about swordfighting?" He gives her a big grin as he says it, trying to make her laugh.

"Ready as I'll ever be." She retorts with a smile, pushing herself off of her spot against the tree. She waits until he's in a bit closer before sizing up the two swords he's brought with him, and takes quick notice that one is quite clearly duller than the other. A training sword, she realizes, thinking that's smart of him. It puts her a little more at ease about poking out an eye or scratching up his face, or something equally awful.

"Are you ready for a student?" She says this with a tone that sounds a bit like she might doubt his capabilities, but the smile on her face is proof enough she's just trying to wind him up some.

She's standing at his side, hand cautiously reaching out to take hold of the blade she knows is hers to use. "Also. Second sword. Where'd you get it?"

They won't even be standing across from one another this time around, so she shouldn't worry about hurting him. Besides, the chances that he'd be able to deflect anything she throws at him are very high. He's a King's Musketeer, after all.

"Only if the student is you. You didn't bring a friend along, did you?" He smiles at her, teasing. He takes both of the swords, though, and lays his own on the ground, holding up the training sword.

"I got this from the closets. They're like the cabinets in the kitchen. Very useful."

"Don't see anyone else. Just us." It's murmured as she reaches over to take hold of the training sword, ignoring the fact that his hand is on it as well. She looks down at the blade of hers, then glances down at the ground to once again compare it to his. She really wonders how long he trained, to be able to use it so well that he's able to just carry it around all day like it's nothing at all.

"So, not very reassuring that just anyone can reach right on in and pull out a weapon." She frowns in concern, head tipping off to the side as she glances up at him. "No wonder you walk around with yours all the time!"

It's not a terribly heavy thing, maybe around three or four pounds, but still, the first few weeks that he trained with it, he woke up with a sore arm every morning. It's easy enough to adjust to, though, if you're dedicated. And he was. Dedicated. (Kind of obsessed, really.)

"I suppose not, but I don't see how that's different than making a weapon out of a chair. And the closets are temperamental, you know. Sometimes it doesn't work." He shrugs, and moves the sword so the blade is in one hand and the hilt in another.

"First I'll have to explain the parts to you. Don't want you wandering around, trying to stab peole without a basic understanding of what you're doing."

"Aren't the parts just hilt and blade? One end's safe to hold, the other clearly isn't." She's joking, mostly, and smiles down at the sword. It's a perfectly wonderful and shiny little training sword, one that's safe and perfect for her to practice with. She feels lucky in that moment, to have a friend here that's willing to do this for her. She thinks she'll have to find a way to give him a proper thanks later, when they're not supposed to be so serious and focused.

"And even if I didn't know that, I'm very aware of all kinds of ways to not stab people. You can trust me, I'm not entirely hopeless."

"I do trust you." He shrugs after he says it. They wouldn't be here if he didn't trust her. He's not reckless enough to teach someone how to use a sword who isn't ready to use it. And he has a sixth sense about these things.

He raises an eyebrow at her anyway, though. "And yes, this is the hilt," he motions to it, "and this is the blade. This is the hand guard, so your hand doesn't get cut. Of course, if you grab a blade, there's no telling what will happen. See?" He shows her his own palm, and the long, thin white scar running across it.

"Why would you grab a blade?" She can think of potential fighting situations where it's unavoidable, but in her mind D'Artagnan seems too young and in good spirits to have seen too many terrible fights. But even still, she runs a finger along the scar on his palm.

"Probably a stupid question, but did it hurt? For very long. Obviously it did at first."

Her touch sends a tickle up his arm, and he shakes it off, returning his hand to its place at his side. He pauses before answering.

"Ah, one of my more dramatic moments. I was on the ledge of a church roof, and it was either grab the blade and stay alive, or..." You can guess the rest, Clara.

"And no, it didn't hurt until much later. When the shock had worn off, I think."

"That's incredibly brave. And only a bit mad. Okay, maybe more than just a bit." It's mostly teasing, meant to lighten the mood some. She brings a hand up to her mouth as she clears her throat, falling back into learning mode.

"So! Other than not grabbing the blade, what's the most important thing to remember?"

Yes, it's like he's a real hero and everything! He'd brag about it some more, but she asked a question, so he should probably answer it.

"Never point your sword at someone unless you intend to fight them. They're very dangerous, and they aren't like modern firearms that have ah... what are they called? The safety switch that keeps them from firing accidentally." He read about those in a book. He's so cultured.

"In any case, challenging someone to a fight is very dangerous, and an easy way to get yourself maimed."

"Right, so don't challenge you to a fight until after a third lesson." She makes sure she takes hold of the training sword at that point, and holds it in a way that feels comfortable. It's not the right way to hold a sword though, and she instantly realizes it, so she turns her hand this way and that until she finds the best grip.

From there, she gently turns her wrist to the right and then the left, getting a feel for it. It's heavier than she assumed it'd be, but not something that's impossible to work with.

"Standing. What's the proper way?"

"Ah, a moment," he says, and takes the sword gently from her hands, placing it on the ground next to his own. He straightens again and stands next to her, assuming the en garde position.

"This is what you'll start in. Do you know what it's called?"

She looks him over, and takes on the same position he's in, her mind racing as it tries to figure out what it could be called. She has no idea, but that isn't going to stop her from trying.

"Starting...position?" She gestures with one of her hand, a motion that says she's fishing for an answer that might be right. She pulls a slightly confused face as she looks up at him, trying to better perfect the position of her feet and her body in general.

D'Artagnan laughs, and puts his hands on her shoulders, adjusting her gently. He returns to his own position, and sticks his arm out, as if holding a sword.

"It's called en garde," he tells her, "and from here, you can move any way you'd like, depending on your opponent."

"En garde. Oh! Right, I knew that." Or she's heard of the term, anyway. As a last thought, she sticks her arm out like his, pretending to hold a sword of her own. Her arm moves as if she's attempting to fight him with an invisible weapon, and turns to shuffle move her way forward toward him, staying in the position as best as possible.

Yeah, she's got this. Not a problem at all.

"Okay, opponent. Your move. I react depending on you."

"Ah, yes," he says, laughing a bit at her sad attempts at shuffling. He drops his arm and readjusts his position.

"To attack, you'll move like this," he tells her, shuffling forward in a way that's almost completely different than she tried, "And to go back, you do this," again demonstrating. "And left, and right."

He stops and stands in front of her, smiling. "We'll try it like it's a dance, yes?"

"Are you asking me to dance?" She softly laughs, nodding in response. She can see how it's easier to think of it all like a big dance, learning the footwork to use when your partner moves one way or the other. It helps make more sense out of it, to think of it like that.

"I don't know if I'm very good at dancing, though." She never really has done a lot of dancing, but she assumes that she's coordinated enough that she won't be terrible at it. And if it helps her learn how to do this sword fighting thing a bit better, then it's worth looking a little ridiculous.

"You lead. I'll follow."

"No. If I were, you'd know it." Besides, he doesn't know any of the dances from after the year 1625. He'd just embarrass himself. Which Clara would probably enjoy, but he wouldn't.

"Just watch me first, then," he says, and then shuffles forward, and back, steps in front of his left foot with his right, and then behind his right foot with his left. He doesn't go very far, but his feet move quite a bit.

"Do you want me to show you again?"

She watches his feet as he moves, and then makes a first attempt at copying them while staying in place. And then she moves forward just a bit, and is able to replicate his motions well enough. So she tips her head down to watch her feet and she shuffles forward entirely, only to end up bumping her forehead right into him.

Her hand goes to her head, despite it not hurting at all, and she looks up at him. "Think I got it, actually. It could use some work, but I'm not entirely hopeless." A pause, and she frowns, glancing back down at her feet. "Am I?"

He grabs her shoulders as she bumps into him-- a careless reflex that isn't meant to do anything other than keep them from running into each other fully. They're gone in a moment. He shrugs at her question.

"No one's completely hopeless, so no, you're not. You're doing quite well. We'll practice it a few more times just for fun though."

"For fun." She agrees, looking back up so she can launch back into the footwork he's taught her. She expects him to move along with her this time, so they can turn it into a dance of sorts. One where she's not used to giving up the lead to anyone, and she probably looks ridiculous. But she's determined to figure this out and do it properly.

Yes, for fun. And to record them into her muscle memory. D'Artagnan can name any number of times when he's been in a fight and just known what to do because he'd practiced it so often. You don't even really know how to fight if you know how to move your feet. He won't tell her that, of course. No need to give her an excuse for sloppiness.

Not that she'd be sloppy but-- oh, whatever. When she starts up again he moves with her, changing it up sometimes, just to see if she'll follow.

"You're doing very well."

"Am I?" She's smiling, even while she's deep in concentration, making sure she keeps up with any changes he makes. "I think this is normally the part where people say they have a good teacher," She falls silent for a moment, glancing back down at her feet to make sure they're doing things properly.

"I'm not sure you need the boost to your ego."

D'Artagnan makes an affronted sound, but doesn't actually mind much, because she said it, didn't she? That he's a good teacher. Even if she didn't say it about him specifically. She said it in that way that Clara says all things. It's fine. He knows you, Clara. He's got your number now!

So, he smiles. "Yes, but I thank you for the boost nonetheless."

"In that case, you're welcome." She softly laughs, glancing up from her feet to look at him. She is doing good, at least as good as it can get when it comes to foot work, and so she pauses and glances back in the direction of the swords.

"Can we try it with the real thing now?"

D'Artagnan makes an appraising face. She does have the footwork down pretty well, but he'll have to teach her how to move the sword properly, which he was going to save for another day. But the footwork didn't take too long, so he supposes he can indulge her.

"Yes, but--" He holds up a finger. "You'll be very careful and listen to what I tell you, yes?"

She gives him a slightly scathing look, one that clearly says she'll be careful and listen within reason. "Oh, you're going to enjoy this a little too much, aren't you?"

She reaches out to take hold of his finger and gives it a slight squeeze, and then makes her way on over to where he's left the swords, dragging him along after her.

He's not going to abuse any power he may ~~or may not~~ hold over her as her instructor, because that would be rude. And it'd lose her trust, and then he wouldn't be able to teach her and it'd all be very bad.

"I don't know, I may not enjoy it at all," he says as he's tugged along with her. He picks up his sword and waits for her to gather hers.

"All right, stand to my right, but at least four feet away, all right?" He doesn't want to knick you with the sword.

Yes, the last thing Clara needs is a cut across her face for standing too close to the sharp end of a sword. So she listens well and stands a good distance away, and brings her sword up as she takes on the position he's taught her. It feels awkward and clumsy, but she knows she'll pick it up in no time, with enough practice.

"I'm ready." She informs him, a very confident smirk on her face. "Sir." She adds on, just to rub at him for being her teacher and saying he won't enjoy this at all. She'll make him eat those words.

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