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[Nkemi pezre Nkese]

Early Morning, Dentis 8, 2719
Seventen Training Grounds, Uptown

May I rotate in?” Nkemi asked with a bright smile and a slight bow.

She had stood on the edge of the training square for some time, watching the training matches taking place. The sun had crept up over the edges of the compound walls, pale and watery through the clouds. It was not so cold as it had been, but still very cold.

Nkemi’s feet, bare and callused in well-laced sandals, felt it the worst, but the breeze that skipped over the packed dirt floor and whistled through the grounds had cut straight through the thin linen of her pants and shirt. She had solved the problem with a thick, quilted training jacket, which puffed her out to nearly twice her size, and went down to the middle of her thighs, meant to help the wearer withstand blows, which she had wrapped around herself and tied with a length of rope. She had at least had the sense to wrap a scarf around her head, the vivid yellow bright and spirit-lifting, as well as warm.

The four men who had been working in all turned to her. The latest bout had ended, and the mock-assailant, with a wooden knife still in his hand, had been the victor; the man he had beaten was sitting on the ground still, one hand rubbing the spot on his shoulder. They all wore the same green pants, which Nkemi understood to be the uniform pants of the Seventen, and more casual garments on their upper body, by Anaxi standards. Three were redheads, and the fourth blond; all had the exceptionally pale skin of Anaxi, freckled.

“Are you lost, Miss?” One of the men asked with a friendly smile.

“No,” Nkemi said, looking between them, chin tilted up. “I don’t think so.”

“You’re one of the Mugrobi lasses, aren’t you?” The man with the knife grinned at her, friendly as well. “One of the prefects of Thul Ka,” he said to the other man.

There was a surprised grin on one face, and a faint snort from the man on the ground. Nkemi supposed his ego had been bruised, as well as his shoulder.

“Yes,” Nkemi swept a more proper bow. “Junior subprefect Nkemi pezre Nkese,” she said, brightly. “Of the Windward Market District of Thul Ka,” she straightened, drawing herself up to the fullness of her height.

“Welcome to Vienda,” the man who had known her bowed as well; there was a rustling, and his colleagues joined him, even the man on the ground rising to respond the greeting. There was a series of introductions, then, and strange foreign Anaxi names; Nkemi did her best to keep track of them, brow furrowed. She had known Anaxi, mostly members of the AAF who found work in Thul Ka, but she had never quite sorted their strange habit of naming, and the sounds seemed to her to blur together.

“The ladies train over there,” the gentleman continued with a smile, gesturing politely with one hand. Nkemi thought his name was something like Nethenielle, but she could not be quite sure.

Nkemi blinked. She glanced back over her shoulder, where he had pointed. “I see,” Nkemi said, understanding what was unspoken as well. “Thank you very much.” She smiled brightly at them, bowed once more, setting off a flurry among them, and turned and made her way across the training yard.

Nkemi kept her chin up, navigating through the rows of dummies, the squares marked off with lines of chalk, the noises of early morning sparring and exercises. She admired a set of difficult looking calisthetics, and shivered in sympathy with how cold everyone must have been. She felt more than a little foolish for not realizing, but in the Prefects men trained with women all the time. It did not, Nkemi thought, made much sense. She understood that the Seventen chased down suspects all the time, did they not? She was given to understand that both the Patrol division and the Investigative division had such responsibilities. Did they think that female Seventen would chase only female suspects?

Nkemi glanced around, and then, unafraid, made her way to a blonde woman who managed to look elegant even in the training costume. She bowed at the edge of the woman’s sight, and smiled as she rose. “Good morning,” Nkemi said, cheerfully, chin lifted over the edge of her puffy jacket. Her field was indectal around her, soft and warm with the mingling of clairvoyant and static mona. “I am Junior subprefect Nkemi pezre Nkese, of Thul Ka.” She paused. “I am sorry to interrupt, but may I join you in your training? I am new to the yard, and would be grateful to have a partner.”

[Monica Delacore]

DENTIS 8TH, 2719
SEVENTEN TRAINING GROUNDS

She kicked out quick. She waited until the last moment, until her fellow officer's wooden knife was close enough not to change direction, and then ducked, and moved to the side, stepping to the side and behind her attacker. The hard, heavy tip of her boot swept out and slammed into the back of her knee as the other woman began to twist and turn around, towards her again, arms outstretched - Monica watched her knees buckle forward, her body leaning back as she lost and tried to regain balance. Wrapped hands reached out, grabbing the woman's arm, the blonde galdor stepping closer behind her attacker as she fell hard upon her knees. One hand remained on the woman's arm, fingers pressing hard into the clothed skin, meanwhile her other hand reached out for the other arm, now, which had quickly shot upwards to try and free the other from Monica's grip. She pulled at both, pulling upwards while the heels of her boots rested heavy upon the back of the woman's legs.

Soon enough the wooden weapon was dropped, falling with a little tapping sound to the ground, and Monica released the officer's arms, stepping off and away to kick the makeshift knife to the side. The other woman's arms dropped to her sides, her face scrunching up in a combination of annoyance and pain, and she made to stand up while her hands went to rub at the places in which Monica's fingertips had pressed.

"I told you last time not to press that hard, Delacore."

"You seem perfectly fine, Keating," said Monica, her tone unsympathetic at best. She disregarded Keating's little scoff, looking down to her hands and fixing the wrappings, which spanned from her fingers to her elbows - a barrier for all the wooden knives she'd already faced and the ones to come in the following hours, not to mention protection against the cool, hard ground to save her skin from scrapes. She trained often, but focused entirely on one thing when possible; if there were people defending against and disarming bladed attacks, then that was her day's focus, just as magical combat could be the next. If she was going to do something, then she was going to do it again, and again, and again, until she knew it like the back of her hand.

She was not dressed for the weather, exactly, in the dark green pants of her uniform and a pale, short-sleeved undershirt meant to go beneath her jacket. It was tucked carefully into her trousers, and there were bare stretches of her arms where the sleeves and wrappings did not meet, but she wasn't cold. Perhaps the standard, woolen skirt might have provided more protection from the cold should she need it, but the blonde wore such things for formal events only, and would not have been caught dead training in the yard in anything but trousers.

"Right," came Keating's voice, and Monica glanced up and over to the red-headed officer, "I'm finding Tilcott and training with her instead, alright?"

Monica understood the implication - that Keating was implying her unfit to train with - but she didn't acknowledge it, dark blue eyes following the other woman as she stepped away and left the square. The galdor breathed out a short, quiet sigh, leaning down to pick up the wooden knife before straightening up again, her posture impeccable even now, in the yard. Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, her face painted precisely despite the lack of a need, whilst training.

She would find someone else, then, as she had done before.

It was some stroke of luck that in that moment, her eyes caught on an approaching figure, the bright yellow scarf wrapped about her head pulling Monica's attention, and the big, puffy jacket retaining it. The woman bowed as she neared, and the taller galdor returned the gesture with ease.

Junior subprefect Nkemi pezre Nkese. She committed it to memory.

"Please," said the blonde, gesturing to the open space in front of her, her own field a steady thrum of confidence and clairvoyant particles, "a partner would be most appreciated."

Monica did not smile, but she did not appear unfriendly, exactly, either.

"Constable Inspector Monica Delacore," she offered, with another slight tip of her head, "it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. You have not been in Vienda long, then?"

[Nkemi pezre Nkese]

Early Morning, Dentis 8, 2719
Seventen Training Grounds, Uptown

Nkemi smiled, brightly, when the blonde woman accepted her request. She moved into the empty space before her, and regretfully set about untying the rope at her waist. She unwrapped the training jacket, and set it off to the side, shivering as a gust of wind blew through the training yard, and ruffled the thin fabric of her Mugrobi style shirt, a pale tan and as comfortably loose as the pants, covering her shoulders and a few inches of her upper arms, and revealing the rest below. Her forearms were comfortably wrapped for training, much like the other woman’s.

At her waist, hidden beneath the jacket, a weighted baton hung from her belt. Nkemi unhooked it from the leather thong which held it in place, and lay it on the training jacket.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well,” Nkemi said, cheerfully. She caprised the other woman's field, gently and appropriately, feeling the subtle mingling of belike fields, the other woman's as calm and indectal as her own.

She repeated the name in her mind: Constable Inspector Monoka Dilakor. It was, Nkemi thought, a very pretty name, and an appropriately long title. Was it Anaxi custom to wear make-up to the training yards? She did not think she had seen the other Seventen doing the same, but, then, they perhaps she had simply not noticed. Naturally there were Prefects who wore cosmetics while working, whether men, woman, or onjira, but she did not know any who did so while training. Perhaps because it was not so hot, here, one did not need to worry about sweating.

“I have spent only a few days in Vienda,” Nkemi said. “So far.” It was long enough to miss Thul Ka, already, but Nkemi knew there was little point in dwelling on feelings of loneliness; this place was where Hulali’s currents had guided her. It was better to swim with them than against them; she could exhaust herself as long as she liked, and never beat back the tide.

“Do you like the city?” Nkemi asked. She had not yet had much time to form an opinion of Vienda; there had been plenty to do meeting some of the officials in the Seventen. She had only moved to the barracks the night before, after a few nights spent in the headquarters; she was grateful no longer to feel the strange, woozy aftereffects of the two and a half days spent aboard an airship. She had never flown in one before, and though there was much to recommend it, Nkemi was not exactly sure she had enjoyed it. “I hope to explore it, when there is time,” Nkemi said, cheerfully. She had thought perhaps of going out in the morning, but after many days of sitting and strangely heavy yet bland Anaxi food, her body felt very ready to move; Nkemi wished to listen to it.

“Perhaps we may trade off with the knife?” Nkemi suggested, in time, looking at the wooden blade in the other woman’s hand. She looked back up at her, taking a ready stance, feet slightly apart, her knees just barely bent and her hands held up in a defensive position. She waited, readying herself for the attack.

[Monica Delacore]

DENTIS 8TH, 2719
SEVENTEN TRAINING GROUNDS

The shorter woman undid the rope tied about her waist, and removed her puffy jacket, but Monica did not stare as she did so. The jacket was out of the way, leaving wrapped arms and a willing target, and that was the only thing she cared about now. Her eyes did follow when the baton was removed from Nkemi's waist, set to the side with the jacket and rope, but she did not comment on it. It was best to keep such things on you even in the training yard, she thought, and was glad to see the other woman had carried it. Perhaps she was smarter than her Seventen peers - but she did not say that thought aloud, she wouldn't dare it. They had an image to maintain, and it would not do for an officer to speak badly of her fellows.

Nkemi informed her that she had only been in the city for a few days, and Monica dipped her head in acknowledgement, her face still carefully blank, devoid of emotion, much like her field. It was there, and it was strong, but it was cleared of anything important, the way she preferred it to be. It was not difficult to keep a steady, clear head when she was moving, defending, fighting, but the same was not to be said for other situations.

When questioned about her view of Vienda, Monica quirked an eyebrow ever so slightly, stepping a bit closer to the other galdor in preparation for their mock fight.

"I don't have many thoughts on Vienda, in truth," admitted the constable, "I find it preferable to the Stacks, or the Rose. I wouldn't advise against exploring it, when you find the time," and she switched the wooden knife to her other hand, her blue gaze fixed on Nkemi, "there are certainly enough things to see. I've heard the theatre is of interest, although I've not attended any shows there myself."

Too little time, and she wasn't sure if she would have any interest in doing so anyway. She didn't care for many things outside of her work, and wasn't all that sure if she would ever even have the focus to sit through a show, or an opera - stories and songs did not interest her, and her mind would surely drift back towards thoughts of work, and of all the better, more important things she could be doing while she sat before a stage.

Monica observed as Nkemi positioned herself into a more defensive stance, but did not do so herself. A real attacker wouldn't take the time to do so, and she would not either. "Of course," she gave, and swapped the knife to her other hand again.

The constable moved fast, her every movement planned and precise. She was not as good on this end of the knife as she was on the other, but she was well-practiced even so, the evidence of her many hours and days and weeks, even, spent doing the exact same thing. Monica found her victories not because her opponents were weaker in body or mind, but because she spent her life training and thinking of nothing else but winning over them. So she did not fault Nkemi for winding up at the end of her wooden knife, nor did she think her any less powerful because of it - when it was done, Monica pulled back, not moving to actually jab at the other galdor, finding it rather unnecessary to do so when the result was already clear.

"How much have you worked with bladed weapons?" questioned the constable as she stepped back, her voice free of judgement, "let's switch. It is always easier to defend if you already understand the view of your attacker."

Monica turned the wooden blade in her hand, holding out the handle towards Nkemi. Afterwards, she stepped back, keeping her eyes on the other woman and readying herself.

[Nkemi pezre Nkese]

Early Morning, Dentis 8, 2719
Seventen Training Grounds, Uptown

Monoka, Nkemi noticed, did not smile much. In fact, the other woman did not seem to smile at all. It was not that there was anything wrong with being serious; it had a good deal to recommend it, Nkemi knew, and she was more than capable of being serious herself. But it seemed to her that there were people who struggled to switch it off – if they ever could. All the same, she was grateful that the other woman had agreed to train with her; Nkemi did not know much of knife defense, and she would be glad to learn.

“The theater? I have heard that galdori perform here,” Nkemi said, eyes slightly wide. “It is very hard to imagine. Perhaps I will…” her voice trailed off, and she bit her lip, hesitant for the first time. She had heard, of course, that foreign companies sometimes performed in Thul Ka; it seemed to her very scandalous there, and moreso here. She supposed that if it was all right to attend a performance of imbali, then perhaps…? Nkemi was not sure.

When Monoka came, it was swift and effective. Nkemi dodged her first strike, but she thought perhaps Monoka had expected it of her, because the other woman moved through the strike as if she had known where Nkemi would be. They moved, the two of them, in a brief dance, and then the point of the small wooden knife was just beneath Nkemi’s throat.

Monoka moved back.

“Thank you,” Nkemi said, cheerfully, wide-eyed. “I have not, very much, used knives.” She took the handle of the wooden blade from Monoka, and grinned at her, as enthusiastic after the first bout as she had been before. “I am grateful to learn from you.” She said.

Nkemi adjusted the handle of the knife into a better grip; she came at Monoka, set and serious once more. She was small and quick; she went at her once, and twice, and then abruptly she was on the ground, and the knife tumbling from her hand. Nkemi rolled and hopped to her feet; she jogged to fetch the knife, and presented the wooden hilt back to Monoka with a grin.

They traded off; Monoka caught Nkemi every time with the blade, and disarmed her every time as well. Nkemi kept at it, as determined after the fourth bout as she had been after the first. By the sixth, by the eight, the wrap around her hair was coming loose, and she was no longer so cold in the Anaxi winds; her pants were smeared with the dust of the training ground, and there was a pale streak of it along her cheek. She was breathing hard, and grinning as widely as she had at the beginning of it, between bouts. If anything, her field was as bastly as her smile, although even that was only the faintest flicker.

Nkemi handed the wooden knife back to Monoka after ther other woman disarmed her, yet again. “May I try with the baton?” She asked, curiously. She went and fetched it from the heavy coat, and offered it to Monoka for inspection. “I should very much like to practice with it against you.”