Wounded Pride

[Wayfarer]

Nerome's Post

 

It is often believed that if there is one thing a person shall always begrudge another for, it’s concerning matters of pride. Nerome, recently trounced Trainee awoke in the infirmary, with stars dancing in the black and a rather numb lower body. The first thing he thought of was the fact that there was going to be one sorry Accepted if he had his way. Dark haired, rosy lips and those blasted eyes. Pools of only Light knew what, smiling and smirking almost better than he did himself.. “Are you alright?” he asked, bending down and looking at her with concern. He had seen his defeat in those eyes the moment he had gone to help her. Selandre had always told him that for all his ‘charm’ when it came to the female gender, their charm often worked on him better than his did on them. Pah. “When may I leave?” he asked, his tone loutish, which of course, earned him a raised eyebrow but no answer.

 

It was a good two hours later that someone actually paid any heed to him. One Sister, frosty faced and brusque came to him. Eyes looking him up and down, Nerome shifted uneasily. It was one thing to be looked at like that by a woman, but this was an Aes Sedai, and there was no suggestion of anything but ruthless assessment in her face. After some time, she scribbled something on the paper she was carrying around and with a curt nod, spoke dismissively. “You can go.” Nice meeting you too. Quickly rising, he rushed out and weaved his way back almost subconsciously. Made sense really, the number of times he had found himself sitting up in the infirmary. One would’ve thought that such regular companionship on his part should bring him some warmth from those Yellows. Muttering, he welcomed the sun’s heat on his arms and face. Soon enough, he found himself in the more familiar training grounds. Roving green pupils hunted for the woman he had marked in his mind. He had a score to settle.

 

It wasn’t easy to find her. Firstly because these initiates of the Tower seemed to really like this ‘I’m stronger with my sword’ business, so there were too many of them to have the good fortune for a woman’s face to jump out at him or anything. Secondly because, far too many of them wore the same winning smirk. Accepted, so went the title. He would never train one if he got raised to Tower Guard! And that was a big if, as his mentor kept reminding him. Still, he had improved quite a bit he thought defiantly- he could’ve won that match with that girl. He certainly planned on winning this one, at any rate. Having spent a good deal of his time in the infirmary reasoning over the matter, Nerome had figured he had a pretty good chance. Now that he’d been up against her once, she would be easier to predict. Besides, the girl wouldn’t have the same desire to win that she had that time, that desire that he now had.

 

He finally spotted her running laps, and began to smile. By the time she had gotten around and reached him, it had become a beam. She was about to say something, but he cut her short. “I’m feeling much better thank you. And since it seems a waste to have found you just for that, how about we have a rematch? I’m feeling duly rejuvenated.”

 

~Nerome

Owner of the wounded pride

"Fight Fight Fight!"

[Wayfarer]

Victory had been all well and good, but there was no respite to be found, Rosheen had directed her back to her training.  It was one thing to win a fight, but if she wanted to win future bouts and more importantly, be able to defend herself when the need arose, she was going to have to continue practicing.  Formwork to develop the skills rather than training to develop the body, it was in the simplicity of the moment that she tried to find some semblance of calm.  Not only from the giddiness of having successfully used her skills, but also because she was worried about what she had done to her opponent, Nerome.

 

It wasn't that she hadn't been aware that it was painful, that was the reason she had done it.  Enough pain to turn the tables on him even though she was bereft of her weapon, and it had worked and she had been able to menace him with his own lathe and he had been left with no choice but to surrender.  Indeed, he'd been in so much pain that he had been defeated the moment he had been struck, but that was what concerned her.  She had thought maybe it was like being dazed for a moment, or something like that.  Nerome had been unable to move, in fact she wasn't even sure if he had been entirely conscious when he had been taken to the infirmary.  At best he had groaned and when he had been put to bed he had curled up into a foetal position.

 

Struggling between her feelings of triumph and guilt, they had mostly settled after a couple of hours of work.  She had decided to do laps to finish up when she saw Nerome was standing by the side of the track.  Slowing down as she went off the track towards him, she was about to ask if he was feeling any better when he started talking.  Better, but then his words came to her, a rematch?  That didn't sound like a good idea at all.

 

"You've only been healed and I don't want to hurt you a second time.  It wouldn't be fair of me to fight you now.  Are you sure you're alright?"

 

 

Lillian Tremina

Accepted of the White Tower

[ashara]

For one very still second, Nerome just stared at the daring that was Lillian Tremina. The nerve of the woman! She was worried about him? She, the same banded dress trickster whose reflex was to give him a swift kick as he bent to aid her? If this was sarcasm, then Nerome figured that Lillian had some more lessons to learn on the matter. Perhaps he would teach her, considering the idea as she continued to ‘fuss’ over him. What was probably most infuriating about the whole damn thing was how fresh the woman seemed. Sure, sweat was trickling down and her cheeks had now been touched up a light red because of the heat but…where were the circles under her eyes? Why was there no sign of weariness in the woman? 

 

Nerome felt his ears heating up a delicate red, and wished suddenly that he had longer hair. Effeminate and suspiciously inclined was preferred to the status of a blushing fool who couldn’t hide his inner thoughts. It was hard to widen his smile anymore, but he tried anyway and wondered on a lighter note if doing so made him look just a little crazy. On the other hand, he reflected, he might just resemble the village idiot.

 

Actually, her words were helpful. In an odd, slightly zealous way though. As her soft queries continued, he felt his stubborn craving to win heighten, while on the other side of the swing, his anger was slowly losing its steam. By the time she was finished talking, he was placated and his determination…still sturdy. He studied her for a few seconds, while in his mind he began to list the forms she had favoured and the others she had crumbled underneath before striking back. It was then that it dawned on him, the sly thought. Let her judge his state as she saw fit, rather than snap back saying he was perfectly fine. It would mean that she would be stuck, pressured by the thought in her mind of not hurting him too much as they sparred. Live and let live, indeed.

 

“I want to spar,” he said softly. “My health has little to do with this. All I want is another match.” Suddenly inspired, he continued. “Surely you do not think winning against me once deems that it is unnecessary to come against me once more?” His words finished a touch insulted, but inside he was like a coiled spring. Waiting for the word ‘charge’.

 

 

~Nerome

Retro Slacker Trainee

[Wayfarer]

Why was he so keen to have a rematch?  Did he feel slighted because of the way Lillian had won?  She hadn't meant to hurt him so badly!  Yet even now she could see where this was going, she didn't like it though.  She couldn't apologise for what she'd done now, she doubt that he'd accept her apology after what had occured.  What was worse was that she didn't want to walk away, she worried that she hadn't won fairly at all.  Even this wouldn't be a fair fight, while she'd been exercising he'd undergone a healing, there was no way to know whether she could really hold her own if she won a fight now.  At the same time, the challenge was there, it wouldn't be there later if she walked away.  She needed to beat the challenge, to prove that she could handle herself, that if she was ever confronted with someone and the power was beyond her, she could still defend herself, still fight.

 

Staring at him, Lillian suddenly turned and walked to the nearest rack and picked a lathe that resembled the blade she favoured.  It would give her the reach she would need, hopefully she would be able to take advantage of the man's weariness and end it quickly before her own wore her down.  With Nerome following her silently, she led the way to a clear space where they could spar, somewhere they could settle this again even though it wouldn't finally settle it at all.  She couldn't lose another fight though, she would not lose, would not bend, would not break again, she couldn't do it.

 

Turning towards Nerome, Lillian saluted with her lathe and within moments was upon him again.  There wasn't much finesse though there was control, just batter him down and move through him, take advantage of the weakened state before she weakened in turn.  If he was forced to defend, he could not attack.  Overwhelm and batter, dominate and end quickly.  Dictate the combat by limiting his options, force him to make a mistake that she could take advantage of and this time he wouldn't be able to question her victory.  Maybe then she wouldn't question hers as well.

 

She would defeat him as quickly as possible, that was the only possible outcome she could accept.

 

 

Lillian Tremina

Accepted of the White Tower

[ashara]

Considering she had been struggling to make a decision, pursed lips, furrowed eyebrows and all, the Accepted was at him in seconds once it started. He admired her for it, but not enough to let himself be distracted. If he lost focus now, Lillian would tear him apart into little bits just as easily as she would’ve wasted paper. He was on the defensive, blocking every slash and curve determinedly, but getting pushed back nonetheless. She was trying to hammer him down, and quickly too. If it continued, the match was going to be worth very little indeed.

 

It was this realization that made him start. He waited for her to strike again, taking in large volumes of air as he did. The lathe whirred in the air, but he was waiting for it. Catching it steadily, Nerome pushed her back. Using Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose he lashed out. Although it missed, it had her disoriented as he had hoped, giving him a chance to take the lead. Advancing, he smiled. It was his turn now.

 

Her feet slipping back one after the other as she swatted aside the attacks, Lillian didn't trust herself to catch the man's blade.  The last time that had happened, she'd found herself disarmed so instead she used as little force as possible and where she could she would riposte to try and disrupt his momentum.  Nevertheless, Nerome was beginning to regain lost ground and the idea of him winning was unbearable, she would not, 'could' not let him win.

 

Sweeping aside The Courtier Taps his Fan with the Low Wind Rising, Lillian stepped into rather than away from Nerome.  Dropping her shoulder, she didn't have the power to bowl him over though a she managed to catch him in the stomach with her knee.  Slashing down at Nerome, her attack was battered aside with a fury she hadn't seen from him before and then it was all retreat from there, desperately looking for an opening to exploit so she could turn it back on him.

 

He was going to burst. Not a clean pop!, either. Rather a loud, unpleasant blast as he slowly gave into the fighter’s best…and worst friend. Anger. He seethed; his eyes stung as the corners were met with dripping sweat, his mouth tightened into a grim line and his ears. His ears were a bright hue of red, as were his cheeks. Nerome wondered if it was his imagination when he heard the traces of laughter in the background- the last time he had been this angry, a friend had gently informed him he closely resembled a shade so red, that none but ones of that particular Ajah would see it fit to wear such a colour. Her words hadn’t really helped, but if they were true, this victory would be a little clouded.

 

And it certainly was going to be a victory. Buckled though he had when her knee had met his stomach, his rage was providing him an outlet of energy that he couldn’t usually access. Ignoring the dull ache, he persisted. He gave back with Striking the Spark, each blow harder than the one before. He had her now. She was becoming desperate, trying urgently to sneak in a counter where she could. The Wind Blows Over the Wall finished it, one strike to her wrist, the other upwards. Crude, but Lillian herself had proved how effective it could be. Knocking her lathe away, he twisted her wrist and held her with his other hand. Best not to take chances, he decided. Pausing for breath, he continued a few seconds later. “And the winner is?”

 

Battling as fervently as she could, it wasn't so much the speed but the power of the blows that were coming her way.  She didn't have enough control to simply divert them so she had to receive every blow squarely to make sure she wasn't hurt.  It did little good because the slip up was inevitable as she couldn't match the onslaught.  She felt more than heard a distinctive crack in her right wrist and the agony doubled as her lathe was knocked clean from her grasp. 

 

She didn't even get a chance to step away as her right hand was grabbed and twisted with a certain viciousness that made her previously white face lose what little blood was left in it, leaving her as white as the dress she normally wore.  She only faintly heard something being said in her ear as her vision was filled with stars, then darkness as the pain overwhelmed her even as she fell backwards.

 

Triumphant at last. Nerome watched her from behind with a broad smirk, taking in with amusement her last ‘valiant’ act to win the spar. Her breathing was coming in short spaces, her skin had assumed a somewhat worrisome pallor and her body lay slumped. He held her up, but only tightened his grip to immobilize her. “Accepted Lillian, while I do admire your skills with feigning and paling, even my gullibility has its limits. You would’ve been better simply walking away, like a true trainee in the Yards.” That was enough he decided, nodding to himself absentmindedly. She had been a good match even though she had been spent from before, made for excellent practice but…Rosheen had another thing coming if she set him against Lillian again.

 

With that, he made to relieve her of his hold. His grasp was quite strong, and now that the match was over, there was little need to add more bruises to her already nurtured collection. Nerome looked down at her irritatedly for a moment, puzzled by the fact that she had not even bothered to come up with an appropriate retort. Most Tower women jumped at the occasion of being cut down, and he doubted Lillian was any different. With apprehension, he noticed how she seemed to be leaning on him, as if the support of her own two feet wasn’t enough. The suspicion that had been present so predominantly now flickered.

 

Nerome hesitated.

 

His wide, wide smile dulled. He let go of her wrist, realizing with a twist to his mouth that her hand seemed oddly lifeless. Limp. The other arm too, but he stayed close to her. She was breathing heavily now, which caused his stomach to curdle further. “Um...Accepted Lillian… I think I should take you to the infirmary just to che- Lillian!” Panic edged his voice as he cried out and rushed to save her from what would’ve been her painfully near future. Within seconds of trying to let her be, she had fallen backwards and was now completely unconscious. Whether it was his fault, the exert of the spar or perhaps that sickening slump her hand had taken, he wasn’t sure, but Nerome felt all the weight of the guilt nonetheless.

 

Muttering a curse, he lifted her up. Perhaps there wasn’t a limit to his idiocy after all. Any other blind fool would’ve been able to make out that she was wounded, and even though he had sensed it too, he had gone on to charmingly talk to himself. Slowly he weaved his way past questioning and demanding faces alike, to the one place that Lillian could receive help. With a scowl stating clearly to stay away, Nerome began to make his way back to the Infirmary. The Yellow Sisters could really wonder now.

 

Lillian & Nerome

Retro Winners and Losers, Losers and Winners.

 

[Wayfarer]

Consciousness.

 

Something that slowly came to Lillian as she became aware of the fact that she was, well, that she was.  She felt tired, very tired, enough so that she wouldn't have opened her eyes at all if it hadn't been a reflex.  Shutting them immediately, Lillian brought her hand to her head as she felt a headache begin to assert itself.  Or maybe it had already been there and she'd just been numb to it.  Either way, it hurt and it didn't like being in her skull, that was the only reason she could explain it trying to tunnel its way out.

 

Her mouth was dry, parched, she needed water.  Little wonder she had a headache, she was dehydrated, drier than the Aiel Waste.  Looking to her right instinctively, there was a glass of water that she helped herself to on the bedstand as she took in where she was.  The infirmary, that became apparent quickly enough.  Rolling the water around in her mouth before swallowing it, she suddenly looked down.  Her wrist wasn't broken, it should have been as she'd felt it distinctly snap.  Why?

 

Nerome.

 

She had lost.  Nerome had beaten her, snapped her wrist then everything had gone dark when he'd grabbed it, she hadn't even been able to keep conscious.  He'd gotten his victory alright, and now Lillian knew what she had suspected before.  If she hadn't been able to take advantage of Nerome's mercy, she would never have beaten him and when it mattered, there wouldn't be any mercy on the part of the people she fought.  It would be one chance and that was it, she'd be dead and have had no chance to begin with.

 

Water, from some hidden reservoir, began to well up behind her eyes at that realisation.  Useless, all of it, every single day of hard work for absolutely nothing.  Looking to her left to make sure there was no one near her, Lillian froze as she saw Nerome, sitting there beside her and watching.  Blinking slowly, it took a lot for her to keep her face smooth as she spoke.  "Congratulations Nerome."

 

Finishing her water, Lillian turned away for a moment so she could sit the glass back on the bedstand.  It gave her the moment she needed to blink away the new tears that threatened to spill.  She really needed to leave.  Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, something came to her as she stood.  "You were the winner."  At that she walked away, at as quick a pace as she could manage so she could get out of the infirmary.  She didn't want anyone to see, couldn't let them.

 

 

Lillian Tremina

Accepted of the White Tower

[ashara]

Life as he knew it was a rolled up, stamped on, shredded piece of pure waste.

 

After having reached the infirmary successfully with Lillian, ensuring that the Aes Sedai put her into a good bed and checked on her with constant vigour, and even allowed himself to be cut down a good few times as he insisted that one of them should come and see how she was doing, he had sat down beside her and felt, a mammoth amount of remorse. He had never intended this, certainly not to the extent that she was now lying in a ward in the infirmary, not only defeated, but unconscious too. A few bruises, that’s all he had wanted. Just a few odd bumps that would make her wince a little.

 

However, like all other survivals in Nerome Seshir’s life-he couldn’t find it in his heart to call it a victory anymore-this one came equipped with a good deal of irony. It wasn’t perhaps, as bad as some of the others, but it was still pretty damn unbelievable. Fury may well have provided him with an excess he wasn’t usually permitted to draw from, but he had still given that match his all. It had required skill, and more than a little bit of thought, but now the Accepted was wounded and his victory was bittersweet.

 

Flicker

 

He turned swiftly and looked at Lillian. Had her eyes been open just a second ago? He could’ve sworn she was the movement at the side of his vision, but her eyes still remained as tightly shut and her face…still pale. He decided to keep his gaze on her anyway, just in case she did wake. Likely that she would want water, or perhaps that she fetched a Sister for him. And so he watched her, taking in the slight turns and twists as she stirred, and he knew she was about to regain consciousness. He reached out and poured a glass so that it was right next to her, and waited uneasily. What would he say? He doubted the Accepted would appreciate an apology, and even if she did, Lillian Tremina didn’t seem like the kind who would give him much to work on other than a smooth line of thanks.

 

It was as he comprehended this that she awoke. He sat quietly, trying not to shift in his seat. It might take her sometime to notice him, and besides, she would likely want a few private moments to reflect on what had happened. He hardly wanted to launch into long winded talks, when firstly- he had no idea what he was about to say, and secondly…there was that dubious matter of whether she was even going to remember what he would try and hastily talk about the second she had risen. No. Lillian’s most urgent desire was probably some water, and then some sleep. He continued to study her, and then cringed when he spotted the tears. Big, salty tears that were brushed away quickly. She had finally noticed him.

 

He cleared his throat, and straightened his shoulders slightly. He opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again. No words would come. He felt like a fool for the third, maybe even fourth time in the day. Sitting there, cringing slightly as an Accepted he’d never seen before today’s sunrise was doing her level best to remain composed. And he couldn’t offer a single word of sympathy, not even a hand on her shoulder as a symbol of understanding. It was so interesting in a way, how different their two reactions had been upon gaining consciousness in the ward, having been beaten by the other. Nerome knew then, another attempt was in order.

 

He was too slow though. Lillian had hastened to the step ahead before he could, and was moving away from the bed, after offering him…her congratulations? He blinked as he registered what she’d said and not without confusion stared at her retreating back. If she slipped into the halls too fast, there would be a point after which he wasn’t allowed to pass and then…no apology, no attempt for a fresh start. This was much too bitter for his liking.

 

“Accepted, wait! Accepted!” Upon receiving no answer he’d risen out of his chair and in a few strides was behind her. “Lillian, please stop.” He spoke softly, and waited. “Come on, turn around.” His Cairhienin accent came stronger than ever, like it often did when he felt pressured. Breath held, Nerome stood behind her, and waited. Gradually, her steps had come to a stop. There was still that faint air of impatience lingering though, as if the wrong word would set her walking immediately. They had somehow managed to come to a slightly sheltered part, a corner where not too many eyes could see them.

“I think you were superb today, especially considering the fact that you’d spent the whole day training already when I’d come asking for the rematch.” He paused, and sighed. She wasn’t turning. “Anyway, I’ve a proposition for you.” His pulse gathered speed, and he wondered where he was going with this. “I think in you, I’ve found someone exactly my match. You’re sharper than I am, but I happen to have more strength. If we trained together, we could smooth each other’s weaknesses out. What do you think of that?”

 

Nerome Seshir

Guilty

 

OOC: I love what Estel came up with about long winded posts:

":D mammoth posts are fun, particularly when you can spend half the post talking to yourself. ;)"

 

Anyhow, sorry about NPCing a little, just that it was such a long post, and NOT progressing the thread even slightly would've made it really...worthless. :D I know you'll let me know if I need to edit, so, yeah. :D 

 

[Wayfarer]

Hearing Nerome calling after her, Lillian kept walking in the hopes that he would become discouraged and walk away.  She didn't want to deal with him right now, a part of her didn't want to deal with him at all.  He'd beaten her well and truly, thoroughly, both times when she had thrown everything she had into it and had come up short.  Cheating had only been an attempt to cover her weakness and all that had really achieved was hurting Nerome and deceiving herself as to her own ability.  She hadn't even been able to do that entirely, the lingering doubt in her mind vindicated in the second spar.

 

But he didn't stop following, and even though she wanted to be simply rid of him, he was...  Slowing down, she didn't quite have the heart to turn around as he spoke.  Superb?  She wasn't even close, she'd been consistently outmatched in every respect once he'd stopped holding back.  Now he was proposing that she was his match?  It wasn't the fact that he was lying which tore at her, or that she thought that he was gloating because she was certain he wasn't.  Sometimes kindness was a cruel thing, and the fact that he was being nice to her because he could clearly see how much it hurt her to have lost stabbed even worse.

 

Taking a deep breath, it took furious blinking to hold her tears back as she turned around and took a few steps towards Nerome.  He seemed to be unsure of what to expect, but Lillian knew exactly what she was going to say even though she found it difficult to do so with the lump in her throat.  "I know you are trying to be kind, but please, don't.  You've proved that you are the better fighter twice, I only won the first time because I took advantage of your mercy."

 

"I shouldn't have done that, what I did was far worse than I thought it was.  And it was a waste, I was so focused on winning that I forgot that such trick won't work out in the real world, out beyond these walls.  You've shown me that, no matter how much work I've put into the blade, it won't do me any good."  That admission was what cost Lillian the first hot tear as it streaked down her cheek, but she continued.  "And I should thank you for that, because its better that I learned at the hands of your lathe than on the tip of someone's sword."

 

"But as much as I should, I think you can understand why its not a lesson I'm thankful to learn.  Would you please just go?"

 

 

Lillian Tremina

Accepted of the White Tower