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Harper's Tale - Wednesday, July 17, 2002, 2:04 PM
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Main Beach
This long stretch of white sandy beach stands pristine among the beaches around Ista Island. The sand stretches off into the distance on either side of you, disappearing into the horizon. Several large uprooted trees dot the beach where they were most likely felled in a big storm. They look as if they'd make great benches, for people or firelizards alike. To the east, the crystal blue waters of the Hold cove roll up in gentle waves onto the beach, hissing softly as they ebb and flow. To the south, Ista Hold juts out of the cliff. Just west of here, a low bluff leads up to the grassy field that serves as the Hold's main gather grounds.
It is a summer midmorning.
Curled up in the sand are seven firelizards.
You see Dromi here.
Dashvard is here.
Obvious exits:
Shallows     Steep Trail     Gather Meadow     Courtyard     Dolphinhall
You stand on the sandy main beach.
You see Dashvard glance your way.

Liesana strolls out on the beach, her feet unhampered by the fact that her wrists are wrapped in support bandages. Which is only logical, after all, as they're attached to completely different extremities. But the Harper Hall's newest Master is also free of any attendant books, hides, scrolls or writing utensils. How intriguing. A quietly cheerful "Hello there, stranger," is called, upon spotting a Dashvard.

Dashvard had been sitting by himself, watching the water; it's a peaceful thing to do, when you're alone. He swivels, still seated, to offer Liesana a welcoming grin. "Hello there, yourself," he returns. "Enjoying the morning?" There's an unheeded jar by his side, labeled 'flit oil'.

Rendall walks pondering quietly to himself in from the courtyard.
Rendall walks pondering quietly to himself to the Dolphinhall.

Liesana settles comfortably beside the Guard, curling her legs neatly around herself as she offers a bit of a wry smile. "Enforced enjoyment, but enjoyment indeed," she agrees, lifting one wrapped wrist for evidence purposes. "The Healers finally got to me, and apparently I have... Car-pal tunnel something or other in my wrists."

Dashvard looks at her bandages with a puzzled expression on his face. "Oh dear," he says. "What is that?" Beyond elementary first aid, which he had to learn for his training, most physical ailments are beyond Dashvard's knowledge. "It's not terribly dangerous, is it?" He doesn't tend to think of ailments to the wrists as life-threatening, which shows he's never hung around with a self-mutilant.

Liesana offers a quiet snort and a bit of a shrug. "To tell you the truth, I haven't a clue. If it doesn't involve falling off a runnerbeast, don't ask me about matters medicinal... But I don't believe so. Apparently it's caused by too much writing, so the Healers have forbidden me from anything like reasearch for a full fortnight. How are you, though?"

Dashvard smiles wryly. "So they're forcing you bodily to take a break?" He seems terribly amused by the prospect and wishes somebody would give him an enforced holiday from paperwork of any sort ... of course, that's because Dash isn't a paperwork kind of guy. "Oh, I'm all right," he says. "Had a late watch last night, so I get this morning free ... ostensibly to sleep, but that's not what mornings are for."

"Sleep," notes Liesana with a twinkle in her eye and a glance over at Dashvard. "Is for those with nothing better to do. But aye, an enforced holiday," she repeats, wriggling her feet free from her boots after clumsily tugging at the laces with a grimace for the bandage-lent clumsiness of her hands. "At least I managed to avoid having my mentees drag me to the Healers like last time. That," she notes. "Was a trifle embarassing."

Dashvard arches his eyebrows at her, curious. "Your mentees ... dragged you to the healers?" He seems amused as well as curious. Nobody has ever dragged him to the healers. As a matter of fact, he can't remember the last time he went, except for training.

Liesana's grin, while attempting to be wry, fails miserably and continues to carry amused overtones. "Oh, they most certainly did. I'm not exactly a terribly large person, so after I proceeded to lose my voice, and therefore couldn't yell at them, two grabbed my arms, two grabbed my legs, and away I went. The Healers," she reminisces. "Thought it funny as hell."

Dashvard grins at her, remarkably amused; his dark eyes are dancing. Well, not literally. That would be odd. "My word," he says. "I'm glad no one ever tried to do that to me. For their sake. Would you like to take some classes in unarmed combat?"

Eyeballs doing a minuette... perhaps in some Kubrick film. This being rather far from dear, departed Stanley's scene, however, Liesana just gives a little laugh, her own eyes sparkling. "I doubt they'd do it now," she avers. "This was before I learned how to throw knives... But actually, I think I'd like that."

Dashvard sweeps easily to his feet, shedding sand. "All right. I'll teach you to throw me," he says, a somehow raffish grin coloring his face. His calculating glance sweeps over the area, checking for things that he could conceivably crack his head open on so that he can steer himself away from them should he happen to go flying.

Liesana eyes her wrist bandages thoughtfully for a moment, and then decides aloud that "Well, they're /support/ bandages... The dratted Healers can just live with it." as she gets to her feet, moving her boots out of the way and taking up a loose knife-fighter's stance a la Arakiel's teachings as she waits, grinning. "Throw you? I warn that I've not tossed haybales around for over a decade now."

Dashvard laughs softly. "The idea is to use the enemy's strength against him," he answers. A slight pause. "Or her," he adds. "Now ... here. Your assailant comes up behind you, right? Like this. Grabs ahold of you by the sides, like this. What would you ordinarily do? Er. Other than laugh," he adds, conscientiously, as this is one of his more ticklish places himself.

Liesana squirms slightly as she's grabbed, and does in fact laugh a little, although it's more at the situation than any tickling. "Erm... well, what /I/ would do normally might not be exactly standard," she admits. "I'm Keroonian, after all. But I'd personally try and kick up behind me and take you in the stones... I, ah, trust you don't want a demonstration?"

Dashvard grins wryly, even though he's behind her and she can't see the expression. "Well, you could try that," he says, "but I tend to react rather badly to the attempt. Here ... grab my upper arm, like this, and then here, like this; and then, pull. It can help to put your body into it a little, move back and duck down."

"Rather thought you might," agrees Liesana with a sunny air. "But, let's see here, she muses, pondering his words thoughtfully before fitting actions to them. "Grab your upper arm... so. And then there... so. And then move back, duck down, and pull? Hmm... almost like an odd sort of dance move." she opines, before actually completeing the movment. "Oooof!"

According to the laws of physics, Dashvard flips obligingly through the air to land on his back. "Oof," he agrees. And then he's back on his feet again, dusting himself off and grinning. "See?" he says.

Liesana is looking quite pleased with herself. She made Dashvard go flying. Even if she does manage a self-deprecating "I see... of course, I do believe that I'll need quite a bit more practice before that works on my mentees..." to accompany her grin. "So... what's next?"

Dashvard chuckles, low in his throat. "Practice makes perfect," he agrees. "For one thing, most attackers aren't likely to stay put in that position for long enough for you to go ... 'okay, one hand here and then the other one ... here? no here. All right ... um ... okay! Pull!'" He gives her a brief, measuring look. "The concept is similar for a frontal assault, except that there are more options ..."

Liesana clucks her tongue and wags a finger playfully at Dashvard. "Tsk, not nice to make fun of beginners... although I do it all the time, so call it turnabout." she winks, before resuming her attempt at a studious air. "Options...? How so?"

Byron blinks in from ::between::!
Byron suddenly disappears ::between::!

Dashvard grins. "Weak points," he says. And as he says their names, he points them out: "Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin. If you can't get in good position for throwing, you just go for those. Of course, you probably don't want to do /that/ to your mentees. And hopefully not to me, either."

Liesana offers a widening of her own grin in return. "There are days when I'm sorely tempted," she admits. "Besides, a good blow to the groin would keep some of my male mentees out of girl trouble for a few hours, at least." she quips. "But as for you, I'd say you're relatively safe," she winks. "So... similar for a frontal assault, you say? But not identical..." she infers, picking apart word choice coming easily to the legist. "So where does it differ then?" A chuckle. "Dear Faranth, I'm reverting back to eager student right before my eyes. Please, do tell me to shut up when I get irritating."

Dashvard looks wry. "Well, that depends on where they grab you," he answers. "Most don't do both hands on the shoulders because that's too hard to avoid a groin kick; sides are awkward, too, because that puts your face right in range for a head-butt. The most practical attack is with one hand on the shoulder, one hand at the side ... like this."

Liesana nods grave attention, looking for all the world like she'd be taking notes, if the Healers would let her. The solemnity is quite a change from the rabid enthusiasm of all of half a minute ago, but such rapid shifts of wind are par for the course, if one's Liesana. There's still a twinkle in amber eyes, though. "So," she inquires, once Dashvard's moved into position. "Where do we go from here...? From what I know of dealing with runnerbeasts, a kick is less forceful at this sort of close range."

Dashvard grins down at her. "Well, hands on upper arms. Brace one of your legs against my stomach and push upwards. Shove with your leg, using the grip you have on my arms as a brace. If it works, I should fly over your head and ... hit the dirt. Well, sand."

"And if it /doesn't/ work," notes Liesana with a grin in return as she lifts her face to address the taller man. "We'll likely both go down in a heap, and roll right into the water." Hey, even a Law specialist has to exaggerate for the sake of a good story now and again. It's a Harper trait. But, shifting her grip, and readying her leg, she gives another quick grin. "Well, here goes..."

Dashvard obligingly flies through the air with the greatest of ease, not unlike the man on the ... oh, never mind. "Oof," he says again, and grins as he swings back to his feet, shedding a spray of sand. "Think you get the general idea?"

Liesana laughs, and moves over to offer an unnecessary hand up to Dash. "I do believe so, yes. I'll have to haunt you for further lessons in the future," she avers. "Since I do believe I've likely caused your poor back enough grief today." She slips over to retrieve her boots, but doesn't yet undertake the challenge of lacing them up with her somewhat restricted hands, instead settling down to sit on the sand again, and wiping a little sweat from her brow. "I can see why you Guards are all in such fine shape," she notes.

Dashvard laughs softly. "Well," he says, "my back has taken worse punishment in the past. Usually while I was trying to learn to throw, in fact ... we learned in a sort of throw-or-be-thrown environment." His glance takes in her bandaged wrists again. "Want me to put your boots on for you?" The idea that this offer is singularly odd doesn't seem to cross his mind.

Teivelxynti strides in from the courtyard.
Teivelxynti strides up towards the steep trail.

Liesana chuckles quietly. "Sounds much like Arakiel's style of teaching," she admits. "Generally, it's a wise idea to either never let your guard down, or have a Healer who knows how to stitch hanging about, if you've somehow found yourself getting lessons from her..." She trails off at Dashvard's offer, tilting her head and simply regarding him for a moment, expression curious, before acceding with a little nod. "If you like."

Dashvard trots amicably over to assist her in getting her boots on. "Just, you know, with your wrists and all," he offers, by way of explanation. A slight pause. "I think," he adds, "I shall need a bath. I've got sand in places ... well, never mind."

"You're a real gentleman, Dash," states Liesana, tone not even the least bit teasing as she watches him, and assists now and again where she can. The unguarded moment passes quickly, though, and she's soon back to laughing. "I get the picture," she allows. "Next time, I'll be sure to insist on a soft spot in the meadows."

Dashvard looks wryly up at her, an odd, unidentifiable expression flashing briefly in his sloe-black eyes. "I'm no gentleman," he says. "I've done things that no gentleman would ever do. And they tend to have better dress sense." Once her boots are on, he sits back in the sand, regarding her almost quizzically. "Thank you," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

Liesana's grin tones itself to a soft smile and a shake of her head. "Dress sense doesn't make a gentleman." she notes. "'Nor does a troubled past destroy one. I make my judgements based on what evidence I see, and to me, you're a gentleman." she informs him, with just a bit of a twinkle in her eye, before suddenly pinking a touch and dropping her gaze to her boots, fussing with the laces a moment to cover a sudden concern that perhaps she's said a bit too much.

Jolly blinks in from ::between::!

On impulse, Dashvard takes one of her hands in both his own. "Thank you," he says again. "I think you do me too much credit ..." And wryness bleeds into his voice as he adds, "but I can't stop you from being wrong about me, now, can I?"

Jolly wades out into the shallows.

Liesana is perhaps a touch startled as her hand is taken, but doesn't seem inclined to pull away. In fact, her fingers squeeze his briefly, as she replies, still with that gentle smile. "You're welcome... but perhaps you wrong yourself too much," Her tone is soft, but underlain with a string conviction, as she gives a wider smile. "No, that you can't. You can try, of course, but I warn you that I'm quite as stubborn as a draybeast."

Dashvard withdraws from her and stands up suddenly, smiling down at her. "Wrong myself? Possibly. But I am what I am, gentleman or not ... and, thank you again, Liesana," he says. "I'll see you later, but for now I'm off to check on the recruits." He gives her an ironic, courtly half-bow, turns, and walks away. Whistling.
Dashvard slinks silently off the beach towards the courtyard.