The Mansion

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The hour grew late. She had a date to spar in the morning. It was time she took herself off to bed. A wave, a yawn and she was making her way into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She left a trail of clothes as she shed them before sliding in next to him and settling her head on his arm since her pillow was missing. Wiggling her tush into the curve of his body, she closed her eyes as soft sleepy kisses peppered her shoulder.
 
It had been nice, taking a little piece of time to catch up with Cait. The playful shouts between FD and the redhead had been amusing, and she grinned into her hand. When it had started to get dark, she'd excused herself to go put the plate and fork into the sink, and then she'd settled into one of the overstuffed chairs in the living room and flipped through the channels for a couple of hours before sleep finally called and she'd worked her way up the stairs and into her room.

There was nobody in the bed to greet her, only a small stuffed panda bear there for her to tuck against her chest as she drifted off to sleep. It was a restful one, one of those kinds of sleeps where you wake up too soon after going to sleep, thinking that you'd only just fallen asleep. A deep slumber.

The panda is left tucked against the covers when she pulls a little yellow silk robe over her sleeping attire and belts it, heading downstairs to start the coffee and some pancakes. In between mixing pancake batter and cooking the little round discs, she also manages to preheat the oven and start whisking together the ingredients for chocolate chip muffins. Her hair is a wild, auburn mess around her shoulders, and she leans across the sink to open up the window there so that she can hear the outside world going about it's morning business.
 
Morning crept in, bringing light, laughter and hope. Darkness yielded its ground, retreating. Birds were hopping about on the ground under trees, under her rose bushes, either taking twigs, pieces of lint or string in their beaks. Some flew away with a worm they managed to snag up.

The air was cool on the nape of her neck. Her hair was braided within a ponytail this morning. Her black workout clothes clung to her snugly as she stood in the peacefulness the garden promoted with staff in hand, feet set apart slightly. The air gave a small woosh, ash her hands manipulated the staff, sometimes with fast, lightening speed moves, tipping up here, dipping there. Woman and weapon worked as a unit. One movement flowed into the next. Now and then, she caught the smell of cooking. Her tummy answered, but she remained firm. Practice first.
 
Shield on his arm waiting. Watching her. Unfair it was to look at her like this. For so many reasons, and to so many people, but she was beautiful. And he had been ready for a while. Down the hill and to the right, towards the back yard. feeling the plugs of manicured grass, prickling at his bare feet. If he was ticklish he might have dance. If his feet were not so callous worn he might have noticed an errant pebble or the touch of a Fir branch. The maids were careful to keep the Douglas isolated. Evergreen, and likely for Christmastimes but the small copse was kept well away from other foliage.

It was invasive after all.

White, simple and bound. A fencers coat, with it's codpiece, and the sweep of Blue hakama. A simple white belt with no stripe knotted. On his arm a shield. Covering the length of hand to to the top of his neck. A burnished brass disk, heavy, and secure. Long hours had been put into it's care, more still into it's use and practice. How to hold and swing it.

Greaves dropped. Metal interlocked plates, with leather wraps of cloth batting. Covering toes to knees. They'd make sideways movement and leaning difficult but pivoting was what hips and the balls of your feet were for. The sound alerting any to his presence. Though she would have seen him walking. Slow, respectful.

"Well met." He was strapping the greaves and vambraces on already. Standing as he flexed and tensed. Rocking softly, until he held the shield out, and felt comfortable with it's great weight.

"When you are ready then. Lay On."
 
Morning crept in, bringing light, laughter and hope. Darkness yielded its ground, retreating. Birds were hopping about on the ground under trees, under her rose bushes, either taking twigs, pieces of lint or string in their beaks. Some flew away with a worm they managed to snag up.

The air was cool on the nape of her neck. Her hair was braided within a ponytail this morning. Her black workout clothes clung to her snugly as she stood in the peacefulness the garden promoted with staff in hand, feet set apart slightly. The air gave a small woosh, ash her hands manipulated the staff, sometimes with fast, lightening speed moves, tipping up here, dipping there. Woman and weapon worked as a unit. One movement flowed into the next. Now and then, she caught the smell of cooking. Her tummy answered, but she remained firm. Practice first.

Out of the window that she opened, she spots Cait and the staff that she trains with. She's in the process of rinsing a bowl out, but pauses to appreciate the speed and intricacies of the other woman's movements. There is precision and skill, and her dedication to her training is breathtaking. Returning to the act of rinsing out the bowl, she simply sneaks little glances and peeks now and then between her cooking.

There is a plate piled with pancakes, and she looks to be finally finished with all but the last round of muffins. Settling on a stool right there in the kitchen, at the island, she has a plate of pancakes, two small blueberry muffins, and a cup of coffee in front of her. There is also a notebook beside her that she jots down stuff on every so often - in between bites of pancake and gulps of coffee. Ideas for writing, perhaps, or ideas of what sorts of things she wants to pick up at market today. Her painted toes rest on the bottom rung of the stool, and it doesn't take her long to finish her breakfast - she's always had a very healthy appetite.

She makes a mental note - and then follows it with a jot-down in the notebook as a more physical reminder - to ask Cait if perhaps she would be interested in teaching her some moves with a staff. A girl can never know too much self-defense, right?
 
He came on silent feet, carrying his equipment. Slow, sure, confident. Staff came to rest, vertical to her body, one end in contact with the ground, one hand wrapped soildly, comfortingly, around it like an old dear and precious friend. Nothing escaped her scrutiny. From the way his fingers worked, strapping on his greaves to the way he held himself, in elegant masculine grace and poise. There was an easy air between them but all of that was about to change.

Staff snapped up, horizontal before her body, hands spaced slightly apart of each other. Two strides and she was upon him. One end of the staff shot upward toward his jaw on his offhand side, but with a swift twist of her wrist before that end could ever strike his jaw, the other end of the staff was making a short stout swing to his side, of his shield arm.
 
It was easy to admire her. Grace and femininity. Danger, and desire. All wrapped in it's perfect package, as unreadable as her black wraps. It was easy today, and only today to avoid those glorious green eyes, the heave and swell of a carefully wrapped chest. The long seamless interplay of her cocked hips. Today his attention was focused on that long length of wood. On the pivots by her feet, The set of her shoulder, and the snap in her elbows. Staffs were tricky weapons. Many people had things to say over which sword was the greatest. The Elegance of the katana, the needle like swiftness of the rapier, and the raw screaming power of a claymore.

But he knew of nothing more dangerous than a simple piece of wood.

She came forward, Throwing off caution. Her hands set, the charge like a spear, it's invisible blade coming to skewer his head, through the chin and leave his features frozen as a warning above her gate. It was a ruse. Her hands were dropped already and the swing was in motion quickly. Too quickly. He set.

Against a charge one plants himself like a tree, And then moves back towards his aggressor. The shield swung forward, his eyes above it, the rim far to the side as his body turned into it. Behind the disk, far from where her staff could reach. Then forward, A single step solid and full that brought his shoulder into the leather and metal. And towards her like a battering ram. Intent on scooping her up onto the shield and tossing her like a doll.
 
Almost too late she realized her mistake. Here was one who had considerable experience. She had to get her head in the game or she'd find herself flat on her back, disarmed, lungs desperately sucking in air. As much as that sounded like not such a bad thing, her pride wasn't going to agree with her.

Wood glanced off of metal with a solid sound. Intent was to remove herself from that battering ram of metal. Weight shifted as she whirled, staff moving with her, hands shifting their hold, so that now, as she came around, hopefully avoiding that metal battering ram, wood swung toward his back.

Her heart was beating loudly in her chest or was it now up in her throat? But inside of herself was a calm. A deadly calm. She had the need to lash out, strike at something solid. Something she hadn't been able to do before now.
 
She was quick. so quick and light on her feet. A whirling dervish of nervous energy and needful violence. She was spinning away, out of his reach out his charge, using her weapon's reach to land a blow square against him. Whistling wood coming for his back, where little but a white jacket would stop him from a swiftly purpling bruise.

If he stood still.

Another step, and legs that were longer than most accounted for carried him clean from it's range. Two steps. He had traveled almost ten feet. He took a deep breath, as he faced her again. Tight. Like a spring, the solid muscles of his calves holding him simple and ready. No need for him to launch forward. To use speed, or overwhelming force. She was fast, and flighty and maneuverable. He was slow and planted, and positioned. None of that was a disadvantage to him.

"Lay on. You need it."
 
He was away. She knew he would be. Trying to beat him up wasn't the reasoning for this exercise. No. For her, it was to drive away the ghosts once and for all. Banish them. For now, to the deepest reaches of her mind until they could no longer hurt her, remind her, what a damn fool she had been. So trusting. So believing. There was no accounting for human desire. Secret needs and longings. Regardless of reassurances to the contrary, she believed herself to fall short and that hurt beyond common wisdom.

She reset, waiting for him to do so as well. This time it was with a series of short sharp swings, a whirling dervish, hand over hand over hand, straight at him. Every line of her body was etched in anger. Anger turned inward, never out. It lent her power to her swings. He was no longer friend or foe, he was an object to batter against, to take her fury out on until either she toppled him or he subdued her, spent and out of breath.
 
Edge to edge, to edge to edge. He had a circle, but it was her who turned, over and over. An endless thing, cycling blows that clanged from his shield, that sent him walking slowly back. Shifting as she danced. Positioning even as his arms rang from the last blow. High, and low, and across. Now he watched her shoulders, watched her chest. Saw how it rose, and her breathing came quick and short. Her features twisted with anger.

Anger at herself. Her motions were turning, and he struck at the middle, Using the point of his shield to force her to block. To make her stop, as he stood against her. Ringing, and sweating. Watching her breathe. So beautiful in her fury.

"Come and lay on. Do not lay down. This is freedom."

His foot pounded the earth. Digging down. His bare heel black with dirt, and green with grass.

"Do you want more?"
 
Her eyes narrowed and fastened on his, breathing heavily. Her chest rose and fell with the exertion. Shield to staff. Staff to shield. They stood for the moment, suspended in time. The muscles in her cheek flexed. The ones in her jaw, gave her stubborn flair.

She roared. There were no words to it. It was simply sound that poured from her very center yet it carried emotion unconveyed. She shoved off, stepped back. The staff arced then, swung down toward his shoulder. The air swooshed with the power behind it.
 
Like a lioness, and that mighty killing blow from her claws. The staff came from over head, Too mighty, too fast for him to simply absorb. The air whistling with it's arc, and ringing with her roar.

He moved away. And let it bury, the thump in the earth heavier than his stomp. it's vengeance burying deep in the ground, shredding grass and making a divot. His foot came down. Implacable and slow, Not a kick simply a step onto the wood. That strong unbending, stiff piece of simplicity. Until it came loose from her hands. And stayed buried. He bent to pick it up, and with it in his hands came to give it back. His arm letting her inside the shield. Pressing it back to her hands. His lips on her head.

"That was powerful. Very powerful, it likely would have broke me. But like this, it was sloppy."

He let her go and shifted to her side. His feet taking him backwards while he watched her. His shield readying again, as he switched arms. The right so tired from carrying it's weight.

"More"

"More."
 
It was interesting how the mind singled out certain words and not others, in differing moments. She accepted the staff back with grace. It could have been over right then there. He had disarmed her. Instead, he had given her back her weapon. Moments ticked by as she stood there, staff in hand. His words of "more" ringing in her ears.

Whatever had taken hold of her. Whatever emotion had gripped her, was now gone. Short, sharp, explosive with feeling. Like her. Her shoulders straightened, set. The staff twirled in her hand for the briefest of moments. Honest sweat, marred her brow, tainted the front of her shirt between her breasts. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue then took a knee, laying the staff at his feet horizontally, her head slightly bowed before him. Her voice was low, heard just above the sweet songs from the birds in the trees around them.

"I yield, good knight."
 
"Stand."

He dropped the shield down letting it lie opposite from her staff. The moon against her flat plain. His hand reaching for her, even as he undid the snap to his fencers coat. Unzipping it down his chest as he went to drop the heavy garment.

"There is no submission in this. We needed it, and we will call it a draw. It isn't like I Managed a touch either."

His hand grasped hers. Simple and rough, to bring her up to him. To bring her face to his and softly kiss her brow.

"We need a shower. But do you want coffee first?"
 
Putting her hand in his, she rose to her feet. She smiled at his words, giving his fingers a squeeze.

"You could have. You didn't," she grinned, "coffee, of course! You should know me well enough by now to expect that."
 
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They parted company after coffee. He headed off to see to things he needed to and she, headed for the shower. Footsteps fell silently on the floor as she poked her head into the bedroom and found the bed empty and most of her pillows on the floor. Gathering up the clothes she had discarded the night before, she paused to dump the clothes in the laundry, doffed what she was wearing, adding to the load before she padded into the bathroom and a shower.
 
He shoo'd the maids away. They fussed, even argued a little, but with a growl he slammed the door shut. They were a bit territorial about their job it would seem.

He stood in the room for a moment in silence. Her scent still lingered in the air and he drew it in. His broad chest filling with her essence. He let it out with a slow sigh.

Then he began to make the bed back up himself. It wasn't as neat as if the maids would have done it. The pillows were not arranged in the proper way, they were more methodically arranged rather than for decoration. That wasn't the point. The point was for her to see his mark in her inner sanctum before she found her bed tonight. He only hoped it would bring the smile to her lips it did his as he did it, thinking of her.
 
The hour was late when he returned. Caitlin was already resting. He opened the door to her room and then closed it shut silently. Shuffling off his shoes he walked toward his side if the bed and removed his shorts. That was all there was to remove.

Free of clothing he peered at the beautiful woman basking in moonlight as she sleeps. He crawled across the bed. Leaning down to brush a few strands of crimson from her face. Then placing a warm kiss on her lips.

Finally curling up beside her he drifts of with her.
 
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