Time Under Chaos | TimeUnderChaos / Opening Moves browse

Index | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | PreGameLogs | Opening Moves

The Sword Dancing ground was sparsely populated at this time of day. Most of the players present were sparring in pairs, but one was running through quarterstaff exercises by himself. Pavlo Barimen's tall, lithe figure was usually partnered with Rudin of Hendrake's shorter, stockier one; the lack made his moves, however smooth and practiced, seem somehow unfinished.

"That last horizontal strike? You're suppose to stop the strike at the midline, but you're stopping it early so it's about ten degrees off."

The voice was feminine and familiar, and when Pavlo turned around he saw Helena Ishtar-Barimen. Arms crossed over her chest, she stood off to the side in her light blue training suit which, though it facilitated ease of movement, also emphasized every curve.

"Judges will count off for it, so just thought you'd want to know." She gave him a wry smile.

He smiled back ruefully. "You're right. It's just that I'm used to having that blocked before it reaches the midline—at least, when I'm doing it at speed."

"So where is Rudin? As your partner, he's suppose to be here blocking for you and seeing to your every whim. He's obviously negligent in his duties," she continued, her tone lightly teasing.

Pavlo chuckled. "Rudin is on patrol this cycle," he informed Helena. Then, glancing around, he continued, "If it comes to that, you seem to be missing your shadow as well."

"Amba is spending some time at House Heldt, her home," Helena replied, walking closer so they didn't have to carry on a conversation halfway across the field. "She's not my shadow, really. She's just quiet."

"Having seen you both on the field, I know that's true," noted Pavlo.

Helena gave Pavlo a lazy smile. "I'm the outspoken one, the impulsive one, the one that wants to jump before looking and deal with the consequences later. Amba helps keep me grounded."

"I can't say that Rudin and I relate in exactly the same way," Pavlo responded, "but we are to an extent complementary personalities as well. And of the two of us, he is the more pragmatic...less emotional."

Helena lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Do you ever do things just to get a reaction out of Rudin, because he is more pragmatic and less emotional?"

Pavlo grinned, the corners of his dark eyes crinkling with amusement. "Occasionally," he admitted. "It's a challenge, though. And he has his ways of taking revenge, too, if I manage it."

"Now therein lies a tale, sounds like." Helena paused, narrowing her eyes as she looked at Pavlo speculatively. "How would you like to grab something to eat, my treat? Then you can regale me with your tales and exploits over a bottle of wine. Or over several bottles of wine."

She returned his grin.

"Since we're both partnerless? Why not?" replied Pavlo. He twirled his quarterstaff one more time and then grounded it. "Let me get cleaned up and changed and I'll meet you at the base of the arch."

"Sounds good." Helena nodded and left to clean up herself.

The Base, the bottom of the arch which spanned over the field of training and tournament squares, was a common gathering area for players and groupies alike. Speculation on matches, betting, tips from experienced veterans to newbies, challenges issued, even the best place to eat lunch—one could hear it all in the snatches of conversation.

When Pavlo arrived he found Helena gazing at the tourney lists posted for the day. She wore a sleeveless white blouse tucked into high-waisted shorts and leather sandals on her feet. Her hair was still in the customary plaited braid she wore it in for training and matches.

"Anything interesting?" he inquired, putting a companionable hand on her shoulder. He had changed into a light jacket and open-necked shirt, worn over well-cut trousers.

Helena turned at the touch and shook her head. "Stevin and Phips are competing at Level Four tonight. What moron decided that they could handle L-4? Those teams will fricasee their livers and serve them back to them..."

She held her hands up in front of her. "Not my level, not my problem. Besides, I want to listen to you tell me stories. Amusing stories. Over red wine.

"There's this little place, just a short walk from the Toerrono Slide where the Pit Divers work. It has pasta and spicy sausages and an amazing wine list and the most sublime desserts—we will have to try them all. How does that sound?"

"Tempting," Pavlo admitted. He held up a finger. "But only one dessert for me. I am in training, after all."

Helena laughed. "I'll try them for you then and tell you what you're missing."

Only a few glances followed them as they left the training ground, and those betrayed only a casual interest. Among Sword Dancers there was an easy camaraderie that cut across class and House lines. Like artists and students in any field, they tended to gather in small groups to socialize. Pavlo and Rudin had often been seen in the company of Helena and Amba over the past year, often with Pavlo's brother Claudio joining the group. Pavlo himself hardly noticed the difference until the waiter was seating them at a small, secluded table for two. Then the thought flashed through his mind that this looked (to outside eyes, anyway) remarkably like a date.

"So how is your mother? Your sisters?" Helena asked companionably as she scanned the menu. If being seated at a table alone with Pavlo felt awkward, she gave no indication of it.

Her lack of self-consciousness served to dissipate Pavlo's vague uneasiness. "They're well," he answered. "Mother is planning a small reception a few cycles from now and is letting Madalin do most of the hostess duty. They're quite excited about it...well, as excited as Mother ever gets. Meanwhile Jonmari is making herself scarce. I don't think Society is quite her cup of tea, so to speak."

A little blue demon waiter breezed by, dropping a wine bottle, two glasses, and a basket of bread on the table with a promise that he'd be back momentarily to take their order.

Helena nodded at Pavlo. "And you? How are you doing?" She looked over at him, the trace of a smile around the corners of her mouth as she poured wine for them both.

"Mmm." Pavlo briefly smiled his thanks, then took a sip of the wine before answering. "You know how when you're training, you sometimes hit a plateau in your advancement? That's where I am now."

"Oh? How so?" she asked, interested.

Pavlo shrugged, twirling the stem of the wineglass slowly between his fingers. "I don't seem to be making any progress at the moment. In anything. Where I am isn't bad, mind you, but I'm running in place. Oh, I suppose something will open up before long—it usually does, if you're patient—but it gets a little wearing."

Helena leaned forward. "Maybe you just need to do something different, something to break you out of your rut. If you experience something new and fresh, maybe the rest will follow along," she suggested seriously.

"That could be," said Pavlo. He picked up the menu and scanned it, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "Maybe I can start here. What in the world is 'fettuccine frangipani'?"

"One of those new and fresh experiences," she managed to say with a straight face. "Go ahead and try it."

Pavlo looked at her, eyes narrowing. "Have you tried it?"

"Well...not exactly." Helena sat back and hid her smile by taking a drink of wine.

Pavlo looked even more suspicious. "Do you know someone who's tried it?"

She put down the wine glass and met his eyes, a faint smile still playing about her lips. "Do you think this restaurant would serve you something that would be harmful to you? If not, then why all the paranoia? If you know exactly what it is, then it takes away the 'new and fresh' part of the experience."

He relaxed, laughing, and teased back, "True, but you've set me up before, you know!"

Helena didn't deny it.

The blue demon waiter returned, looking rather harried. "Ready to order?"

"He'll have the fettuccine frangipani, and I'll have the alfredo."

"More wine?"

"Please," Helena agreed, smiling at Pavlo. "Anything else for you?"

The demon looked over at Pavlo expectantly.

"Another basket of those bread sticks," Pavlo suggested.

"Very good." The demon bowed and left.

Helena reached for a bread stick. "Do you have any plans after we eat?" she asked, curious.

Pavlo shook his head. "I am living in the moment," he said with a chuckle. It was a catchphrase popular with some Sword Dance instructors, particularly those needing to correct their pupils' tendency to think too much ahead of themselves.

"Excellent. First step in getting you out of your rut accomplished, sounds like. We'll have to make sure to do something new and interesting later and continue the momentum..."

Helena paused and an amused expression crossed her face. "Taken out of context, that's an interesting statement I just made. Sounds like I'm making a pass at you."

She smiled at Pavlo and took another drink of her wine.

Pavlo leaned back in his chair, his eyes meeting hers, and smiled back. "Are you?" He didn't seem at all repulsed by the notion.

The smile turned into a grin. "I haven't decided. I think I am. Are you interested?"

"'Something new and interesting,'" he quoted back at her, musingly. "Are you prepared to make good on that?"

Helena looked him up and down, then sat back and chuckled. "I can make good on that. And it'll answer a question I've wondered about."

"Oh? What's that?"

She leaned forward conspiratorially and her grin took on epic proportions. "Just how much mustaches do tickle. And where."

"I think," he replied, his eyes warming, "I can undertake to answer that one for you. Compendiously."

Helena opened her mouth to reply, but their waiter returned at that moment with their food.

"Here we are. Traditional alfredo for the lady..." He smiled, showing fangs, and placed a brightly painted plate heaped high with pasta in front of Helena.

"...and our house specialty, fettuccine frangipani, for the gentleman..." The waiter produced a large painted bowl that matched Helena's plate, filled with fettuccine in hot broth and topped with flowers, white with yellow and orange centers. A delicate floral scent rose with the steam.

Beside Pavlo's bowl, the little demon placed a small blue glass filled with some liquid.

"Is there anything else I can get for you at this time?" the waiter asked, folding his claws together patiently.

"I don't think so, but perhaps you can answer a question for me," replied Pavlo. He pointed to the glass. "Is this to drink, or sprinkle on top, or...?" He raised his brows questioningly, adding, "As this is a house specialty, I wish to enjoy it properly."

The demon looked surprised. "Why, that's the antidote, of course. Frangipani—the flowers—are poisonous. Anything else?"

Helena hid a smile behind her wineglass.

Pavlo looked surprised for a split second, then smiled. "Ah, I see. Beautiful and deadly. How appropriate." He met eyes with Helena, laughter sparking in his. "Thank you, that will be all," he told the demon.

The waiter bowed and left, leaving the couple alone.

"New and interesting," Helena intoned, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Indeed," Pavlo agreed, raising his wineglass to her in salute.

After taking a sip, he remarked, "I should tell Claudio about this. He'd love it."

"And what about you? What things interest you?" Helena asked as she started consuming copious amounts of pasta.

Pavlo picked up his spoon and took a mouthful of broth and noodles before answering.

"When I'm not on the sword dancing ground, I'm in training as a warrior," he explained. "My free time I like to spend with friends, and I also like riding."

Helena's eyebrows rose. "Tell me about training as a warrior."

"It's complicated," said Pavlo. "There are all the combat techniques to learn, unarmed and with various types of weapon, and then you find out what your combat form is—everyone's is different—and begin it all over again that way."

"So what is your combat form?"

"I'll be happy to show you," offered Pavlo, with a smile, "once we're somewhere with a bit more room, and more privacy. That's easier than trying to describe it."

Helena raised her eyebrows again. "I'll have to remember to ask later, then."

Their waiter whisked by and placed a second bottle of wine on the table.

Helena watched him go, then turned back to Pavlo. "As a warrior will you serve House Barimen or a banner House? Or somewhere else, like the imperial guard?"

"Potentially, any or all of those," replied Pavlo. "I was seconded to House Hendrake for my training—that's where I met Rudin—so I owe them service for that. But of course my first loyalty is to my own family, and the Emperor could always request my services as well. Not that I really expect that anytime soon," he demurred.

"Is Barimen a banner house to a larger House?" Helena asked as she refilled their wineglasses.

"Oddly enough, no." Pavlo nodded his thanks for the refill, then took a sip from his glass before continuing in a lower voice, his eyes veiled. "I'd like to think it was because we've always been too independent-minded...but I know that's not the only reason."

"My ancestor to blame, perchance?" she ventured.

"That," he acknowledged with a tilt of his head, "followed by equal parts pride and shame, I suspect." His mouth quirked wryly. "Do you know the old joke about not wanting to belong to any club that would have you as a member?"

Helena nodded thoughtfully as she played with the stem of her wineglass. "Do you have any desire to someday go to Amber? See it all for yourself?"

"I never really thought about it...not that way." Pavlo looked up at her. "What about you?"

She nodded again. "I would someday. I'd like to know my mother's side of the family, find out what all the hullabaloo is about."

Pavlo chuckled. "There is that."

Helena downed the rest of her wine and exhaled. "How's the fettuccine?"

"Different," Pavlo acknowledged. "I haven't been avoiding the blossoms out of caution," he went on to explain. "It's just that it's evident to me that the scent is supposed to mingle with the flavor, and if you ate the flowers first, you'd lose that. Would you like to try a little?" He scooped up a spoonful of broth and noodles, and held it over the side of the bowl closest to Helena. "Lean forward so that you catch the scent," he advised.

Helena stood and leaned over the small table as bid, bringing herself well within Pavlo's personal space. She breathed deeply of the fragrant dish and then ate off of his proffered spoon. "Hints of jasmine...and something woodsy, I think..." she concluded. "Very pleasant."

"Very pleasant," he echoed, but his eyes were on her as he said it. His voice deepened as he added, "Lovely, in fact."

Helena smiled lazily at Pavlo. She put her hands on the table to brace herself, then leaned in further to kiss him over his bowl of steaming fettuccine. Her mouth was sweet, tasting of wine, the kiss itself bold and inquisitive.

His mouth met hers halfway, returning the kiss without hesitation and without hurry. It lingered in a way that promised answers to whatever she cared to ask.

Helena broke off finally and opened her eyes, still leaning over the table. "Want to get dessert to go?" she asked.

"I'm willing to let this be dessert." Pavlo lifted one of the frangipani blossoms from the surface of the broth and placed it in his mouth. He glanced down, then up, wordlessly inviting Helena to share the dangerous treat.

She paused and looked in his eyes, searching for something there. Perhaps she found it, for after the space of a handful of heartbeats, Helena took him up on his offer.

By the end, dessert was forgotten, along with the rest of her meal.

Helena sat back down, overwhelmed somewhat by the rush but still enjoying it. She passed her thumb along her lips. "I think I would like to leave now, if you don't mind," she managed, her voice rather throaty.

"Me too," Pavlo whispered huskily.

[EOT -- before we blow our rating -- and on to the next chapter...]