9.113 The Wee, Small Hours of the Morning

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Huh?" Hal's ears perked up as he cocked his head in mild confusion. "Oh! Heh, sorry, I forgot you don't know Nehantite," he then grinned as he apologized.

"Jaddah is a word in my language, and it means someone who is respected or honored, and should be listened to. It just kinda... came out, and all, seeing as you're apparently going to be taking over my fitness regimen. I can not use it, though, if you'd rather."

You stinking liar. You're calling him "grandma" and you know it!

He he he, yep! But he's going to be way too proud to fact-check it until it's going to be waaaaay too late. Besides, have you seen another Nehantite around here? I haven't. Who's gonna tell him?

Niiiiiice. High-five!

High-five, brain-bro!

[Abarai Loki]

This was a conundrum. Normally, as a matter of principle, when it came to his name Loki accepted no substitutes. Cirrsseeto was the only person ever accomodated an exception to the rule, and that was not without some resistance, but in the end, it had been the fact that his nickname had been assigned as a gesture of affection that helped him accept it. Nowadays, Cirrsseeto had taken to calling him Abarai, his prefered form of address, out of respect for their friendship, much the same way as Loki indulged his preference for the more casual abbreviation, Cirr. Names were important. He considered Halajiin at length, prolonging the silence. The offer of a rejection was on the table, still, it would be selfish of him to refuse such a plainly respectful and affectionate designation. Finally, he gave a nod.

"I have no objection," he said, and got back to business with a fold of the arms, "As to the more pressing matter of your malfunctioning lightsaber: fear not, Halajiin Rabeak. We shall spar with training sabers, that is provided you will not again slump into a useless gasping heap within the first minutes of exertion."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Excuse me," Hal objected. "I am neither useless, or a heap. I was just never much good at running long distances, is all."

Turning his nose up ever so slightly, he tried to look as regal as he could, though it had all the effect of putting a cardboard crown on a child at their birthday party.

"Training sabers, huh? Haven't used one of those in a while. Be nice to swing some plasma around again," he then smirked. "Good thing they only stun, too. I'd hate to hurt you by accident."

Hauling himself up from his eat, Hal paused as he felt the blood rush from his head. He was tired, very tired, and his body was now more than letting him know it. But to back out now would make him look like a coward, so he satisfied himself with a wide yawn, then waved an arm toward the corridoor. "Lead on, Jaddah."

[Abarai Loki]

Jeddah. Inwardly, Loki cringed. Adjusting to such a title was going to be something of a challenge. They left the mess hall, the shattered cup of stimcaff forgotten to the promise of combat, now so close he could practically taste it, like the coppery tang of fresh blood. And, given the reprehensible disruption of his morning routine, a good spar would prove a mighty compensation.

"I should warn you, Halajiin Rabeak, our training sabers do not stun, or cut, or burn, for that matter. Due to limited resources, the training sabers are... wooden."

It pained him to make such a confession. There were dozens of arguments to be made against the use of clunky wooden swords in place of nimble lightsabers, he knew all of them, but he had no choice. And when it came down to it, ultimately, they were still a bunch of ramshackle misfits united under a common banner. They had ships, starfighters, shields, blasters, food, equipment, and anything else they could possibly need, except lightsabers. A Jedi without a lightsaber was like an army without men, it was an idea.

"Do not be discouraged," he added, hesitantly, "The extra weight is good for the muscles."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Wood?

Wood?

"Wood?" Hal blurted. Stepping up his pace, he got ahead of Loki and walked partially backwards, using his tail to trace the wall and watch out for upcoming doors or hallway direction changes - a handy feature of being a Nehantite. "Like, wooden swords?" he asked.

The last time we held a wooden sword was at one of those Dark Ages Faires, and before that it was...

A shiver ran down his spine.

In fencing school.

It was not uncommon, in Hal's day, for almost all boys in the kingdom of Nehantish to still be trained in the art of the sword. It wasn't for combat, as they'd had guns for ages, but where some cultures had football or rugby or smashball teams for their young, Nehantish had fencing. Outside of a full-contact game which resembled rugby in a few regards, fencing seemed to be the national pastime, with several schools to be found in any town.

Many Nehantite males still look back upon their boyhood days with fond memory of fencing classes, and tournaments before family and friends, but not Halajiin Rabeak. The yellow-furred Nehantite had tried to put those days well behind him, having often been the boy that others picked on because he was smaller and weaker than most his age. Bruises, sprains and the occasional fracture had been his rewards for trying to stick up for himself when he was very young, as most boys began around the age of eight, though he had at last become more competent and able to defend himself when he turned fourteen.

In some ways, it was his fencing which had brought him to the attention for consideration as a Jedi, as once he was strong enough to actually combat the other boys his age, he suddenly began to dominate. Uncanny speed, foresight and agility had blessed him overnight, it seemed, and for several months Hal was thrilled with his newfound prowess.

At least until another parent complained, and Hal was given a full physical to test and see if he was on any performance enhancing drugs. No drugs were found, but midiclorians were. Despite having no formal training with the Force, all of his victories, trophies and titles were revoked, and Hal was banned from further competition for having an "unfair advantage." He could never see how it was unfair. He hadn't asked to be born with the gift, and it wasn't like anyone had ever really worked with him on it. Confidence shot, Hal lay down his practice swords, that day, never to pick them up again.

When he finished that school year, he was sent off to the Jedi Order on Coruscant, where once more he found himself last in his class at fencing, this time with a training saber. He suffered welts, stings and winged fur, but only until he could get used to the new weapon. Once he'd figured out its weightless blade, and the speed with which he could wield it, his years of training in fencing came back to aid him, and he found himself able to fight like a real Jedi.

But he would not be using a training saber, now, he'd be using a wooden sword. Not just that, he'd be the bigger boy fighting the smaller one, and the idea of such a reversal of roles did not sit well on him. Something would have to be done about this, and an idea began to form in his brain of just what that would be.

"I'm... I'm not comfortable with that, Loki," he admitted. "Training sabers can sting, but wood... wood can break bones. I don't want to hurt you by accident."

[Abarai Loki]

"I should hope not. If, when our blades cross, you successfully land a strike, then I expect it to be with every intention of injuring me."

It was important to dismiss such nonsensical talk immediately. No good could come from someone going into a sparring session with such childish misgivings. They fought to learn, to build strength and vanquish weakness; a futile venture when one holds back. They arrived at the cargo hold, its doors retreated with a hiss, and beyond, in the great black expanse, rows of stale white light flickered into life. It was cold inside.

"I suspect your concerns may be misplaced, Halajiin Rabeak," he said, casting the mongoose a discriminating glance, "You must first be able to hit me, in order to hurt me."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

So he's brave, is he?

More like foolhardy, with that attitude.

I dunno, some of our instructors had the same mindset.

Some of our instructors were also massive braggarts, or grand champions.

True. But I still don't want to hit a kid. It's not... sporting.

He's asking for it, though. Give it to him.

I dunno. I still don't like this...

You didn't think you were going to like Mon Calimarian women either, but I think we both remember how that turned out.

Oh, man, those tentacles, and those suckers...

Task at paw, base functions! Task! At! Paw!

Hal cleared his throat as he walked beside Loki on their way to a practice room. Yawning, he stretched his arms back as the boy spoke, and it was with the faintest of grins that he foretold what was coming next.

His right paw swung forward quickly, smacking Loki upside the back of his head. Laughing, Hal replied, "Well, I've hit you twice, now, so it can't be that hard."

[Abarai Loki]

His head bobbed like a bongoboat on a lazy tide. When he surfaced, his jaw was locked, damming an upsurge of blistering venom. Nostrils flared, hissing steam in angry torrents. And when the dull echo of pain diminished, he opened his eyes. From across the room, two wooden practice swords shot into his hands with a low whistle and a slap of flesh. Without ceremony, one of the swords was tossed to the mongoose. Twice, Loki swung his weapon, familiarising himself with its sturdy weight, then readied himself. Hungry eyes speared his opponent.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal studied the "saber" he had been tossed. It wasn't a wooden sword so much as it was just a wooden dowel with dents along its length from practice. The grip was only tolerably sanded, and he could already tell from just this brief inspection that it was most likely from a hardware supplier, not a reputable fencing company. It was not even close to the wooden swords he had been used to, and the fight as visibly draining from the mongoose already.

"Is this seriously it?" he asked, holding up his "saber."

[Abarai Loki]

A slight shift in weight was all the warning Halajiin was going to get. Loki charged, the space between them swallowed in a heartbeat, and angled his weapon for a skewering lunge. He aimed his attack at the soft spot just below the sternum, intent on revealing to the mongoose exaclty what Seriously It was capable of...

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Who leads with a lunge with a weapon like this?

Shorty McFrustrated, that's who.

Well, I guess class is in session, now, Professor Rabeak presiding.

Going one-handed for the moment, Hal twirled his glorified dowel, out then in to intercept the tip of Loki's blade. The cargo bay rang with the depressing clack of wood on wood, but Hal wasn't listening. Continuing his motion, he drove Loki's saber up and out, away from Hal's body before he took a leaping step of his own, hoping to catch Loki in the gut as he passed by.

If his old fencing teacher could see him now, Hal would be getting a D for quality of form.

[Abarai Loki]

There was much to be learned from how an opponent responded to such a direct and simple opening attack. Halajiin had deft control of his blade, squeezing grace from even a clunky hunk of wood; grace, and perhaps a hint of flamboyance. His deflection was effective, but much as the rythmn of combat granted him a counter-attack, his opponent was afforded the means with which to defend himself. Loki's sword reeled and was upended, running parallel with his spine, he dropped to one knee and raised his blade. The Nehantite's weapon climbed the length of its rival with a grating scratch of wood, and sailed over the boy's head. Halajiin passed, it had been a clumsy move, rendering him victim to his own momentum. Loki exploited the opening with maximum relish and snapped a stinging blow to the buttocks.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

The sound of wood striking wood, and the feel of the training saber's heft in his paw unleashed a floodgate of memories into Hal's brain. Stances, attack positions, defenses, fakes, they swirled around in his head as he tried to remain focused. But, if there was one thing he had learned in all those years it was this: watch your ass.

Recollection of that most important of instructions came none too soon, and the mongoose lifted himself up on the ball of one footpaw and spun, bringing his sword back to incercept Loki's once more before letting his momentum be stopped by his other leg landing like a shock absorber.

Actually glad we didn't put shoes on, after all.

I'm not, you deserved a good spank.

For what?!

I'm sure I can dredge up a reason.

Just shut up and let me fight!

Once each of them recovered from the initial volley, the duel began in earnest. Hal was not the bumbling pushover Loki may have expected, and his old training came back in a hurry as he made excellent use of his superior range as he fought one-handed against Loki's masterful two-hand assault. Blade clacked against blade in a dizzying flurry of strokes, but other than those sounds, the room was silent as they performed their dueling dance.

No cheap tricks, no Force powers, it was just man against man, and Hal came to the fast realization that Loki was far more than he seemed to be, and despite Hal's attempt to keep him at bay, the boy soon fought himself within the Nehantite's range. A change-up to two-handed form shifted the fight's dynamic, as it became about power and finesse more than it had been about speed and grace. Heavy dents pocked both sabers, but neither fighter had gained or lost ground in the match.

Hal could feel his heart beating faster, and he knew he was giving in to his animal instincts as his temples went warm. From Loki's point of view, the mongoose's pink eyes were flaring red, and Hal knew it was too early to become so affected by the match.

[Abarai Loki]

Those eyes. He'd seen them before, crimson and wild, like pools of seething magma. They reflected the same hunger in his own gaze, of hard piercing ice, shimmering with vibrant life. There was a pause. In the mind of the duelist, the battle never ended, and in the heavy silence they watched it take shape, painted in broad bloody strokes. The mongoose had a surprising repertoire, and a rich variety of skill, which shook itself awake with each sweeping blow. Loki danced on the outskirts of his reach, testing his range, power, and speed. His opponent had a confident technique, and his ability to wield the hefty sword one-handed, and with such flair, betrayed a long history of fencing instruction. He had a talented paw. So, when he clasped his weapon in both paws, it gave his young adversary cause for concern.

When their blades next crossed, Loki was on the back foot, muscled into retreat by Halajiin's towering offense. It was futile to attempt to answer his call blow for blow. A moment longer, he watched, waiting for a pattern to reveal itself, and then he acted. Blades met, side by side, and using the course of its own momentum, the incoming slash was deftly redirected just outside the danger zone. Not a second was lost as he attempted to capitalise on the opening, he jabbed at his opponents abdomen, but it was deflected. Then came the Nehantite's counter-attack; same principle, with Makashi efficiency and precision, Halajiin's weapon was angled off course, and Loki avoided the brunt of the attack with a simple twist of the hips. His next attack, a debilitating stab to the mongoose's knee, was a feint. Swords passed in a harmless rush of air. And then, with a hop, Loki planted a foot on his opponent's hands and took flight. High overhead, soaring like the hawk-bat, the young Jedi sommersaulted and aimed a violent slash at his opponent's shoulder.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Okay, so, Loki is like, the best fencer I've ever seen, this age.

Are you kidding? He's better than some of the instructors we had! Seriously working to keep ahead of him, here!

Watch your low guard, he's really got the edge on you, there.

Is that some kind of short joke?

No, it's advice, so seriously watch it!

Back and forth his mind went, his higher and lower functions each arguing their own strategies while also offering each other advice and warning. Hal had never questioned his internal dialogue as being something suspect, he imagined everyone thought in such a process and it was fully part of his nature. But what was not part of his nature was a swordfight lasting this long.

Loki's vaulting leap caught him off-guard, and Hal blinked as he looked up.

We're fucked.

Not if I can help it!

Instinct won over all of Hal's other impulses, and he wrenched himself around, raising his saber just fast enough to form a clumsy block to the powerful downward sweep. His arms found themselves unable to absorb the full shock, and so he dropped to one knee before springing off his good leg to gain distance from the boy prodigy once more.

Good move!

Yeah, gonna be feeling that in the morning, though.

It is the morning, technically.

We didn't sleep?

No, we didn't sleep.

Well, um, why not?! We should be asleep!

You had things on your mind!

You are my mind! This is all your fault!

Drop it, would you? Here he comes again!

The young knight had wasted no time in recovering, and before Hal knew it he was locked in a corps-a-corps with the boy. Well, perhaps locked was a bad word, as Hal grunted and used his superior strength to shove Loki back and retake the offensive.

Sharp, resounding cracks rang through the cargo bay as he beat upon Loki's defense, pouring out his strength upon the boy's skillful blocks. Hal's saber whistled through the air as he swung it with blinding speed until at last, with a feral roar, he railed a hammering blow against Loki's battered sable, then paused.

There was no clack, no ringing vibration which stung his paws, and he felt himself following through instead of being blocked. Instead there was a sickening crunch and crack, and Hal's red eyes went wide momentarily as he watched his wooden sword flex beyond its limit, then cracked and splintered as it shattered upon impact, the top half flying away, and leaving Loki's saber cracked and injured as well.

The fight was over immediately, for Hal and he stared at the broken length of wood in his paws as he eased back to a stand.

"The hell?" he whined. His confusion was quick to turn to anger as his face tightened and he spun to hurl the remaining chunk of wood in his paws against a cargo bay wall.

"Damn it! This whole place sucks!" he roared.

[Abarai Loki]

In his hands, the top half of the fractured sword wobbled tentatively on the remaining fibres of wood. Then, with a soft creak, it gave up the fight and fell limp. His eyebrow arched.

"Curious," he said, dispassionately, "That has never happened to me before."

Meanwhile, Halajiin was ranting again. There was a part of him that related, albeit distantly, to his frustration. The training swords were a dire substitution for lightsabers; too heavy, too fragile, too dangerous. This latest incident proved that. It was only a matter of time before one of them broke, and inwardly, that it had happened during one of his duels left him feeling secretly rather pleased with himself. In the cavernous expanse, Halajiin's voiced rumbled and resounded dramatically, and, impressively fearsome though it was, the Nehantite roar, it was certainly no way to end a duel, prematurely or not. Eyes still fixed on his sorry weapon, he said:

"What exactly did you expect?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal wasted no time in finding his answer and letting it be known. "I expected that the Jedi would have at least survived as something more than a damn theory!" he shouted.

"Stupid, tiny ship, no one fears or respects us, I still don't have decent clothes, the food here is terrible, and... and these... things!" he pointed at the broken pieces of wood. "You'd think we could at least get real practice swords, like macassar, or even hickory, not this... hardware store specials!"

His tail bushed out far more than normal, and whipped back and forth as he fell victim to his animal nature. A Jedi should control his emotion, but Nehantites had a legitimate problem with reining in their instincts, and it was only because of their so-called "less evolved" status that it was forgiven amongst the Jedi.

"This just doesn't make any sense at all, and someone needs to do something about it!

[Abarai Loki]

"You insult your brethren, mongoose Jedi," Loki said, darkly, discarding his broken sword, "It was not a mere theory that stormed the Imperial capital itself to snatch Serena Laran out of enemy hands."

And that was about all the breath he was prepared to waste justifying his comrades to such a flatulent pessimist. He turned, regarding Halajiin with frosty condemnation. Anger simmered about him like a blistering heat. It was unsurprising the training swords were in bits, the force behind that final blow had been monstrous, fueled by a kind of fury that could only be described as primal. Clearly, the Nehantite was a tortured soul. Loki frowned, and folded his arms.

"Halajiin Rabeak, after a matter of days, you have successfully insulted the Jedi who saw fit to take you in and have carried yourself with all the decorum of a spoilt child. No-one said the circumstances were ideal, but if you are so incensed by what you see, then please do something other than stamp your feet. It is both tedious and unproductive."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

The brilliant crimson of Hal's eyes had not faded, and he could feel every heartbeat as the hot blood pounded at his temples. He was not mad at Loki, or at any Jedi in particular, but at his own feelings of helpessness and desperation in spite of all that he knew.

Loki's words stung with a harsh truth, but Hal would not apologize for his actions or behavior thus far. He had done everything he was supposed to, and gone beyond that to try and help the Council see how things used to be - only to be flatly denied.

"You think I've done nothing since I got here?" he growled, lip curling ever so slightly. "I have approached the council with suggestions for improvement, only to be turned down. I haven't been allowed to formally teach because everyone says I need to adjust, first. I have helped a few padawans with their lightsaber basics kits, and I've spent plenty of time reading up on what happened while I was frozen. And, maybe you didn't notice, but I've actually taken the time to re-create some old texts I used to study to the best of my memory, so that other Jedi can learn from me what might have otherwise been lost!"

He snorted each breath as he came right back at Loki with frustration instead of self-rightousness. "And I will keep writing down everything I can possibly remember in order to help re-build your library, and I'll do whatever it takes to get this Order back on track! So don't you dare accuse me of being idle in these circumstances!"

[Abarai Loki]

"That you have taken the initiative to start reproducing old Jedi texts is commendable, as is your willingness to assist padawans in the construction of lightsabers. However, if the council rules against a proposal, it is not without good reason, and to think otherwise would be foolish. And, regardless of what you might think, it is abundantly clear to me that you have still not yet adjusted to your new environment. Patience, Halajiin Rabeak."

While there remained to be no shortage of anger behind his words, at least Halajiin was beginning to shape his grievances into a solid argument, rather than allowing them to bubble and froth inside, spilling into another tantrum. Loki liked his spirit, he was reminded of Corell, his irrepressible padawan. He saw in Halajiin the same righteous intent, the same impatience, the impulse to dive head first with a belly full of fire. People like that cared little for words, and were sated only by action. The young Jedi raised an eyebrow, reconsidering the conversation, and its apparent futility.

"Or perhaps it is you who needs to... get laid."