The Beach, Wednesday afternoon

[fears_no_one]

Flint had offered to give Henry a lesson in sword fighting when they'd been at dinner on Thursday, and in an attempt not to have missed that obligation before the next dinner happened, they'd agreed to meet here.

Flint had scrounged up a few practice cutlasses from Better Not to Ask, and was warming up his arms before Henry arrived. The porgs kept their distance as they watched.



[OOC: Expecting one, but open beach is open!]

Comments

[thatsmysword]

"God be with ye!" Henry called brightly, as he wandered onto the beach in yet another insane t-shirt he'd gotten from Shenanigans last summer. "That's the cutlasses, then?"

[fears_no_one]

"Hello," Flint said with a quick return smile. "They are. They're not sharp, of course, but the weight is correct. I have my real cutlass if you'd like to see it, too."

[thatsmysword]

"Looks a touch more like a hunting sword than I expected," Henry mused, gaze dropping to the swords in question. "Wouldn't mind having a gander at the real one before we start."

[fears_no_one]

Flint held out his cutlass, hilt forward. "Please don't stab me," he teased.

[thatsmysword]

Henry chuckled. "Wasn't planning on it," he said, taking the hilt. "Unless you do anything stabbable, I suppose."

Though he got distracted midway into that sentence, testing the balance of the blade. Assessing the metal critically.

[fears_no_one]

Flint smiled. "It's pretty nice, isn't it?" he said proudly.

He'd cheerfully steal jewelry and clothing off of those he conquered, but he invested actual coin into his weapons, and that cutlass had been with him since his British Navy days. How he'd managed to purchase a weapon quite this nice was a secret between him and Thomas Hamilton.

[thatsmysword]

"I don't know the make, obviously," Henry said, giving it a little swing, eyes still on the blade itself. "But I can't find much fault with it. It's a fine blade."

He was thinking about the work required to shape it like that.

"The curve reminds me a bit of a Cuman weapon," he added. "But I take it it's been nowhere near Hungary."

He didn't know much of anything about anything. Except forging.

[fears_no_one]

"I'm afraid I haven't done a great deal of reading on the history of the cutlass," Flint said (and guess what he'd be doing now). "What was a Cuman weapon like?"

[thatsmysword]

"Sabres," Henry said absently. (The Cumans were a complicated topic, but he wasn't about to say as much.) "Less good for stabbing than this. They carried most of the weight near the tip. Usually used by warriors on horseback."

He snapped out of it just long enough to hold the cutlass back out for Flint to take, hilt-first.

[fears_no_one]

Flint nodded thoughtfully. "I haven't done a lot of horseback-based combat, and when I do, I use the pistol."

[thatsmysword]

"I never had a horse until recently," Henry said.

Or a lot of combat experience.

[fears_no_one]

"Then you're ahead of me," Flint said with a smile. "I have a ship, but not a horse."

[thatsmysword]

"Well, a ship sounds bigger, but I imagine Pebbles is better company," Henry said, with a laugh that was only a little forced. (Bloody Cumans.) "So how do you use a cutlass? Is it very different from a regular one-hander?"

[fears_no_one]

"Why don't you show me how you'd normally hold a sword and I'll adjust you from there?" Flint suggested.

[thatsmysword]

"All right," Henry said. He looked at Flint. "Mind giving me one of those practice ones, then? I'd rather not stab meself."

[fears_no_one]

"You'd have to make up a much better story for a scar you give yourself," Flint agreed, putting his real cutlass away and tossing Henry one of the practice ones.

[thatsmysword]

"Or never speak of it at all," Henry said merrily, catching the sword.

He adjusted it until he held it as Captain Bernard had shown him; it was a posture for a hunting sword more than anything, and he clearly wasn't too experienced with it.

[fears_no_one]

"Right, let's start with your stance," Flint said, walking over to adjust him. "And keep your knees loose. Practicing on sand is good for learning how to react under many kind of terrain, but it's treacherous at first."

[thatsmysword]

"So how am I supposed to react to the sand?" Henry inquired, shifting his stance a bit.

[fears_no_one]

"Remember that it won't be as solid as regular dirt," Flint said. "It will fight against you, grip your feet, try to pull you down. But when you're good at moving on sand, you're excellent on solid ground."

[thatsmysword]

"But I'm likely to fall on my arse a few times first," Henry said, with good humor.

He could already feel the sand shift under his feet.

[fears_no_one]

"Oh, plan for hundreds of times," Flint said cheerfully.

[thatsmysword]

"This is beginning to sound a great deal like lessons with Captain Bernard," Henry sighed, moving his feet a touch more. "Better?"

[fears_no_one]

"Then your captain knew what he was on about," Flint said. "It's far better to fall in practice than misstep once when it matters and be dead forever."

[thatsmysword]

A memory flitted past Henry's eyelids for an instant, but he blinked and it vanished.

"Aye," he said, humor faded from his voice. "That's true."