Healer

11

     Conrad groaned, pointed the tip of his practice sword at the ground, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, no, no! Come on, Reynolds, we've been at this for three days straight, and you still haven't gotten the hang of it?"

     Reynolds flushed, rushing to recover his weapon from where it had landed after being slapped out of his hand. Conrad had stripped down to the waist for this exercise. His exposed skin was clear and unblemished, proving Reynolds's inability to touch him during practice. Meanwhile, Reynolds was sure he'd added a number of welts and bruises to his own body. "I'm sorry."

     "Don't be sorry, just pay attention." The ginger Hunter made a series of slow, careful movements, muscles rolling with practiced ease as his weapon seemed to flow through the air. Reynolds watched, fascinated. Conrad moved with the grace of a ballet dancer. Every move was fluid, one melting into the next as though to music only he could hear. "It's in the wrists, you see?" the Hunter called without pausing. "No matter where you put your weapon, you keep the edge toward your opponent. What you don't do is turn the handle in your hands. Not only does that make it easy for me to knock it out of your hands by loosening your grip, but it also takes time and focus away from your opponent. That's deadly in the field." He paused, glancing at Imbago, who watched them silently from her usual spot in one corner. He smirked as he looked back at Reynolds and lowered his voice. "You wearing yourself out too much at night lately, Reynolds?"

     "Get bent!"

     "Not into guys, but maybe Imbago might?"

     Reynolds gripped the handle of his practice sword tightly. "Fuck you!"

     "And Reynolds finally shows a bit of spine!" Conrad crowed, raising both hands triumphantly in the air. "All this time, I'd thought sure your trainer had all the balls, but you finally..."

     Reynolds dropped his weapon and lunged at Conrad. His shoulder drove into the Hunter's unprotected stomach, driving him hard onto the mat in the training room. Imbago yelled and quickly dragged Reynolds off, but not before he'd gotten in a few good hits. Conrad lay where he fell, laughing like his lip wasn't split. "Oh, there we go! It's about time we saw some fight in this one, Imbago."

     Reynolds angrily pulled free. "Fuck you, Conrad!"

     "And there it is again! Hot damn, twice in the space of a few minutes? You know, Reynolds, until this moment, I wasn't entirely sure you knew what that word meant."

     "I know what it means," Reynolds panted. "And I know you'll get another knuckle sandwich if you talk about her like that again."

     "Talk about me like what?" Imbago eyed Conrad, who was picking himself up from the ground, still laughing. Her eyebrow went up. "You know Connie-J, I didn't notice before, but you are built very nicely, aren't you?"

     Conrad grinned at her and flexed, showing off his muscles. While the Hunter was no bodybuilder, he had the fit, tightly-muscled body Reynolds struggled to achieve. "I was never in shape until I started Hunter training," Conrad boasted, "but hey, if you got it, flaunt it, right?"

     "Indeed," she purred. "I imagine those muscles would look even better with some nice, deep, bloody scratch marks. Do let me know when I might find out?"

     His smile instantly vanished. He eyed her uneasily. "You are a very scary lady, Imbago. And on that note, I think it's time we took a break and let everyone cool down." Turning, he quickly returned to the front of the room, where he tossed his practice sword back onto the rack and gathered his belongings before rushing out.

     Reynolds was looking unhappily at his trainer. "You really want to... with him?"

     "Of course not," she scoffed. "But did you see how quickly he got out of here? That is another lesson for you. You let him know that he could upset you by insulting me. But how likely do you think he is to try that again after what I just said to him?"