Lessa

His second attack, though equally dramatic, was far less successful. From where she stood, Lessa deducted that the boy had plenty of power behind his swing. Even his form, from what she could see, was decent. Considering all of this, she decided that his problem had been timing. It had been a good swing, but the boar had not been in the right position for the attack to be successful. That came with practice, and the blonde was just thankful that he would have her protection as he trained.

He had brought his sword up in the empty space just in front of the boar. That meant that, by the time the beast reached him, his midsection was exposed, and his position left him vulnerable. Unsurprisingly, the boar raked a tusk across Lycan's stomach before galloping past. Lessa winced, but did not move to draw her own sword. No one survived in Aincrad without taking a couple of hits, and she had to let him learn the hard way. It was a bit like riding a horse - if you fell off a few time, you'd learn how to do it right. Lye had to learn the same.

"You're fine," she called out to him, allowing some of her concern to creep into her voice. "It was a small hit. Just wait a second or two longer before striking this time. Let the boar get in range."

For a moment, Lessa found herself completely speechless. She could only stare at her companion, gaze studying his expression for any clue to his thoughts. He had responded so easily to her concern, first shrugging it off as a non-issue, and then even validating her behavior. This place changes people? He had no idea. But another thought caused her to pause, and her gaze narrowed slightly. Or maybe he did. So often, the low level players she encountered had no concept of how the game could transform people, as they had changed very little themselves. Two years of flitting about the first floor, hanging out in the taverns, and remaining in the safe zones brought about very little character growth. The simple fact that the stranger before her even mentioned the change might suggest that he knew something about it.

"Charity cases are my specialty," came her simple answer. Then, she turned, motioning with one gauntleted hand for the man to follow her. "Town is back this way." She took a few steps away, but moved slowly, ensuring that the boy could fall into step beside her. Once he did, she finally allowed curiosity to take over. "So are you from Michigan then?"

So he was familiar with Detroit's teams, and not simply making a jab at the Tigers? Interesting. The slightest traces of a smile turned the corners of her lips at the thought. For the longest time, the only commonality between her and the other players had been their current situation - trapped in Aincrad, fighting for life, the usual. To meet someone with whom she could relate to on a deeper level was a welcome change of pace. Of course, she did not intend to commit fully; if her time playing Sword Art Online had taught her anything, it was that slow and steady was always the best option. Remain vigilant - that was the best way to survive this death game.

"I think we can both agree," she continued slowly, her gaze finding his and monitoring it closely, "that the Wings probably made it to the playoffs again. I don't think even SAO could ruin their twenty four year streak."

Then he asked her to escort him to the town. She opened her mouth to answer that yes, of course she would. She had been planning to since the beginning. How could she, in good faith, simply leave him there? But Lessa paused as he spoke the final words. Her smile disappeared. "I don't want anything from you."

"You know," Lessa replied dryly, hands moving instinctively to her hips, "the Tigers won their division last year." The instant the words had left her mouth, those same lips turned downward with the faintest hint of a frown. "Well, two years ago," she corrected herself, her voice softer than it had been before. "I guess I don't know how they did last year."

It certainly was a sobering thought. How would she have any idea how Cabrera and her boys had played last season? Aincrad's taverns certainly did not carry ESPN, and it was not as if she could check the results on her cell phone. Every single day, she found herself reminded of the family she left behind. She heard her mom's kind words, her dad's laugh, and her brother's stupid jokes. She smelled the lilacs that grew out by the barn, and she saw the way that the bush moved beneath a cool, Michigan spring breeze. To be back there - that was what she longed for, and she rarely ever stopped thinking about it. But less often, she was reminded of the little things. What had happened in the most recent season of Supernatural? Did Spencer Smith end up leaving Panic at the Disco? How did the Tigers do?

The stranger stared at her, his eyes wide and expectant, and she knew that she needed to answer him. "You're not an idiot," she countered. "But you do need to be more careful. I don't think I need to tell you how dangerous these boars are." At his compliment, she gave a slight nod. "Thank you. It gets the job done." It also attracted a lot of attention. Demonic Gram was one of the flashiest swords that she had ever seen, and the same went for most players that she encountered. It seemed that everyone had something to say about it.

"No one is dying today."

The boy's words had been delivered in jest, of course. She could safely assume that he did not plan to slink off to the nearest ledge and throw himself off purely out of embarrassment. But considering the circumstance, Lessa felt the comment was in poor taste. He truly could have died. Based on the depth with which he buried his blade in the dirt, he most likely would not have been able to hold his own. She did not know the stranger's name, but the thought of another word being etched into the monument caused her breath to hitch.

Even after participating in a boss fight, Lessa was endlessly surprised by the speed with which some of these low-level boars regained their composure. It was no wonder that so many fell to their dagger-like hooves and tusks. It was one of those tusks that scraped along her midsection. Unfazed by the other player's missed attack, the boar raked it's own weapons against her armor with a terrible grinding noise. She grit her teeth, casting a quick glance upward at her bar. Despite her heavy armor and her high level, the tiniest sliver of her health disappeared.

"Enough," she growled. With ease, she plunged her heavy sword into the boar just as it passed. There was the briefest moment, a slight flash of light, and an explosion of data. 

As she sheathed Gram, the woman turned back to the other player. Though her blue eyes revealed concern, her tone was steady. "Are you alright?"

Quietly, Lessa regarded the small girl. She had always enjoyed children, but she felt strongly about how they should behave. True, this girl had been trapped in Aincrad, so her situation was radically different. But the woman was still put off by the player's lack of manners. Out of respect for the little one's situation, she would not discipline her. But she would not encourage her either. So the blonde merely swung her gaze toward the other stranger. He had assured her that she was not interrupting, but she still did not wish to continue intruding, so she offered a polite nod. "Nice to meet you, Ethereal," came her soft greeting.

"Nothing really." Now, she addressed her friend, Baldur. "I just remembered that you were coming down here this afternoon, and I was wondering if you wanted to do lunch."

It was the howl that caught her attention. Given the amount of time that that the blonde had spent on the lower floors over the past year, she recognized the squeal instantly. It was a sound that froze the blood in her veins, and lifted goosebumps up and down her arms. This was the noise that boars made when they charged a player. For many players, that had been the last thing that they had heard before being killed. Like some sick funeral toll, all too often played out of earshot of anyone who might be able to intervene. Unfortunately, some player had made the mistake of venturing too far out. Fortunately, Lessa had once again found herself in the right place at the right time.

Long strides carried her bulky figure toward the sound. She crashed gracelessly through the pine trees that surrounded her, forming a wall to shield her from whatever tragedy she hoped to stop. Sure, there was the possibility that the player in question was capable enough to handle the boar on his or her own. But far too often, that was not the case. The first floor in particular was littered with good intentions and terrible ideas, and the ex-Guardian was not willing to take the risk.

Her gamble had paid off. In the seconds before she took action, her gaze rested upon a wide-eyed young man. Oh, she was familiar with that expression of sheer terror. How many times had she witnessed it? How many times had she worn it herself?

"Stand back," she commanded. At the same time, many things seemed to happen all at once. Her eyes began to transform, growing lighter in both shade and brightness. In only a matter of seconds, she appeared to stare back at him with a pair of blue, glowing orbs. <<Howl>> had been activated. She also drew her sword, freeing the massive weapon from its sheath against her back with a soft hiss. Finally, she reached out a single gauntleted hand toward the dark-haired stranger. Lessa had arrived just in time, but there was no way that she could place herself in the boar's line of attack - her heavy armor did not allow her to move so quickly. But she trusted the system, and she knew that in only a moment, the beast would round on her instead. He was safe.

Like a fish out of water, her mouth first opened, and then closed again. Of course, she had meant how he had arrived in Aincrad, but he knew that, didn't he? Her eyes narrowed further, though this time equal parts surprise, amusement, and approval. "Touche," she quipped. I set myself up for that one.

As he continued his tale, the blonde settled herself deeper into her seat - cautiously, of course, so not to break it - and crossed her arms gently across her breastplate. Her mug rest, either half full or half empty, on the table before her. The taste, though her not her favorite by any stretch of the imagination, was bearable. Lessa would have the tankard emptied by the time she left the inn, partially out of respect for her companion, and partially because she left no good drink behind. But for now, she was content to simply listen, nodding occasionally, and listening in for any mention of that farm.

Once the man concluded his short story, she felt a snide comment dancing on the tip of her tongue. A regular Mother Teresa, the angrier corners of her mind hissed. But her lips did not part, and she put no voice to her thoughts; in truth, she found herself impressed by Icarus' tale. He had made the best of a bad situation by helping others. Haven't you been doing the same? "You're handling the situation pretty well," she finally mused aloud, her tone dotted with both admiration and suspicion. "Being stuck here, I mean. It is nice to see that you've kept that optimism." Has this Hell given you reason to lose it yet? "That's admirable."

Here's one.

His form, though not altogether the worst she had ever seen, was still lacking. He did not muster nearly enough speed as he closed the gap, and his handle of the weapon was shaky. He has a flare for the dramatic, she observed in muted amusement. He would have dealt the same damage without the enormous slash of his weapon and all the shouting, but she certainly would not be the one to tell him that. If her years in the college of education had taught her anything, it was not to mess with a good thing. If her pupil could still land the hits, and do so safely, he could yell all he wanted.

"Nice hit," she called out. Though she still stung from their earlier exchange, she knew that she would need to shelve those emotions for the time being. To not do so, and not allow Lycan her full attention, might spell out disaster for him.

The boar, on the other hand, was not giving Lye his full attention. Though the damage that the boy had dealt it was minimal, the blow was enough to fluster the low-level beast. It snorted furiously, shaking its head as if to rid itself of some virtual pain. By the time it had rounded on the snow-haired warrior once more, he was ready for his next attack.

He slowed, and so did she, but her mind continued to race. The boy had aroused so many emotions within her, just as he had only moments earlier in front of the bench. But there were a few stark differences between that experience and this one. Then, the feeling that had emerged victorious had been sadness. She had wept alongside him, her face buried in his hair, her arms clinging to him in a momentary loss of control. This time, that control remained in-tact, and no tears pressed at the backs of her blue eyes. On the contrary, she felt far less vulnerable than she had before. Now, mingling with the sorrow, fear, and dread, she felt a sort of hard determination. It ran white-hot within her, the same way that it had when she had defended her brothers in front of her parents, or a student in front of an administrator. It was an urge to protect them, and see them stand tall after spending so much time on their knees. They hadn't deserved the hardships that they had faced. Neither did Baldur. Neither did she.

"Jason." The name felt so foreign, but she spoke it with fierce clarity. "You're getting ahead of yourself." Her voice was stern, though the look in her eyes assured him that she appreciated his grit. "You don't need to jump back to the front lines. Take some time to get back up to speed. A lot has changed in the last year. We'll work on it together, alright?"

Her gaze dropped to his hand, which cupped hers gently. "Nothing is going to happen to you." Whether she added the last bit for his benefit, or for hers, was not entirely clear. Later, she would go on to wonder who it was that she was trying to convince.

The boy's rushed questions seemed to fall upon deaf ears. She kept her gaze ahead, and her strides long, forcing the younger player to scamper after her. By the time he fell in step beside her, his breath was slightly more labored, and the questions had seemed to slow. Good. Lessa heard them, but she elected to remain silent. To open her mouth might be bad news for both of them.

"Look over there," she commanded suddenly, slowing to a halt. Her hands were still bare as she pointed about fifty feet away. A boar had only just spawned, the ribbons of light only just falling away as the virtual monster came into being. Immediately, the pig's sharp hooves began to paw restlessly, striking the dirt with more force than any new player might recognize. These beasts were dangerous, and she hoped that Lycan recognized that. A sideways glance revealed that his face had lost some of its color. Good, she thought again.

"We'll focus on one boar right now, since this is your first time. We're also just going to work on the basics, so don't try to activate any sword arts, okay?" Briefly, she wondered if she was giving the boy too much credit. Even after being trapped for over a year, it had taken Lessa weeks to even activate hers. But it was worth mentioning. The last thing that she wanted was for him to mess up a sword art and exhaust all of his energy.

"The system is meant to help you, and guide your hit. Right now, I just want you to close the distance between yourself and the boar, and try to land a hit. One hit from this thing won't kill you, but stay away from the hooves and the tusks."

Woo, sounds good!

Thread Complete!

Both participants receive 1 SP and 200 Col.

That arm that he offered was not for her. Lessa merely stared at it for a few seconds. In that moment, perhaps it was. But at the same time, she knew that there was someone else who should be linked to Baldur. Someone who she had not seen a trace of in a year. Someone whose absence hung heavy around them, an elephant in the their theoretical room. He had not mentioned her, but the blonde knew she was on his mind. Love was not so easily wiped from memory, though she had wished on many occasions that it was. Maybe his tears were not shed for her, but she was there nonetheless, in the back of his mind. No, Tyger was no longer a staple in her friend's life. If she had been, the dark haired man would have mentioned her by now. The fact that her name was not even uttered suggested something had happened.

She wouldn't ask; she had more class than that. Out of respect for her friend, she did not ask about Tyger. And out of respect for her friend, she snaked her arm through his. "The fourth floor has always been my favorite too," she replied softly. "I spend a lot of time there. But I don't know this floor too well."

She felt the fire roaring in the pit of her stomach before she could quite comprehend what was happening. Her hands clenched into fists at her side. Wait, cried her conscience, voice muffled by the anger that worked to drown it out. Relax. He didn't know. It isn't his fault. She blinked rapidly, attempting to extinguish the flames before they reached her eyes, the one place she wore each emotion like a sign around her neck. Through clenched teeth, she inhaled deeply, tracing the cool air as it raced to her lungs, and imagining it settling there. He didn't know.

"So you're a frontliner, huh?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, look at your gear. You must be."

"No, you're mistaken. I'm not a frontliner."

"But, why not?"

"Because."

"That's really selfish of you."

"Excuse me?"

"You're a high level, clearly. You have a sword that I've never seen before. You have everything you need to clear the floors, and save people like us, but you don't. If I had everything you have, I'd be doing everything I could to win this game. Are you afraid to die?"

"No."

"So you're just selfish then."

She exhaled. "Nothing," she told him. "I'm nothing."

Without another word, she brushed past him.

The door slammed behind her with an unceremonious thud. A few patrons turned in their seats to follow the noise, but they turned back just as quickly. Most did not even seem to notice, continuing to pound their drinks and blow smoke with those gathered around them. The inn was packed to the brim, teaming with players dressed in armor of all colors and types. It was hot, loud, and an entirely unpleasant place to grab something to drink. Fortunately for Lessa, on this occasion, that was not her goal. Her blue eyes scanned the tavern's occupants just long enough to ensure that the man she searched for was not among them. Then, she slipped back into the equally busy, though slightly brighter street.

And as if by coincidence, she nearly barreled into the same man who she had been attempting to locate. "Baldur," the Brigadier commented. "I've been looking for you. I-" Suddenly, it dawned on her that her friend was not alone. "Ah," she murmured, her voice both hardening and decreasing in volume. "Sorry."

The girl gave a small shrug. "Loaded in the sense that it could have a lot of possible answers," she countered gently. "Or that you could be expecting something in particular. I don't spend a whole lot of time talking about myself these days, so I guess I wasn't really sure what you wanted to hear."

He mentioned that he found her interesting, which was a fact that had little effect on her. A number of other players had told her the same, at one point or another. And perhaps it was her recently acquired paranoia, but she briefly found herself trying to figure out what it was that Icarus had to gain by interviewing her this way. She took another drink from her frosted mug, regarding the boy over the rim as she did so. It was not until his mention of being a farm boy that her attention snapped elsewhere. Proverbial farm boy, she reminded herself sternly, but she had his interest nonetheless. Did the man know anything about growing up on a farm? Would he be interested in hearing stories of the farm that she called home? No, most likely not.

His final comment, though surely delivered as a joke, was received as something of a challenge. If she could not keep him entertained, then he would move on to the next woman he came across. Her blue eyes narrowed slightly. So be it. "You give me too much credit," she finally continued, with a wave of the hand that did not cup her beer. "Right place, right time, remember? But what about you, proverbial farm boy? How did you end up in a place like this?"

Her companion planted the drink on the table before her. For a few seconds, she merely watched the dark liquid slosh about inside the chilled mug. But when Icarus scooped up his glass and held it out to her, she mimicked his movements. "Cheers," she echoed, though with slightly less enthusiasm. By the time she brought the cup to her lips, droplets of the beer that had escaped over the glass' rim raced down her bare skin, criss-crossing each other across her hand, and leaving sticky trails in their wake. Without thinking, she would wipe her hand on her leggings a moment later.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she took her first swig of the alcohol. It was a taste that she was unaccustomed to. Perhaps Icarus' choice of an Irish red ale was to blame for that. In truth, Alyssa had never cared for beer. But over the course of the past year, Lessa had found herself drinking quite a bit of it. It was cheap and easy, and she could normally just as the bartender for whatever he had. The man seated opposite of her clearly demonstrated more knowledge of alcohol than she possessed. Silently, she added that to the ever-growing list of things that she had learned about him. True, he had not spoke much, but he had already revealed quite a bit. A bit of an open book, she thought to herself. It was a relief to meet someone who was not so reserved. So late in the game, people such as Icarus were rare finds.

Lessa was lifting the cup to her mouth once more when he delivered his question. She paused just long enough to whistle softly, before taking another drink and replacing the tankard on the table. "That's a loaded question," she replied finally, though not unkindly. The blonde did not wish to give off the impression that Icarus was being too nosey, as she found that she was actually enjoying their exchanges thus far. But his question truly did open many doors, some of which preferred stay closed. "Well, I guess it depends on what you want to know. I'm a blacksmith here, but I haven't made anything in over a year. I belong to the Azure Brigade, but I'm not sure how much longer I'll stay. I'm a level twenty eight, but I don't do much on the upper floors." But but but, she thought suddenly. I'm being complicated.

"Ragnarok Online?" the girl echoed, her brow furrowing as she tried to recall the name. "I don't think that I've heard of that." That fact surprised her very little. Before plunging into Aincrad, Alyssa had actually played very few games similar to this. Her preferred poison was first person shooters, and after her experience in Sword Art Online, she doubted that she would ever stray from that path again. "But the general idea is correct, yeah. The monsters definitely get tougher as you move up the floors, but that doesn't mean that you're safe just because you're on floor one. These boars are pretty unforgiving." She had seen more players die to their tusks than she would have ever dreamed. Of course, she would not tell Lycan that. She needed him to be aware of the risks he took every day, as that alone was an excellent motivator, but terrifying him this early in the game would be silly.

Then he asked if she was a frontliner. Her blue eyes slipped behind her eyelids for the briefest moment, but she did not miss a step. And when she finally spoke, her words were even, and bereft of emotion. The same could not be said about her eyes, when she finally opened them again. "No, I'm not a frontliner."

Only seconds later, a party invite appeared, interrupting Lycan's tinkering. "I can show you how to do that later," was her explanation as Lessa closed her own menu. Right now, I'd like to get off these crowded streets. As the virtual sun perched atop its highest point in the blue sky, even more players were emerging from the inns, taverns, and shops that loomed around them. Even the social butterfly that lay dormant inside of her would have been overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people who now brushed against her as they talked too loudly amongst themselves.

"If you follow me this way," she continued with a nod of her head, "I'll show you to the gate. Have you been outside of the save zone before?"

"[censored]." Her response was certainly not among the most dignified things she could have said, especially considering the situation that the pair found themselves in. But just as Alyssa had had a vocabulary to make a sailor blush, Lessa found herself resorting to her old ways. She muttered the word into the sleeve of her coat as she gracelessly raked it across her tear stained cheeks. Coated in salt, snot, and god-knows-what-else was not the state that the girl had wanted to ever show herself, especially in front of someone who had considered her a mentor. She imagined it was a bit like witnessing a parent crying for the first time. Surely, it did nothing for her image, and perhaps it even degraded her in his eyes. But the wide, red-rimmed gaze that she found mirrored her own, and so maybe, that was okay for the moment. Maybe her display of weakness could be left there, in the cold air of the seventh floor, in a town lit by green light. Like some screwed up Emerald City, the girl would find herself musing later.

Climbing to her feet, Lessa finally answered the comment that she had left hanging. "Don't thank me. There's no reason to." It isn't like I did anything. But the gentle smile that Baldur offered her suggested otherwise. It seemed the hard cry had been the therapy he had needed. She was thankful that he felt better after it. She wondered what she was supposed to be feeling. "Anyway, its a bit chilly out here if we stay in one place." Extending a hand to her friend, she asked, "would you want to walk for a bit?"

"They're definitely not the strongest," she countered with a slight shrug, "especially Hell Rose. For a while, actually, this sword was one of the weaker in the game. I'm a blacksmith, so it would have taken no time at all to craft a better one. But, I'd become attached to this one." Her salmon lips paled as she drew them into a tight line. "I'm not sure if that's a side effect of being in the game or not, but I find that I keep making connections with silly things." Safer than making connections with people, probably, came a humorless thought.

The pearl-haired man's expression changed rapidly, and in a tumble of rushed words, he apologized for keeping her. To claim that no part of her wished to simply bid the boy farewell and move past would be a lie. In fact, that tankard of ale that she so often used to drown the creeping frustration still called to her from the closest tavern. But as her blue eyes held his, she found herself rooted in place. Lessa, you're such a sucker.

She did not speak to his apology, simply responding with a soft "eh" and a wave of her hand. "Do you know how to use that sword yet? If not, maybe I can give you some pointers."

Though he had no words to offer her, what Baldur did next left the woman speechless. A soft gasp escaped her as his arms snaked around her body, and pulled her closer. The embrace was only the second that she had received since donning the Nerve Gear, and the sheer weight of it ignited a whirlwind of emotions that Lessa found herself struggling to sort through.

Fear, that she might lose another the way she had lost so many before.

Regret, for not saying the words that had perched on the tip of her tongue for far too long.

Guilt, for piling herself with self loathing and pity for far longer than she would care to admit. 

And an overwhelming loneliness, so suffocating in its mass that she suddenly could not catch her breath. Her body trembled against his as she fought to control the enormous wave that threatened to drown her. For so long, she had existed without feeling. She had buried each emotion, good or bad, and forged on alone. That, she had assured herself, was the secret to staying alive. That was how she would live through the nightmare that was Sword Art Online. But was that living at all? And now, another player stood before her, baring his soul, and putting it all on the table. It was a display that shook her to the core, though she wished that it did not.This was his time to mourn, not hers.

Yet as he pressed his forehead to the crook of her neck, the tears he had held for so long finally wetting her bare skin, she felt a strangled sob of her own form in the back of her throat. Her jaw clenched as she fought the urge to mimic his outburst, but when she finally pressed her face against her companion's dark hair, her cheeks were damp as well.

Much to her dismay, the blonde witnessed the complete breakdown of a boy who had been nothing but steadfast. Try as she may, in that moment, she could not remember a single time when happiness had not painted Baldur's expression with a warm, contagious light; his smile had been unwavering, just as hers had been once before. And like a moth to a flame, Baldur's optimism, hope, and love of life had drawn her in. And for a while, she had believed it all. Perhaps that explained why his disappearance had left such a mark on the Guardian. And why, as she watched his armor crack and his walls tumble down around them, her heart crumbled as well.

"Baldur," she breathed, the words hot against the chill that hung nearly as heavy as her sudden sense of dread. It had been a long time since the need for physical contact had gripped her, but just then, she found it impossible to resist. Alyssa would have pulled the broken boy into a tight hug, but Lessa reached out a bare hand, and laid it gently against arm. With a gentle squeeze, she added, "you don't have to be alone. You're not alone." Now the words tumbled from her lips like water from a cracked dam, untamed and unwanted, and it felt like someone else was saying them. "I'm here." 

His head hung pitifully, and his gaze never wavered from her boots. Her frown grew deeper as she watched him in silence. When she worried that she had come on too strong, she continued. "You're not alone in how you feel, either. I know how it feels to be stuck. I've-" she hesitated, before deciding to come out and admit it to both of them, "-been stuck too. For a long, long time now."