[PP - F1] Horseshoes & Handgrenades

[Lessa 1]

"No," the man replied suddenly.

Her eyes, the same shade as the sky above, widened. Then, only seconds later, grew just as clouded. "What was that?" Though her voice was still soft with concern, it had also grown slow with hesitation. 

Then, the young man turned to face her. His eyes locked onto hers, so intense that she was the one to avert her gaze first. "I'm not ready to go in yet. I need to keep practicing."

Torn somewhere between admiring his bravery and dreading his stupidity, Lessa withdrew her hand from his shoulder. "You just came really close to dying, Lye," she responded, her voice a bit more stern now. It was like the first time that they had met - she found herself donning the role of disapproving parent. But this time, the snow-haired boy did not back down. In fact, his gaze did not waver in the slightest. His expression remained stoic, and for the briefest moment, the woman wondered what it was going through his head. Her show of concern had not changed his mind, that much was certain. He did not speak again, and when the silence grew too much to bear, she finally shattered it. "Fine. But walk with me until your health returns."

[Lycan 0]

Lye's chest beat heavily. Not fast, panicked, or erratic, but deep, steady, and strong. This was reality gripping him for the first time. Games don't put your life on the line. They don't make you walk a fine sliver of a red health gauge one wrong look from the reaper's doorstep. Worst of all, they don't gamble with your future, your dreams, and your ambitions with the very first challenge. A boar, level one, the lowest and least lethal creature in this world. It almost killed him.

Not, "lol let's just respawn and try again!"... No. It almost killed him.

Lycan's sharp amber eyes pierced into Lessa's his grip white knuckled on the plain hunk of pointed steel. He admired her help, but he wasn't about to tuck his tail between his legs and scamper back to town for a cup of hot cocoa and an "atta boy".

"Fine," he remarked to Lessa's suggestion. In fact, he wasn't even aware his HP could regen naturally. Before this experience, he would have asked some half assed question about it, but he simply acknowledged that a full HP bar was better than half if he truly wanted to continue. He had to get stronger. It was the only way to guarantee his survival.

Lye, instead of putting his weapon back in its sheath like any normal player of any normal game, only reversed his grip on the hilt and held it at a pseudo ready position against his forearm. Similar to how a mantis' claw remains coiled and close at all times. As he took a few steps beside Lessa, he noticed his HP bar tick up a point from the peripheral of his vision.

He was silent as he walked with her. He didn't have any words to share. He just wanted to move on to the next step, whatever it took to avoid bursting into a spray of sparkling zeros and ones as his brain melted in the real world. Then, this thoughts found his lips.

"How many?" he began, keeping his gaze straight and away from Lessa. "How many have you seen fall?"

The question was entirely too personal, but it hung heavily on his mind as he remembered just the one. To Lessa, someone so hardened, yet so concerned... If he did die, it wouldn't have been her first... or second. Or even last, for that matter.

Edited March 9, 2016 by Lycan

[Lessa 1]

She was entirely unprepared for his question. So much so, in fact, that she stumbled slightly over her own feet as she registered what he'd asked. After righting herself, she turned to him, expression a peculiar mixture of shock, anger, and sadness.

Those three emotions immediately went to war within her, a fact that her eye surely could not hide. Lessa never could have predicted his question, as it had never been asked of her before. Not from the scarred war veterans, not from the timid newcomers, and not even from the headstrong drunkards in the bar. Not a single player had ever wanted to know, or at least, ever gone as far as to inquire.

But when the shock wore off, the fact that he had asked at all immediately brought her blood to a boil. The nerve of a near stranger to ask such a question. Her chest grew tight as she struggled to find the most searing response she could muster. How dare he? Even back home, a person would be mad to ask a veteran how many of his friends he had seen fall in the line of duty. It was personal, it was cruel, and it was entirely uncalled for. 

Yet as she opened her mouth to inform him of that, Lessa felt the fire leaving her body. Even back home. Back home, the question never would have been asked of her. Back home, that veteran was probably home, safe and sound, surrounded by friends and loved ones. Back home, she did not have the vivid memories of her friends' eyes widening, and lips moving helplessly before they burst into shards of data. Life was different, here in Aincrad. To cut the boy down, especially after his own close brush with death, would ignore that fact entirely.

"Too many," she finally answered simply, increasing her pace slightly so that he remained behind her. 

Edited March 10, 2016 by Lessa

[Lycan 0]

Too many.

Two words, unlimited weight. To ask someone to bear the burden of seeing just one comrade fall in battle, helpless to stop it, would be too much to ask of anyone.

Too many.

One was too many. The way it left her lips and made its way to his ears was something surreal. His near death encounter was incredibly sobering, but those two words gave this reality gravity. It gave it form. It gave it perspective.

"We're at war, aren't we?" his lips formed as his mind began to pull from his limited life experiences and text book knowledge. That shock, anger, and sadness in her eyes... The expression Lycan would have expected from a veteran of the old world wars. As he tried to frame it into perspective, his lips continued to move.

"We are the Spartans," he spoke from reference, not caring about her perception of his words - how silly or offensive they may or may not be to the situation. "An army of few versus a limitless, unknown, and powerful enemy. Our numbers are finite. Theirs are not..."

He motioned his arm into view and his eyes caught a glare of light from the edge of his blade.

"This isn't a game or a story. This is war. Whether we want to admit it or not, we all fly the same banner. We are a hodgepodge army in a messy alliance with the same goal."

He paused, the cool and comfortable breeze now feeling harsh and merciless.

"I am a soldier."

He lowered his arm, looking to Lessa. He didn't know what she had seen. He didn't know who she was, where she came from, what she wanted. He did, however, know she held her demons inside. She didn't have time nor concern to carry burdens for anyone but her self and those who she deemed worthy. Somehow, by chance, luck, or pity, Lycan made the latter of the list. While she kept her words short, and she made him feel like a liability to her, he held this strange woman in high regard.

She was the veteran. He was the recruit.

She was saving his life and in more ways than just one.

Lycan's mind began to calm from the swirling enigma and faux realism of the world - of Aincrad.

"I'm sorry for your losses," Lycan added, knowing all well he had no right to appeal to her personal experiences. "And I'm sorry to add to your burden. I'll follow your lead. No more resistance, no more bull-headedness, and no more personal questions. I appreciate the help."

That cheer in his voice? Gone. The inquisitive, curious boy? Gone. Those dreams of grandeur? Gone. Today's lesson was harsh. In time, some of that positive, witty, and curious teenager may return.Today? Well... today's tone had been set. 

Edited March 10, 2016 by Lycan

[Lessa 1]

"Spartan," she echoed. The small laugh she gave was humorless, dripping with emotions that spanned the spectrum. "You know, I was a Spartan at one time." Maybe he did not care to hear her story, and usually, she would not be willing to offer it. But in that moment, it spilled with ease before she could take stock of what happened. "I was a student at Michigan State University." At this, she hesitated slightly, before adding, "or maybe I still am, I guess. I don't really know how enrollment works with," another pause, and a sweeping gesture with her right hand, "all of this. I used to like the mascot. It made me feel powerful, and like I was a part of something." Her eyes closed, as if to mentally prepare for the words she spoke next. "But now that I'm finally facing the Persians, the title has a whole new meaning. I don't know how much I like it anymore." 

For a moment, Lessa allowed herself to slip into silence, focusing only on her thoughts and the heavy thuds of her boots against the earth. He was clearly a newcomer - that much could be determined by his skill and his gear. But the words he spoke were reminiscent of an experienced player. A veteran. A broken old husk of a person. Someone more like her. "This is war," she agreed suddenly. "But we're no army. We're a bunch of nerdy kids, pretending that we have some idea of what's going on. That we have some control over our lives. But every day, I wake up in the same bed, in the same inn, and remember that we're still so far away." The words came easier now, picking up speed as they fell unbridled from her chapped lips. "We're all just scared. We need a leader, but no one can agree long enough for that to happen. Anyone who could lead is too hurt, cold, or jaded to make any real progress. And after all of this time, we're finding other stupid things to fight about, to help us ignore the real problem. Guilds, marriages," her voice trailed. "What does any of it matter? They're all just distractions. Yeah, hodgepodge is probably putting it gently."

And then she stopped. Where did that come from? As he stared back at her, no doubt surprised by her outburst, all she could do was add, "don't apologize. You're alright, Lycan."