[ the endeavor had from the very start breached the very edge of heine's comfort; it was his disconnect, the unpredictability of his own mind, whose control he's carved into himself as best as he could. if he is likened so easily to the edge of a knife, then it is asking that knife to graze the surface. to sharpen another while failing to bite and that did not come natural.
there is innocence outlined against the bridge of rin's nose and the set of steadfast eyes; a thing that resonates unfamiliar - the sort that, perhaps, even the fragile set of nill's shoulders did not carry - and it makes heine want to stop. but this world will not, and therefore neither should he.
his grip slips away from the blade when the other takes hold of it and an exhale-huff follows. true, there hardly were guns lying around, and he wasn't about to be handing out his own for a loan. were there even places to get bullets from? he was rather terrible at being new, disinterest against dislike against apprehension. ] Heh - that's the spirit. [ he sees your braavado, and he also sees through it. ] Either way, you'll learn.
Hold it so the edge of it runs parallel to your forearm. [ fingers curl briefly around rin's hand, adjusting the hold of the weapon to his liking, force a bend to the elbow before dropping away. ] It's better for defense.
And this way, it's similar to throwing a punch. [ his instruction is systematic, unattached, a drawl steady and as clean as a cut. ] Easy to follow through and switch the grip.
[ a weighted beat. ] Mm - guess I'm not used to talking about this. Try a few swings.
[ and after another moment of stepping back, and watching footwork and posture and not being overly satisfied with a back that's still too stiff, heine's voice will coil cold and somber against the space between. ] Hey, Rin. Don't really know what practicing is like on empty air but - you need to understand what it's like to hit something.
[ he doesn't know what practice is. he knows survival, maybe. he remembers the hisswhisper of her voice in his ear, hands hotheavy against his then-slight shoulders, before he was nearly torn in half. he knows the anger and the need to sink hands claws teeth into something that is ready to do the same. he knows that it was not practice. it was a test, an experiment, grooming the perfect result. a part of him even knew that in a way that was him, some fucked balance between control and a loss of it. he knows that it was something he executed without question (fass commanded with no time to ask why). that he was not free from it, not as long as he was still this collared. ] So, try and land a hit on me.
Once - if - you manage, means you've learned a thing or two. [ it won't happen today. maybe in a few practices he will understand what it's like to keep his posture loose. after a few knockbacks onto his ass, he'll understand the need for fluid reaction. ]
no subject
there is innocence outlined against the bridge of rin's nose and the set of steadfast eyes; a thing that resonates unfamiliar - the sort that, perhaps, even the fragile set of nill's shoulders did not carry - and it makes heine want to stop. but this world will not, and therefore neither should he.
his grip slips away from the blade when the other takes hold of it and an exhale-huff follows. true, there hardly were guns lying around, and he wasn't about to be handing out his own for a loan. were there even places to get bullets from? he was rather terrible at being new, disinterest against dislike against apprehension. ] Heh - that's the spirit. [ he sees your braavado, and he also sees through it. ] Either way, you'll learn.
Hold it so the edge of it runs parallel to your forearm. [ fingers curl briefly around rin's hand, adjusting the hold of the weapon to his liking, force a bend to the elbow before dropping away. ] It's better for defense.
And this way, it's similar to throwing a punch. [ his instruction is systematic, unattached, a drawl steady and as clean as a cut. ] Easy to follow through and switch the grip.
[ a weighted beat. ] Mm - guess I'm not used to talking about this. Try a few swings.
[ and after another moment of stepping back, and watching footwork and posture and not being overly satisfied with a back that's still too stiff, heine's voice will coil cold and somber against the space between. ] Hey, Rin. Don't really know what practicing is like on empty air but - you need to understand what it's like to hit something.
[ he doesn't know what practice is. he knows survival, maybe. he remembers the hisswhisper of her voice in his ear, hands hotheavy against his then-slight shoulders, before he was nearly torn in half. he knows the anger and the need to sink hands claws teeth into something that is ready to do the same. he knows that it was not practice. it was a test, an experiment, grooming the perfect result. a part of him even knew that in a way that was him, some fucked balance between control and a loss of it. he knows that it was something he executed without question (fass commanded with no time to ask why). that he was not free from it, not as long as he was still this collared. ] So, try and land a hit on me.
Once - if - you manage, means you've learned a thing or two. [ it won't happen today. maybe in a few practices he will understand what it's like to keep his posture loose. after a few knockbacks onto his ass, he'll understand the need for fluid reaction. ]