SaDiablo Hall, Dhemlan, Kaeleer

[wwiii]

Training. Studying in Kaeleeran Court protocols, poring over any information that he could get his hands on regarding sanitary setups for new settlements in untamed territories, digging around for maps that could help Warren get a better idea as to where they were, and where they were trying to get... It was fairly safe to say that, when Warren wasn't busy running himself ragged in Kaeleer, trying to get budgets to balance and to work out supply options that weren't going to explode in his face, he was spending practically every waking hour training.

His teeth ground together as a stick whipped around, smacking him in the ribs with an audible crack.

Some types of training were easier than others, especially when he was running himself to the ground. He was tired, and it was starting to show. That wouldn't be so bad, if the person that was seeing it at the moment wasn't a sadistic Eyrien with a stick.

With a wince and a ruffle of feathers as he gasped to get his breath back, Warren straightened up and raised his stick again.

[For them what are in Kaeleer!]

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[wwiii]

"That... that's reassuring," Warren admitted, after a moment's silence, mulling that over. "Would it help to just think of it as a blank slate, or something? I mean, I have my own cultural biases, I'll admit that. But for the most part, I'm not so great at being from where I'm from, either."

He looked up, finally, letting his hand fall to his side before he started to pull himself to his feet.

"How do Blood children learn? Is it just something they're constantly immersed in, so it becomes intuitive?"

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"Pretty much," Lucivar said with a shrug. "Saetan believes that we carry some kind of...ancestral memory or something, a bit of knowledge that comes by virtue of being Blood. If you look at all the Blood races across the Realms, from the unicorns to the horses to the satyrs and the centaurs, we all have societies that are set up basically the same way. What few fragmented records we have of the great dragons who made us suggest they were the same way. It's something we absorbed along with their power."

[wwiii]

Made by dragons. Warren couldn't help that wry smile that crept onto his lips at that. Yeah, he was definitely not descended from the handiwork of dragons.

"I just need time and the opportunity to learn," he settled on, finally. "It isn't preprogrammed into me or anything, but I can form habits. I can pick up facts and I can memorize things and I can do things the way they're supposed to be done until they come naturally to me. I know I look ridiculous now. I kind of feel like a little kid who's always lagging a half-step behind, and I can only imagine that I look the same way to people who have been doing it right their entire lives. But I've just started. I won't always be this awkward."

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The handiwork? Oh, no, boyo. They were descended from the dragons directly.

...Ish.

"When it comes to a lot of the Court stuff, you're not so bad." From Lucivar, that decent praise. "I mean, standing on the right side of the dominant Blood and the precise degree to bow--that's going to take time."

And could be ignored at need.

"It's the other stuff to worry about. Like not pissing off a Warlord Prince by not knowing the warning signs of his killing edge for example. But no one here who doubts your willingness to learn. Or your ability to do so. You know that, right?"

He was even winning the servants to his side, with his soft-spoken manners and his obvious trying.

[wwiii]

No one? There was a bit of a stunned silence there that probably illustrated just how aware of that fact Warren had been.

So used to selling himself short and assuming that he was making the worst impression possible, no matter how hard he tried. Apparently he could stop beating himself up so hard about it.

It was sheer force of will that kept him from saying, 'Really?'

"I guess... sometimes it's good to hear," he settled on, instead. It said more or less the same thing, without making him feel like a complete idiot.

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Lucivar was just going to laugh at Warren's expression. "Why would we? We like you, boyo. You keep Karla from being quite as obnoxious."

He was her best friend's big brother. He totally got to say things like that.

"You love the witchling and can stomach her cooking. That says a lot about your strength of character. Hell's fire, half of the under servants don't even realize you're a landen. They figure you're from a weird race of Blood and you're just too weak to wear a Jewel."

[wwiii]

And that was news to Warren, too. Not bad news, by any means. But definitely news.

"It sounds like they got the weird part right, at least," he offered. "I'd be lying if I said the healing thing didn't have something to do with my still being alive after eating her cookies, though."

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Hearing the brave and slightly tragic tale of how Warren had eaten a batch of pickle cookies to protect the vulnerable newbies had won Mrs. Beale to his cause almost immediately. She'd waved a handkerchief and cried out, "That brave boy!"

Honest and true.

"I knew it had to be some kind of strong magic," Lucivar muttered. "I knew love wasn't enough to make those things palatable. And you don't seem suicidal."

[wwiii]

Warren could only wrinkle his nose at that.

"Just keep in mind, they didn't taste any different. I mean, people generally start losing their tastebuds as they get older. If anything, I tasted it more strongly than most people would."

His, after all, grew back.

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"And this is how you can be utterly fearless in battle," Lucivar said. "Forget that Healing thing. Knowing you've already eaten the worst just means everything else pales in comparison."

Lucivar had accidentally eaten something Karla had prepared. The taste had lingered for days.

And since Warren seemed like he had fully recovered, Lucivar swung the stick at him, right high.

As you do.

[wwiii]

Warren, in no hurry to have to set any more bones today, had just learned the most important lesson about not having his ass kicked. Which was that all the blocking in the world wasn't necessarily half as important as just not being there to hit.

And so, instead of bringing his stick (or his wing) up to try to protect his head, he simply ducked, and then in the same motion threw himself forward, shoulder first, at Lucivar's middle.

Yes, he fully expected it to feel like running shoulder-first into a brick wall.

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And Lucivar, pleased with the lad for unexpectedly dodging, hadn't brought his stick back in position to thump Warren a good one mid-charge. And so Warren caught him right in his midsection.

"Oof!" He grunted a bit as Warren impacted, but didn't budge. "That would work better if you had a knife," he advised. Grinning. "Good instincts, though."

[wwiii]

Hey! Getting a grunt out of Lucivar was one hell of an accomplishment all on its own!

His shoulder was not terribly happy with him for a couple of seconds, there. But a grunt! Out of Lucivar!

"Thanks." He wasn't going to get cocky. He knew that he'd pretty much just taken his one shot at pulling that trick and having it work. But the praise was possibly one of the best things he'd heard all week. "I'm fresh out of knives, but I'll keep that in mind."

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"And if I glared at you and reminded you that we're supposed to be learning sticks, not tackles?" Lucivar asked, brow raised.

Already making a mental note to get the boyo some knives. And the appropriate training for them. He'd see if Chaosti was willing to teach him. By the time Karla went up against Hobart, Lucivar was determined to make Warren as lethal as possible.

[wwiii]

Warren's smile went just a little sheepish. But only a little.

"Then I'd have to point out that whoever I'd need to use those sticks against somewhere down the road probably wouldn't be all that concerned about playing by the rules, either?"

Hey, it was worth a shot. And was pretty much inviting Lucivar to play dirty and kick his ass whenever he least expected it. Warren was aware of that, too.

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As it was, Warren was right on both counts!

"Good answer," Lucivar said. "When you're fighting someone, you take any opening you can get to take them down and fast."

And then he used Craft to try to sweep Warren's feet out from under him. Again.

"Especially because most of the people you'll be going up against have skills you won't. That means no playing fair--you're already on an inherently uneven playing field."

[wwiii]

Okay, the Craft, Warren hadn't been expecting. It took a bit of fancy footwork, some cartwheeling of his arms, and some pretty pathetic flapping to keep from just flat-out landing on his behind.

It was a near thing, though. He was left standing on one leg with most of his limbs splayed out in awkward directions before balance was restored to the Worthington kid.

Graceful. Like an ostrich with severe brain damage.

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Lucivar was steadily looking up at the sky as he struggled to not laugh out loud. "Interesting maneuver," he said after a lot of ostentatious swallowing. "You stayed upright, though. That counts for...something."

Sneeeeeeerk.

[wwiii]

"I figure if all else fails, I can just make the enemy laugh themselves to death."

Oh, the shade of pink that Warren was turning as he put his other foot back on the ground and tried to fold his wings across his back with some semblance of dignity...

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HE COULD BE A FLAMINGO! THEY WERE EVEN DANGEROUS!

"If you could perfect that move, there's a traveling circus that goes through Halaway sometimes," Lucivar offered.

Hey! He was helping Warren look at all his options!

[wwiii]

THEY TRAVELLED IN FLOCKS. THAT JUST MADE THEM WORSE.

"I suppose it would be nice to be recognized for my acrobatic skills," Warren mused, pursing his lips thoughtfully. And then, a moment later. "Speaking of, I was going to... maybe ask you for another favor. More training, I mean..."

Because he hadn't already overloaded himself enough for his own tastes, apparently.

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So, Warren was a masochist. That explained so much about why he was with Karla!

"You want more training?" Lucivar asked, brow raised. "Finding yourself with an overabundance of free time?"

[wwiii]

"Not nearly enough," Warren admitted, trying not to sound as tired with that statement as he felt. "But this one is kind of..."

He squinted for a moment, and then shrugged. Might as well just spit it out.

"I don't really know anyone else with wings, and I don't have much experience with flying. Not really. I mean, I can impress people who can't fly. That's easy. But I kind of..." He waved a hand. "If there's more than I can do, I want to be able to do it. I fluked out when I found myself facing off against a Jhinka. He was way better at aerial manoeuvring than I ever was. He just wasn't expecting me to let him stab me so I could get in close enough to land a hit, either."

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The boyo let himself get stabbed so he could...? Lucivar's eyebrows went flying towards his hairline while mentally readjusting his estimation of Warren once again. Even knowing you could Heal from it, voluntarily letting yourself get stabbed took balls.

He should know. He'd been there.

"You want to learn to fly more like a hawk than a songbird, huh?" He nodded, wings flaring. That was another set of lessons he'd gladly sign on for. He never felt more right than when he was winging his way through the sky. "Tell you what. Give me a few months of training, and I'll take you through the Blood Run. If you can handle the Runs, no Jhinka will be able to land a hit on you."

[wwiii]

"Blood run?" Oh yes, Lucivar. Now you had caught Warren's curiosity and pretty much made his day by saying you would train him, all at the same time.

Of course, with Blood right there in the name, he wasn't expecting it to be easy for him, either.