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Brutish Eloquence - Private Axe Lesson For Adrien!
Wed Aug 16, 2006 22:58 (XFF:

Locke was quite pleased with his new assignment: it was early in the afternoon, and he had a lesson to teach. It had been a quiet day so far, with nothing to interrupt his filings and reports, nothing to distract him from the rigors of lackadaisical office work. Locke permitted himself, as all men sometimes did, a day like this - one of simplistic ease. It felt good. Ease, as it were, was relative, however. Locke's easy day had been spent first in the Training Yards, then at the mess, then in the offices, then more training at the Blasting Grounds, overseeing the facilitation of the Deathwheel formation by the newly signed recruits of the Dragon's Army, skipping lunch, and now, back to paperwork - this time, specifically to sign off on the promotion of a few noble souls that would likely see themselves good tenure as leaders of men, in the ranks of the Army that Locke fancied one day he'd control a sizeable chunk of. But it was time for that activity to come to rest - there lay, on his desk, next to his matte lead paperweight, a small slip of paper that gave him direction for the remainder of the daylight hours. An order to teach.

I believe I'll enjoy this.

Scooting back from his desk, the heavy legs of the chair he was sitting in scraping solemnly across the floorboards of his private apartments, Locke re-fastned the top button on his black overcoat, and exited the small loft space with a delightfully sadistic grin on his pale young face. It wasn't a terrible sadism, but more of a mirhtful version of the term. He was obviously up to no good, but for some reason, anyone who looked at him askance would comment silently within their own heads that the nonsense that was about to take place really must be goal oriented; Locke caused that sort of blind rationelle in people he didn't know; the people he did know did the exact same thing, only they would never call the action "blind."

He strolled across the yards at a brisk walk, masterful of his step and confident as he met the eyes of the men who were senior by leaps and bounds in age, and, to most of their chagrin, equal in rank. Locke was twenty, now, and, by his reasoning, hopefully would be a Brigadier General before he could legally partake of alcohol. That remained to be seen, but, goals start with vision, and Locke had both.

It had been a fairly simplistic set up; the young student, named Adrien... something... would be eager to work and learn, having secured himself a private lesson. That being the case, he would arrive early, in good taste, to please whomever he might find teaching him. Locke knew this, and, thus, upon hearing about the lesson that wouldn't take place for around two hours, now, had already started to get things in their proper places. After a good time, he had assembled two axes, one for him, and one for his trainee, two great-axes - massive, heavy, pseudo-polearms that looked like they could split a man cleanly by the half, a hand and a half sword, and a few polymer dummies, created with the Power. They were a synthesis of earthly materials and air and water - the idea was, when the blade of a practice weapon broke into the meat of the dummy, microscopic capsules of liquid would be released into the solid, and a binary chemical reaction would occur, thus sealing the cut shut. Locke had been studying again; this idea was the fruit of his most recent sleepless nights, and he was eager to see if it would even come close to working. Finally, there was a note, which he placed squarely in the middle of a one-handed axe, and the great axe. It said simply: "Pick one."

Locke retired off to one side to await his student. He was careful to seem as if he belonged; he didn't want Adrien to know that he was the instructor - he had plans that would be interrupted if he was obviously in charge. Taking the sword he'd procured into his hands, he set about looking inconspicuous, practicing his forms, awaiting his student - the target of his little ambush. Locke normally would not lie in wait to attack a pupil, but he had done some asking around, and it was generally conceded that today's student did best under sudden and immense pressure - what could be more sudden than being attacked right before a lesson by some insane person with a sword?

This is going to be fun.

Unless he kills me.

That wouldn't be fun at all.

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