(Untitled)

[faithful_slayer]

Max is working again - she got him to rest, but not much. So Faith's found an out-of-the-way room, one that isn't really being used, and she's practicing with the Scythe-that-isn't-really-a-Scythe, running through training drills.

(feels like it's mine)

It's as natural as breathing. It sings to her, power and strength and rightness, sings in her

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[rebelheartalien]

Michael should be resting, still. But he gets so bored. So when, wandering the palace, he hears someone in one of the training rooms, he goes to see what they're doing.

[faithful_slayer]

Her eyes are closed.

She doesn't need sight for this.

It's a dance, one she knows very well, one that's written in her blood.

She moves with a swift, sure, deadly grace, beautiful in its way.

And she smiles.

[rebelheartalien]

She probably knows he's there, even with her eyes closed. Even with him just leaning against the doorframe and watching.

Because there is beauty in this, and he's a born fighter himself. He knows how to appreciate it.

[faithful_slayer]

She feels him.

She knows who it is, even.

But she doesn't stop, not yet - she speeds up, if anything, showing off for him.

Or maybe just wanting to be sure he knows he can trust her to fight at his side and hold her own.