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eight. audio & spam. funnyman, gotta try to be something wonderful.

James Stark is in a coma.

[She sounds completely unmoved by this. Entirely. (She shouldn't have used his first name. He'd be upset.)]

[She almost hangs up, then:]

Does anyone want to spar?

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. . . What do you do? When this happens. How do you . . .

[Not go crazy. Not feel guilty.]

What do you do?

open spam } CES

[For anyone who wants to spar, Vin will be in the CES, having Clifford throw large objects into the air for her to fling coins at and shatter out of recognition. The air is full of falling ash, mist curling under her feet, but the trees and the land are green. She doesn't know what to make of it, and therefore doesn't think about it.]

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I hate it.

[She sounds like a petulant child, swallowing the tail end of a whine. But she does. She hates it.]

[She is a warrior. She doesn't get to bend and break at a thing like this. But she wore herself out in life and is exhausted at odd moments in death. Moments like this.]

[I know doesn't do anything. So instead of trying for platitudes, she pulls Needle free and sets it aside on the grass.]

Give me one of your daggers. [I came to spar, is what she means. to take her mind off this, at least a little.]

[She blinks. Yes. Spar. That's what she wanted. That's so much better than feeling things.]

[She hands over a glass dagger and pulls out one for herself, getting into a defensive stance.]

Come on, then. Show me what you've learned.

[She's better; she's been practicing, and not just waterdancing. She's been practicing all the things she has learned, including what Vin taught her. She's light on her feet, and her arm is quick. She's almost as good a fighter now as she is at blending in, at sneaking, at being unseen.]

[Vin's smile is grim as she notes the improvement. Children shouldn't have to learn to fight this way, but the world is not built on "shoulds" - no world is. So Arya will be prepared. She will have a number of tricks up her sleeve. She'll be ready.]

Good. [Another few passes, and a nod of approval.] Better.

[She does not praise effusively, but when she does, she means it. (She never thought she'd be any kind of teacher.)]

[Arya never had much praise until she learned to fight. Septa Mordane would shake her head at her stitching - her lady mother tell her to be more like Sansa, be more ladylike, be better at all the things she was truly terrible at. She had shed bitter tears in Winterfell's empty rooms, or sometimes against Jon Snow's chest. He would never laugh at her for it.

She doesn't cry any more - just that one time, when she had no arm, and the other time in Silent Hill. She knows what she's good at, now. Not proper lady things - she can't stitch or sing or be kind. But she can sneak and spy and stab. Vin's praise, however brief and quiet it is, makes her smile.]

I've been practicing.

[Kindness is overrated. Vin has never held a needle in genuine interest as to its craft - a few times when Kelsier was teaching her to work undercover, but never since. She can sneak and spy and stab, too, is excellent at it. Her heart and soul sing Arya's song, or else Arya sings hers. She's never been quite sure.]

[There is the briefest, faintest smile in response to Arya's. They are the same, the two of them. Monster girls. She's happy for it, though she would take some of Arya's pain away if she could.]

I see that. You're more disciplined than most people twice your age.

Discipline is good. [And so is pain, though Arya would give hers away if she could. Not if it meant Vin had to hold it, though.]

Every lesson makes you better.

[She feints and tries to step past Vin's guard, dagger aimed for her side.]

[Vin dodges, but to her own surprise, not by much. Arya is fast - one benefit of her small size, and one that Vin hopes she doesn't lose later in life by growing too tall.]

[Vin is not one to go berserker-happy in the face of a good fight, but approval does glint in her eyes, and the pleasure of good work hard-won.]

Every lesson has made you better.

[She attacks in earnest, then, her blade whistling by Arya's ear.]

[She doesn't have much time to grin, sucking in a breath instead and dodging to the side. She doesn't swing her knife wildly to block, although at first she wants to: her instincts are getting better, sharper, and she sidesteps instead, blocking the next attack, dodging. She's moving as much as she's making Vin move, and it's not really doing much but tire her out. So she goes on the offensive too, aiming low and close. She's not afraid to get nicked in the fight. She's not afraid to get hurt, and she knows Vin isn't either. It's a dance like she hasn't had since Syrio first taught her to hold a sword.]

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