Training Day ((Twins, OPEN!))

[Warhound]

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

Lhiam Coor MacCloud pounded his fist against a single, solid-oak dormitory door, his sriking blue eyes flickering with just the slightest bit of slyness, the light-golden squirrel pinning a note to the fifth dormitory door from the hallway. His work finished, the warrior squirrel disappeared down the stairs as though he hadn't been there in the first place, his eyes darting to the windows where the (very) early morning light was flowing in, pale bars of sunshine lining up against the marble stone floors.
Today was going to be a good day.
Why? Because it wasn't every day that he got to teach a group of rookies, a group of 'warriors in training'. With permission from Father Rommel, of course, Lhiam had taken it upon himself to pick out the 3 'least likely to be prepared' members of Redwall Abbey, and had also taken it upon himself to sign the three of them up for his extensive and just a bit brutal training regiment. He'd have those youngsters whipped into shape in no time!
Nothing like combat training, survival skills and intense 'real life scenarios' to get the blood pumping in the morning.
Strolling leisurely across the Abbey Grounds, Coor soon disappeared, silently awaiting the arrival of his pupils from some unnoticeable place.

~*~

At the horrendously loud knocking, Duncan Sternclaw opened his eyes, the tired mole frowning at the door with confusion. What on earth was happening? Crawling out of his bunk, the young Abbey Dweller stifled a particularly foul curse word when he stubbed his footpaw on the far leg of Trace's bed (the three beds in here were situated about four feet apart, with Cyle's hugging the left wall, Duncan's hugging the middle, and Trace's on the far right, two night stands sitting in between them.). Opening the door, Duncan was even more bewildered to find no one outside -- just about to close it, however, the discovery of the note pinned to it made him stop, Duncan careful not to tear it with his digging claws.

Meet me outside near the Orchards by 5:30 AM, bring your weapons. Probably best not to eat breakfast, or else you'll throw up.

See you soon,

Coor

P.S., Yes Cyle & Trace, that includes you. Skip this, and the punishment won't be a light one.

Duncan scratched his head with a digging claw, moving to rub his tired eyes next. Oh boy. What were they in to now?

(( You can skip to where Duncan & Twins are walking out into the orchards if you like! ))

[Rook]

It was apparent from the dark, storm-cloud-like expressions on the twins' faces that they were not happy to be here. Cyle and Trace carried no weapons, save the small knife given to Trace by their father. Why were they being subjected to this . . . madness? It wasn't fair. They personally didn't mind waking up this early (they'd done that plenty of times before for the sake of a good scheme), but their latest plan was finally ready to be set in motion.

And now this! Cyle had decided, from the very beginning, that she did not like this Coor fellow. He was so serious it was almost sickening. And he hung out with that gullible black hare Rook and that mountain of a hedgehog Broden. Two other beasts she did not fancy, either.

Trace respected Coor, and Coor's friends. They were all skilled in combat, and Trace, being a boy, couldn't help but admire them. He didn't understand why Cyle seemed to dislike Coor with such a burning passion, but he didn't often question his sister's choices. Boo sucks to her, if she couldn't find it in her iced-over little heart-shaped-chasm to respect the blonde border squirrel.

But still, even Trace didn't want to be out on the grounds at this ungodly hour, a knife in his paw for the first time in years. He cast a sideways glance at the weary mole Duncan Sternclaw standing beside him. And they had to train with him, too! As if being in the same dorm with the cheerful mole wasn't bad enough . . .

Cyle gave a short sigh of frustration through her nostrils, oddly-colored eyes searching the foggy fall grounds for Coor. Folding her arms, she called out, "Alright, Mr. Coor," she had to resist the urge to call him 'Goldy', "Let's get this thing over with."

"Aye," Trace agreed, holding the knife loosely as if contemplating whether to drop it and run. "I wanna go back t'sleep."

[Warhound]

"Reluctance to participate. That's the spirit Cyle, I suppose I'll have to forgive you for not giving me some petty nickname."

Duncan jumped, turning around to find the normally "super serious" blonde squirrel standing behind them, his hands in the pockets of his trousers, the corner of a handkerchief bearing his family colors sticking out of one, his face set in an expression of an almost calm laziness -- as though this was all going to be a walk in the park. Duncan gripped his staff a little tighter, the muscular mole giving Coor a wide-eyed expression, "Gosh Zurr, oi didn't 'ear ye sneaked up on us!" Clearly awed, Duncan glanced over at Cyle and Trace, wondering if they were as impressed by a true-blue warrior standing in front of them as he was... Trace seemed impressed at least, but Cyle far from it. Maybe it was a guy thing? Must be. Either that, or Cyle was really hard to impress.

"Alright, here's your first exercise." Coor walked around the group of three, an arm extending to what appeared to be a table set up a few feet from a lone orange tree on the Abbey Grounds. Shepherding his team of three towards the table, Coor filled them in on the way there. "I'm going to properly fit you three to the right weapon, and then we'll do a bit of basic maneuvers."

Duncan held up his weapon, looking incredulous at the idea of switching to something else. "That's all foine, zurr, but oi already have a weapon. Moi staff 'ere, can't oi just be usin' this un?" Coor took the stand from the mole, examining it's handiwork, his eyes lifting from the wooden weapon to size Duncan up. "Why did you choose a staff, Duncan?" Asked Coor, throwing him off a bit. Duncan blinked, sheepishly digging a claw into the soft grass beneath them. "Well zurr, oi don't loike zwords'n'arrers very much. Oi likes 'e staff cuz Oi can use it as a walkin' stick sometimes, but it can be ee weapon when oi be needin' it, Zurr Coor."
The squirrel warrior seemed to be taking this all into account, Coor handing it back to Duncan with a small, curt nod. "You can continue to use your staff, Duncan, but you're going to have to learn to use a weapon with an actual blade as well. Staffs can be broken easily in battle against the right kind of enemy. A sword, not so much."
Duncan, more than a little reluctant to switch weapons, nodded sullenly, accepting Coor's advice. Alright, he'd try something new...but no promises he was going to like it.

[Rook]

"Reluctance to participate. That's the spirit Cyle, I suppose I'll have to forgive you for not giving me some petty nickname."

Cyle visibly bristled, her eyes narrowing as she whirled to face the blonde squirrel. Oh, did he grate on her nerves! "Don't bother," she snapped. "I'm not above doing so, and I'm sure your perfectly aware of that." What was it about Coor that set her so on edge? Probably that . . . ridiculous loyalty. And his . . . constant solemness. Heavens, didn't he have an on switch? He acted as though he was the very definition of monotone.

Trace, on the other paw, felt a little excited to see Coor finally show up. The male Galahad twin, though eager to return to his bed, was just as eager to learn from this veteran squirrel. But Trace would prefer if no knives were involved . . .

"I'm going to properly fit you three to the right weapon, and then we'll do a bit of basic maneuvers."

Trace set his knife on the table, copper eyes drinking in the sight of the weapons. Despite his aversion to knives, the squirrel couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship. Cyle's arms remained folded stubbornly across her chest. She glanced down at the weapons, but simply did not want to pick one up.

"So . . . basic maneuvers," Trace repeated, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wot's 'at mean, exactly?" He eyed a nice-looking short sword, but stayed his paw, tracing the scar over his snout out of habit. Cyle's stoic silent was broken only by the interested sound she made when her eyes fell upon a handsome sling. But she said nothing.

[Warhound]

"Don't bother," she snapped. "I'm not above doing so, and I'm sure your perfectly aware of that."

Coor ignored her. He honestly wasn't here to deal with a snappy 13 year old squirrelmaid who's cynical side was so deeply ingrained in her personality, Coor wasn't quite sure she had an off-switch on it. Well, a true off-switch. He'd seen her lie and play-act her way out of many situations before, and knew she was capable of pulling off some false emotions if the situation called for it.
That wouldn't work for what he was trying to teach her. She can't bat her eyelashes or weasel her way out of every situation -- when circumstances call for swift and immediate action (not of the verbal kind), would she be ready for it?
Lhiam Coor MacCloud was here to see to it that she was ready for it. Duncan and Trace too. Coor could tell by observing their movements and which weapons they reacted to that Trace was attracted to the knives (though that scar on his face led Coor to believe he may've had an accident with it when he was younger), and that small noise of interest Cyle made was not lost on him either.
The only one having trouble deciding was Duncan Sternclaw, who was looking tentatively from his staff to the table full of weapons. He didn't think he could be quick enough for a sword...and he was a clumsy bowbeast...

"So . . . basic maneuvers," Trace repeated, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wot's 'at mean, exactly?"

"Exercises to get you three adjusted to the weight and function of your weapons -- I'll show you how to use each one properly. We aren't going to overdo it today, otherwise you'll wake up tomorrow with sore paws, wrists and arms." Coor picked up the short sword, giving it a deft twirl, testing the weightiness of the weapon. For him personally, it would be too much of a hassle to wield a shortsword -- it just didn't have enough weight for his liking. It would fly out of his paws if he wasn't careful; however, for a 13 year old male squirrel, it could quiet possibly be perfect. Coor turned the handle of the blade towards Trace, his own paws curled around the hilt, arm outstretched in a 'here, take it' gesture.
"Try this one on for size."

While Trace was giving it a good swing, Coor kept his eyes on the male squirrel, giving off the notion that he wasn't really aware of Cyle's movements, as though the squirrelmaid had slipped under his radar for the moment. It wasn't that he was ignoring her just to prove a point, Coor was giving Trace his attention to allow Cyle the chance to go check out the sling for herself, before she totally recoiled from this training exercise if he was too busy or overbearing with her. The boys could handle constructive criticism (well, Trace probably could, Coor wasn't sure about Duncan just yet), or a helpful bit of advice here and there, but Cyle probably wouldn't appreciate him shoving a weapon in her face and telling her to try it out.
If she wanted to check it out, Coor knew she was smart enough to try and do it while his back was turned, so she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of actually seeing her interested in this lesson.
The warrior squirrel almost chuckled.
For a couple of 13-year-old squirrel twins, they were very different from one another.

[Rook]

"Exercises to get you three adjusted to the weight and function of your weapons -- I'll show you how to use each one properly. We aren't going to overdo it today, otherwise you'll wake up tomorrow with sore paws, wrists and arms."

Trace scoffed at that last part. Him? An athletic young squirrel, sore? Not likely. But he simply shrugged. He watched as Coor picked up the short sword he'd been eyeing and gave it a deft twirl. It'd be nice to be that comfortable around blades. Maybe this training was just what Trace needed, after all . . .

"Try this one on for size."

"Uh . . . a'right," Trace curled his own paw around the hilt, receiving the full weight of the sword when Coor let go. It wasn't heavy, but it just felt . . . different. Stepping a few feet away from the others, Trace gave the short sword an experimental swing. He felt an inner spark of boyish glee ignite somewhere inside him, and he couldn't resist a grin and a half-chuckle.

Cyle, meanwhile, stood a little undecided near the table of weapons. Trace seemed to be enjoying himself, and Coor had his attention on her brother. Duncan was . . . doing something. And she felt sorely tempted to try out that sling. In the paws of somebeast like her, it could have 1,001 uses.

Kneeling down in the grass, she selected a decently-sized pebble, like one she'd seen in the Skipper's pouch when Trace had lifted it one time. She worked quickly, hoping Coor wouldn't turn around and see her actually doing what he'd told her to do. Ugh, that'd ruin her whole reputation. Loading the sling, the squirrel held it up for a brief moment, trying to remember how she'd seen those Otter crew beasts did it.

She quietly took a deep breath and backed away from the table and the other beasts. Raising her arm, she began to twirl the sling. And then she remembered. She didn't know how to release it! Cyle let out a soft cry as the loaded sling swatted her on the side of the head. She rubbed her temple and lowered the weapon, blushing at the thought that somebeast might have seen her.

((Sorry for the little dialogue. Cyle didn't want Coor to find out. >> ))

[Warhound]

Duncan watched Trace curiously, noting the pure glee that seemed to light up his face in the form of a smile, the apprehensive mole heartened to see that even his squirrel roommate was finding this fun. It wouldn't be so bad, would it? Duncan set his staff down, moving to the table and touching some of the weapons, as though waiting for the right one to jump into his digging claws.
"How does that feel?" Coor directed his words to the male squirrel twin, watching him happily give the sword a few swings -- before Duncan looked over at Cyle, eyes wide.
"You'm be okay, Miss Cyle? Your rubbin' 'ee head loike it hurts ye."

Coor hid a smile, glancing over his shoulder at her while simultaneously reaching for a polearm. "Here, Duncan, try this out. It's a halberd -- like a staff, only with a bit more destructive power." Duncan's brown eyes grew wide, the mole taking it gratefully, glad that their training instructor had found a weapon similar to his own. "Oi will go practice a bit over here," He said, concerned he might accidentally whack someone if he gave it a twirl here. Coor nodded, making a note not to point out the squirrelmaid's actions while he asked her a question.
"See something you want to try? A sling should be a good fit. You don't seem like a close-range fighter like Trace."

[Rook]

"How does that feel?"

Trace swung the sword a few more times, nearly dropping it as he added a little too much force. Readjusting he grip, he looked up at Coor and gave a satisfied nod. "Feels good," he replied. He honestly didn't know exactly how to describe how it felt. It felt great! But Trace didn't want to appear overly excited.

"You'm be okay, Miss Cyle? Your rubbin' 'ee head loike it hurts ye."

Cyle glared icily at Duncan as she continued to massage her temple. "Oh, I'm just peachy, Duncan," she replied scathingly. "I like to rub my head for fun sometimes, and it's certainly not because I've been injured. No, not at all."

"See something you want to try? A sling should be a good fit. You don't seem like a close-range fighter like Trace."

Cyle felt her face go hot, and her grip tightened on the leather chords of the sling. She avoided eye contact with the blonde squirrel and flicked her tail in annoyance. "Sure, I'll try a sling," she said, trying to muster up the last of her dignity. There was no way she was going to directly ask Coor how to handle the weapon. Either he would show her himself, or she wouldn't learn. Asking him would make her sound like she actually wanted to be here.

[.:Fawn:.]

Coor held out his paw, allowing her to hand it over to him so he could give her a proper demonstration on it's use. Truthfully, Coor was no slingbeast, but whenever he found the time, he would bother some other fighter at Redwall to give him a few lessons on their weapons. He'd learned quite a bit of Skipper, Freya and even more from beasts like Broden. Not to mention Father Rommel wasn't too bad with a sword either.

"You swing it like this, high above your head so you don't hit yourself in the face or anywhere else."

Coor demonstrated how to use the sling, twirling it above his head until it made a threatening 'swish swish swish' noise, Coor letting loose the string, the pebble shooting off like a bullet in the direction of another nearby tree. The loud 'PING!' indicated that the pebble had struck true, and Coor handed her back the sling, thoughtful. He never considered himself an expert on everything, so that had definitely been a lucky shot. Glancing around to Duncan and Trace, Coor's eyes rose to the orange tree above him, and the instructor suddenly smiled. He was up it's trunk in a second, returning to the ground with a silent jump and an armful of oranges. "Trace, you're up first." It wouldn't hurt to test out their reflexes.
Besides... Coor had a funny feeling there were several creatures in the Abbey who would kill for a chance to pelt those twins with unripe oranges.

"Trace, you're going to try and cut or block these oranges -- I won't throw them too hard. This is just a small exercise to see if you have what's called an 'affinity'. That is, an affinity for swordsmanship. I trust that you have sharp reflexes, so this won't be too horrendous a challenge."

Walking backwards, Coor stopped when he was a good 20 feet away from Trace, dropping the oranges (save for one) onto the ground. "Hold the short sword slightly to your left, and don't be afraid to use both sides of the sword. It's an extension of your arm, not a broom or a curtain rod."

[Rook]

"You swing it like this, high above your head so you don't hit yourself in the face or anywhere else."

Cyle took the sling back and tried the technique. Sure enough, she got the hang of it after a few more swings. With a smug smile threatening to tug at the corners of her mouth, she turned back to Coor, but found that he was now up a tree. Oh, wonderful . . . what was he going to do to them now?

"Trace, you're up first."

The male squirrel twin stopped swiping the short sword, looking over to Coor with a curious tilt of his head. "Uh, firs' fur what?" he asked, eyeing the pile of unripe oranges with slight concern.

"Trace, you're going to try and cut or block these oranges -- I won't throw them too hard. This is just a small exercise to see if you have what's called an 'affinity'. That is, an affinity for swordsmanship. I trust that you have sharp reflexes, so this won't be too horrendous a challenge."

Trace's smile grew wider. A real challenge? He nodded confidently, adjusting his grip on the sword's hilt. Hey, he felt pretty good with this blade in his paws.

"Hold the short sword slightly to your left, and don't be afraid to use both sides of the sword. It's an extension of your arm, not a broom or a curtain rod."

The male twin nodded again, shifting his position like Coor had suggested. "M'ready!" he called, clearly elated.