Two Worlds Meet

Log Info

Title: Two Worlds Meet
Emitter: None
Characters: Alessandra, Rioghan
NPCs: Mr. Murphey
Place: Western Grounds, Steranko
Time: August 9, 2010
Summary: Sandra obliviously walks in front of Rioghan's archery practice and the two otherworldly royals meet.

( Western Grounds - Steranko Institute )_

The western segment of grounds is dedicated to Physical Education. There is a track here, as well as a long low building that holds an Olympic sized swimming pool. The center of this area, however, is the Thunderdome. The massive dome is dedicated to training students in the use of their powers, and access is strictly monitored.

It's another hot, balmy summer day. Summer School is in session, but Rioghan Mac Cionaoith wasn't registered for summer school. In fact, he only just got back to campus from 'holiday' yesterday. While students who are registered for the current classes are either in them, suffering through lessons while enjoying the air conditioning or are trying to stave off the heat over at the pool, Rioghan is training.

There's a target set up in the middle of the field that the track surrounds and the tall, broad-shouldered young man is standing several yards away from it with an impressive looking longbow in hand. A quiver of arrows is strapped to his back and he reaches a hand over his shoulder to draw another. There are already two arrows in the target, both neatly within the center circle. He knocks another arrow and draws it back so that the fletchings rest against his cheek. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breath in. Breath out. Fire.

Sandra is just glad that she has finished her math tutoring for the summer. Or rather, with her string of kidnappings, the tutor gave up on all the back homework she needed to do, that she is now free from it. Leaving the pool by the Thunderdome, Sandra walks casually along, deciding to take a shortcut through the track, trailing water flowing out of her hair and off of her arms and legs as she moves along - utterly oblivious to what it might appear like to others.

With her hair now dry, the young, and very strange, woman runs a hand through her hair, trying to tame the wild mess of blond, and only ends up managing to wrap it in a tail at the base of her neck, instead.

And still, she walks on, obliviously.

And for her obvliousness, she nearly gets skewered with a flying arrow!

"Bí ag faire amach!" the words are shouted across the field, even as Rioghan is tucking his bow under one arm and moving towards the approaching blonde. His other arm waves at her in warning. It hardly even registers that his warning of 'watch out!' was shouted in Gaelic rather than English. He should have been more careful to make sure no one was approaching, instead of letting himself get caught up in tunnel vision, but he hardly expected anyone to just waltz right across the field into the line of fire!

The arrow brushes past Sandra and she can probably feel the breeze of it as it whips past her face and imbeds itself squarely between the two arrows already in the target.

Rioghan's face is flushed, as he approaches, somewhere between relieved and worried. His cerulean eyes, almost too blue to be natural, stare at Sandra trying to make sure that she's okay. When he reaches her, he opts to ask, "Are you alright?" rather than demanding if she's 'daft' or 'blind'. It's more polite and he could be equally accused of not paying enough attention. The accent is lilting, musical. Definitely not from around here. Even if he is dressed like your typical American teenager might: a faded t-shirt from a rock band, a pair of cargo shorts, and some hiking boots.

The breeze of the arrow does cause Sandra to pause. She blinks and tilts her head to the side as she looks at the target, and the quivering arrow which just embedded itself there. "Mmm," she notes softly to herself, before blinking and turning towards the approaching young man.

"Oh, I am satisfactory," she notes. "I did not realize I had blocked your view of the target. Forgive me that ungracious gesture," she offers with a wave of her hand, as she, herself, speaks in a Queen's English accent.

Rioghan stops just in front of the woman, then shifts his bow a bit so that it rests more comfortably against his shoulder. "You didn't block my view of the target," he says, "I was more concerned with you getting shot. I'd already fired when I realized you were heading right into the path. I'd hardly forgive myself if I were to maim another student, however accidental it might be." His smile slowly makes its appearance and it is surely his best feature after those eyes. "Although, if you can forgive me for my lapse in observational skills, I shall forgive you for creating an unexpected obstacle."

Another wave of Sandra's hand is given, dismissing the worry Rioghan seems to be offering. "I would have been fine," she notes with simplistic truth. "I am hardly frail, I assure you. My upbringing has assured that."

There is an eyebrow arched as Sandra looks away from the target towards the young man. "I believe that is an acceptable agreement," she offers, before she holds out a hand. "I have seen you about campus, but now I have an excuse to offer an introduction and ask one of you," states Sandra, as her own smile starts to blossom. Amazing what having finally made friends can do to one's confidence in introducing ones self and NOT giving away that you are … say … Royalty from an unknown or little known mystical kingdom. "I am called Alessandra Job. Most call me Sandra. Reginald calls me Sandy."

"I should hardly be surprised any more," Rioghan says, "What with the nature of most of our fellow students here. Aye. I've seen you around also." He takes the hand that is offered, inclining his head to her and lifting the hand to his lips in an antiquated gesture. The way he does it, it isn't about being suave or trying to impress anyway. It's just another greeting, a courtly gesture. The irony over the two secret mystical royals meeting is lost on the two teens since Rioghan doesn't know Sandra's herritage much as she doesn't know his. He's… just a farm boy from Ireland who has a knack for archery. Honest.

As he rises up from kissing her hand, Rioghan offers his own lilting introduction, "Rioghan Mac Cionoaith. Tis a pleasure to finally put a name to the face, Alessandra."

Oddly enough, Sandra merely arches an eyebrow faintly at Rioghan as he bends over her hand, but then she seems to accept it as something utterly natural, bowing her head in acceptance of the gesture faintly, even as her posture unconsciously draws itself up in a more regal stance. "The same can be said from my perspective, Rioghan Mac Cionoath," she offers in as best a mimic of his name as she can muster from only hearing it once.

"Your accent … part of the British Isles… that is where you are from, is it not?" she asks, studying the young man curiously. "It is not from the north of the Isle of Angland … that is rougher, harsher, like the country can be. And Welsh … well, it is just fascinating, but the accent is not like that. Might I ask where you are from?"

Riogan adjusts his bow again as he rises. It's an artful weapon in its appearance, made of some rich dark wood with golden celtic knotwork etched into it. "Aye, something like that. My father's family has a farm on the Aran Isles of Ireland," the young man answers. It's best to tell the truth, which this is, completely the truth. He's only leaving out a few small things. Like the fact that the people who own the farm, while still related, are decendents of his father's youngest brother… and that they're allowing his uncle Eowan to stay with them to keep an eye on the stone circle, and that they understand the gravity of the situation… that they allowed Faerie Soldiers to use their land to plan for the coming battle… that at any time the armies of shadow might figure a way out sooner than the gateway will open on its own… and… Rioghan shakes his head, drawing himself away from thoughts of home and of the coming battle. The here and now is equally important as looking ahead to the future and being prepared. He smiles again, "Tis lovely countryside. I just got back from a visit. And just where might you be from, m'lady Alessandra?"

"Atlant … a," notes Sandra, in her Queen's English and NOT a Southern Drawl, as she nods. "Ah. I have heard tales of Ireland. My uncle, Casius, has traveled there. He found it a most enchanting land," she offers with faint consideration. "Perhaps I will travel there at some point. Actually, no, I must make a point of doing so, come to think of it," she comments, though the last is mostly to herself.

"It is interesting," Sandra then notes, "That there are so many … International students at Steranko. I find it … heartening. What do you think of it, being one such?"

"Atlanta, aye, the state of Georgia," Rioghan says, nodding, "We learned about that in American History and Geography. Ah, you should travel there some day, an' I've been informed that I should travel around America to see some of it as well. Ireland is beautiful country, as your uncle says, quite enchanting."

Rioghan looks around, over his shoulder towards the target and back to Sandra. "It allows for a broader learning experience to be certain. Different cultures mixin' together an' in some cases different worlds all brought together for the cause of education. An' all with their own special skills, abilities, or powers tryin' to get a grasp on how to use them to their full potential."

"For the most part, yes," offers Sandra with a nod - though she is not going to comment that having been raised with her abilities, she believes she has a fairly good grasp upon them. "You … are an archer then? Of some skill, obviously," she then notes as she motions to the three arrows in the target next to her. "That is unique, at this school, I believe. Some would call the weapon archaic, but it is … fascinating to me. I have only seen them used … in movable pictures," she states with a faint nod, butchering the name as she is often apt to do. "I need to travel through this country as well. I have not … traveled much here. And when I have … usually it is not to see the sightings. For instance, I was just in Las Angelos," she notes. "Unfortunately, I was trapped in a phase state and held in a courthouse while some more … nefarious folks tried to negotiate with some of our students. A bargain, my release and their silence on these Soul Shadows existance. It did not go as planned," she notes with a hint of an awkward shrug. "Such is the way with Adolecents."

"Aye," Rioghan says, bringing his bow around into his hands rather than resting it on his shoulder. He runs a finger along a length of golden Gaelic script and traces some of the knotwork. His jaw sets stubbornly at the mention that the bow is archaic, but then Sandra adds more to her words. "Tapadh leat. Thank you. Tis a weapon that requires skill an' discipline to use. I've not seen any other students using a bow but, movable pictures? I'm afraid I'm not quite familiar with… oh, aye, right, movies. I've read about them, but never seen one myself. I've not taken the time."

He hasn't taken the time for many of those sorts of activities. It's all been training and he's hardly left campus at all in the three years he's been here, other than the 'holiday trips' back to Ireland. To prepare. As Sandra mentions the kidnapping, his brows raise, and then those blue eyes narrow gaining an almost stormy look to them. His hand visibly tightens around the bow. "Soul Shadows?"

The woman lifts a hand, as if to allay any fears. "Soul Shadows. Sullivan Prieto is one, though she has chosen to step away from nefarious causes. From what I have been told, and I do beleive I was told the truth, they came into being when the first was spontaneously was born from some great sorcerers own shadow. They are bound to their … mmm, what would you call that, princple? … and supposedly live to kill them and take their place. Sullivan has decided not to walk this path. There will be trouble for her ahead in life, but I have vowed, as her friend, to be there when the time comes. It is strange how things of the arcane can be twisted, yet still have their own free will if they are strong enough. I really should study that more. Perhaps there are references to such things at home," she notes as she considers.

Then she blinks as she realizes she has run away with the conversation. "Oh, this all stems from Liv's mother being a Soul Shadow, and she tried to capture some of us and make shadows of ourselves, being children of power, you could say. It went wrong for her, and some of the students decided to try and alert the authorities about the matter, rather than staying quiet and fighting a silent war, and thus protecting Sulliven from anger by the rest of the Shadows. Well, I was kidnapped to try and force their hand. I believe that the other students understand my position on keeping silent, but we certainly will not rest easy with those creatures about."

Hearing this explanation, the tension that had suddenly come into the young man's shoulders eases and he relaxes his grip on his weapon. A few words are murmured to himself in his native tongue and he lets out a breath. Not the same thing. Something entirely different, but another existing threat out there to be aware of. "Anyone willing to turn away from their nature to walk a more righteous path must have courage to spare. Especially when going against one's own parents to do so," Rioghan says, "I'd like to meet this Sullivan Prieto. The name sounds familiar and like yourself, Alessandra, I have likely seen her around the campus without actually meeting."

"We're all fighting our battles in one form or another," the archer says, "some are more obvious than others. That's another facet of this school of ours, here, aye? Preparing all of us for the battles to come?"

Speaking of, a figure is approaching the two teens from the direction of the Thunderdome. It's a tall man, dressed in a suit, with a sword belted to his waist. The archer straightens up when he sees the figure approaching. He squares his shoulders and lifts his chin slightly. Rioghan almost looks regal standing like that, bow in hand, ready to face the world. "My apologies in advance, m'lady Alessandra. It looks as though Mr. Murphey is coming to see to it that I'm not slacking off."

Noting the tension leaving, Sandra smiles a bit more to herself - a diplomatic victory, of sorts! She eased … something she was not aware of! Perhaps she IS making progress.

Then the young woman comes back from her own thoughts to the conversation at hand, her features growing serious as she nods. "Indeed, just as unique as each of us, are our own battles we wage - now and in the future," she murmurs softly in agreement. "Some are physical, some are mental, some are … political," she offers with a wave of her hand.

When Rioghan shifts, Sandra turns, an eyebrow arching towards the advancing figure as she watches Mr. Murphey approach. "Interesting, is that not a traditional longsword he wears on his belt? I prefer a spatha, or really, since few actually know if it, the greek Makhaira. But Spatha is close enough for most."

"An' some battles might include facets of all of those," Rioghan says. His gaze doesn't leave the approaching teacher. "Aye, he's persistant that I need to practice my swordsmanship as well as the bow." Judging by the second, scabbarded sword the man is carrying in his hand that is what is on the agenda for today. Much as it was yesterday. "Not that I'm complaining. A bit of diversity can be useful, particularly if an enemy slips past your initial defenses and winds up too close for ranged weapons to be of any real use." So, there's a warrior under that 'teenager archer' facade. Not that Rioghan was using much of a facade.

Mr. Murphey pauses to examine the target before he closes the rest of the distance between the two teens. He's one of the teachers in the History department, as well as a weapons trainer. And he arrived at the Steranko Institute at the same time that young Rioghan did three years ago. "I'd have thought you to have at least two dozen arrows fired off by now, lad," the man says in an identical accent to Rioghan's own. He looks towards Sandra, nodding to her politely, "Instead, for the second day in a row, I find you letting yourself be distracted by feminine charms. Miss Job, a pleasure to be seeing you."

A hand is raised towards Mr. Murphey, an regal gesture to calm and smooth over any ruffled emotions. "It was my fault, Mr. Murphey. I startled Rioghan by walking in front of his target by being oblivious to his practicing. The problems with having … tough skin, I suppose. Sometimes you are more of a nuisence than a help."

Turning back to Rioghan, Sandra offers a nod and a smile. "I should ask my parents to send me my blade," she notes, as she considers. "Though, compared to most, if an enemy steps inside of range, a grapple will do sufficiently. Still … I miss my training with the blade. It is a mark of … well prestige in my family, you could say."

Then Sandra turns back to Mr. Murphey with a warm smile. "Would you be willing, perhaps, to offer some sparing with an opponant using the Makhaira? I do not think I have the ability, yet at least, to conjure up opponants of my own out of water." There is a pause as Sandra's blue eyes grow distant a moment, "Though, perhaps I should attempt such."

"You know it's nothin' to do with being distracted by feminine charms, sir," Rioghan says, "Uncle Eogan told me I should be getting to know more people here, learn the culture, know what it is I'm fightin' to protect because it's a—"

Mr. Murphey holds up a hand to silence the boy before he can say anything else, "Lighten up, lad. T'was a joke. I do have a sense of hummor. I've spoken with your Uncle. I know what he's about, but I'm also not goin' to let you slack off on your physical trainin' just because he's wantin' you not to neglect the diplomatic. Diplomacy won't be helping against those monsters from the farm back home." The man, who's eyes are that same impossible blue that Rioghan's are, looks at Sandra, smiling at her. "Tis quite alright, Miss Job. There's no blame needing to be taken. If you would like to engage in some sparring, I would be willing. An' willing to help with pointers against aquatic opponents as well." He tosses the extra sword at Rioghan, "Now, lad, strap it on and let's have a go."

Rioghan catches the blade out of the air, his jaw setting into some stubborn determination as he removes the quiver of arrows and carefully rests both it and the bow on the ground. "Aye, sir," his tone lowered and now serious. Lucky Sandra, she gets to see both sides of Rioghan Mac Cionaoith.

Rioghan's rush of words, and Murphey's response cause Sandra to faintly lift an eyebrow. The woman's ocean blue eyes look between the men, studying both of them. Diplomacy? Getting to learn the culture? Well, it certainly seems that Rioghan is a kindred spirit of some kind.

Bowing her head gracefully, Sandra offers a smile, after a moment, to Mr. Murphey. "You honor me, Sir. I shall have to retrieve my blade from my parents. I could always use more experience against opponants in a more … native environment," she offers before gliding back a few steps, so that she is out of the way. "Brea…" starts Sandra before frowning, catching herself as she realizes that what she was about to say is most certainly the wrong thing. "Best of luck to you, Rioghan Mac Cionaith," she offers with earnestness.

Rioghan is more a kindred spirit that Sandra might even realize. But Mr. Murphey smiles knowingly. "Ah, Miss Job, it's my pleasure to be teaching students such as yourself." With that he pulls off his suit jacket and tosses it over the target, using that as a coat rack. He starts rolling up his sleeves.

Rioghan moves away from where he left his precious bow and draws the sword from the scabbard. He rolls it around, testing the weight of the blade, rolling his shoulders to losen up a little. And he inclines his head to Sandra. "Slán leat, Alessandra Job," he says.

Mr. Murphey draws his sword then and without warning lunges forward to begin the training session with a ring of blade upon blade. Kindred spirits, indeed.

Being a martial creature, it does take Sandra several moments to move away from the sparing practice. She watches each slash, each parry, each lunge, and each feint for a moment, observing each man's skill and style. And then, when she is certain the pair are far more focused on each other, than anything else around them, Sandra peers over and makes certain the precious bow and arrows are where Rioghan left them, before turning herselfa nd gliding regally away.

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