"Hello, you must be Clohniq, it's a pleasure to meet you." one of Daddy's old mortal friends greets on his return, the heavy fire doors of the school thudding shut behind. I stop looking up at the distant sky above the city proper as my siblings fight Her minions and creations. Once the mortal properly steps into the tennis court, the net of thin steel quaking excitedly, I draw my rapier and wait for him to come to a stop.
Tapping my blade's lonesome, narrow point on the green within the white-rimmed rectangle.
"You are one of the swordsmen He used to know, no?" I ask as I look beyond the game grounds and towards the reddish-brown rubber stuff surrounding it. The sounds he is making taking the dividing net bring my attention back to him.
"I am one of them, yes. The first and quite possibly the best he knew. My master, bless his name, was one of the finest in all of Hell." he answers as he finishes clearing up our battleground. Though, why he bothered I do not know, one slash from even him and this entire court is likely gone.
"Much as I should be taking this seriously, how about some rules? The kind that liven things up." I suggest and he smiles in response, making me too.
"Very well, list them off to your heart's content." he answers whilst I make sure my hat is strapped on nice and tight. Wouldn't want it flying off and away during our fight, I already might lose it within the mess currently going on. And that's only with how it is now too, this is all going to get so much worse before it even starts to get better. So close, it's all so close to reminding me of the opening blows when the Fourteen...
I shake my head with subtle delicacy.
"The loser is the first to fall out of the green. We may not leave it for anything, no dodging and not attacking. We may also use only one blade." I say as I play with a loose decorative belt strap on my outfit.
"That last rule only applies to me!" the mortal laughs gently as he looks at his dominant hand.
"Not entirely true..." I boast with a quiet smirk as I effortlessly thread a needle into my sword. Sending it up into the sky with only a thin string keeping us connected, I start to sew with movements that can steer rigging. A familiar cross starts to form and I tug my rapier back into my grip, a thud and sensation marking my success. Sheathing my blade without another noise, my creation falls to the ground with rock-calling power that meets it halfway.
A sword in the stone in but a moment, something only doable by me, the Goddess of Thread and Technique! Me, me, me, me, me, me!
"May I?" the mortal asks as he walks forward, clapping his hands as he does so. I shrug and step back as he lays his hands on the masterfully crude grip.
"This is less than a minute's work, Mortal." I remind him, my exaggerative generosity already feeling weird on my tongue. He pulls the sword out with some difficulty, the rock awkwardly settling back down as he holds it. But, he does not let the smile slip from his face.
"And it is still one of the finest blades I have ever seen. You should be proud, regardless." he explains, leaving me fidgeting with pride as the ground settles down back to normal, the mortal's grasp growing. He further tests the blade's power and the edges of the court are left warped, putting us in sort of a bowl.
A volcano of power suddenly erupts from behind the school and two familiar sensations leave me burdened with dread. My mouth curves down and my heart is left quivering as I am left disappointed. Daddy... Not again. Just sort it out already, Dad!
Falling to our knees as a pulse shatters glass and quakes the land, my grip tightens.
"How unfortunate, I had hoped for Him and Her to move beyond this." the mortal sighs as I hide my expression behind my precisely cut bangs and the tilt of my hat.
"You and me both..." I whisper so quietly it might as well not even be noise. So close to being a loud thought.
"Before we get started, might I know the name of your sword?" he asks, leaving me a little taken aback.
"Huh?"
"It very much looks like one to be remembered, as such, I'd like to know what I may perhaps best." he explains and I scoff, amused at the closing remark.
Turning my attention to my rapier, I look over my finest creation born of unfortunate circumstances. I like to make things, but, unlike my oldest brother, I am not compelled to create by my existence. Technique comes in many forms some old and wise, others archaic. Fresh, youthful genius and revolutionary shortsightedness.
It's all one coin that I probably helped mint into the finest piece of sterling to slide over the counter.
My blade is a thin piece, there is very little edge to it and it is more so an oversized needle. But, that is how I like it and others will surely be damned if they doubt it because of such silliness. Compared to the guard, my blade's details are lacking, though, I have always felt like it is what I do with my tip that counts. Besides, with how I have designed the mechanism in the guard, I can't have too much on the blade!
Petal-like plates that allow me to hook and trap my opponent's edge, or I can merely deflect. The real beauty of it, however, is how it help feeds the blade with the infinite source of thread from within the hilt. As I have just shown the mortal, I can use this to create and implement my power onto the battlefield or within the duelling circle. And, maybe, I might simply swing my sword around like a chained weight or a rope dagger.
Every bit of it is done in decorative, silver and platinum-coloured metal. With an additional lustre added on by powdered blue and white gemstones mixed in during the original forging. The petals have polished ivory set into them and a little bit of thunder-gold thread was set in by my brother. Even though I am no thunder goddess, I can still have a little bit of electricity to energise the fight!
"It's name is Bbinspootit, the Spinster Fatale." I finally answer as I am done seeing my smug reflection in the slim metal.
"Spinster Fatale is the meaning of the name?" he asks, smiling in appreciation.
I smile back and shake my head, "No, Daddy named it Bbinspootit, meaning Empire Builder. Some reference to his old life as a mortal, something to do with textiles and early industry. I called it Spinster Fatale but I kept his input. Switching his meaning for my own."
"I assume the name is in reference to your trade and not..." he sneakily suggests, making me frown as my ring finger suddenly feels devoid of presence.
"I will sew your mouth shut for that." I giggle, making it clear I am not actually bothered by his word. How could I be? I'm an immortal goddess with no need to be married. Marriage is the thing Motrtha dreams about, she's the one who wants the whole proof of being a mummy.
"Before you do, may I name that which I find myself using?" he asks and I nod, shrugging as I do so. His appreciation for this display of showing off is a lot more than I care to know.
"Hurry up, I only have so long." I impatiently remark before Daddy's power erupts towards us again. Falling to the ground as it overpowers me, I notice how the mortal is still standing, if only slightly. Swinging the blade to his side after it is done protecting him, he smiles sadly at the discardable steel.
"I Christen it, Hope for My Friend, or, Hope." he answers as his expression hardens. The blade swings to his side and disturbs the ground, leaving me hiding a little smirk.
"A well thought out name." I comment under my breath as I watch him continue to quickly grasp the capabilities of the blade. He comes to a halt and a flashy display follows as his innate, prodigal ability quickly learns the sword.
Shifting my pose to something with angled spring to it, I wait for the un-agreed upon signal. Daddy's power ripples again, warping the ground and shattering the school further. Meeting the mortal's charge, our blades sing as they find themselves swinging widely. The distance vanishes once again so that the tune of metal may accompany the flashing blurs.
We dance and weave through each other's swings and he barely escapes my developing trap. Walking away with a smirk, I look back at him as he cuts the final thread caught on his armour. Meeting his eyes, his sword's tip glides over the ground, carving a curve even without touching it. We go for each other again as I feed a fresh line of thread into my weapon.
He thinks he is safe, allowing me to thrust so cleanly for him and making me slip through the cavity in his chest is clever. But, I am more so. As he smacks me away and deprives me of my blade, I reveal the control thread. He looks down just as I twist a visible coil around two of my fingers. Tugging on them, my sword comes around and back to me.
He doesn't get to swing Hope as I kick it out of his grip and send it flying. Catching his sword, I dash about the allowed parameters of the court and make walls. Bouncing between them as my blade matches my finger's demands and requests. I create only as I can.
Leaping into the sky with dozens of strings connecting to one set of fingers, I clench my fist. All the rock Hope has warped comes crashing down onto and towards, trapping him in an orb of stone. Held together by a web weaved by my sword. I land on top and plant Hope down the upper centre, sliding its edge right down in front of him.
Stepping off to the ground with a giddy tune on my lips and a happy tap in my feet, I turn to face him. Breaking away a slot for him to see through, I am met with his laughter as I tilt the orb from side to side. No one has won yet, but, this mortal clearly knows when he is beat. However, I like to end things properly.
"And here I thought I was being clever exploiting the hole in my chest." the mortal remarks as I steadily roll him off of the green.
"I know all the tricks in the book." I giggle, making sure he takes the inch out of bounds before I step after. I slice open the chainlink fence marking the court's boundaries, placing the mortal at the top of the hill. My booted foot nudges him down and heavy rolling rumbles its song, a new, shattering noise marking its stop at the bottom of the slop. With his hand on Hope, the mortal flies out gracefully, landing like a fencer merely taking a bow.
"I am happy to learn as many as I can." the mortal goes whilst I run a finger along one of Spinster Fatale's guard petals. Smiling at my oldest brother's involvement, the electricity runs through my gloves and then me. A finger twirls my hair until I catch and pull out a lone, brown string of it.
"So long as we avoid the others, I'm happy to carry on." I answer, then effortlessly making my way down the incline as he backs away on simple backpedalling steps. With a swoosh, he vanishes, reappearing with a wave of sandy rock following after the swinging arc of Hope. Coiling my blade-holding arm back, I thrust to counter.