Helena: I will get out a pair of my swords, the heavy old ones I used to use to practice against the strain of fatigue or changed gravity or an opponent's strength. I will retire with them to the bowl of black sands and begin to work in this... unfortunate body. My skill, my sense of myself is not gone. I have trained against worse handicaps. I will defeat this a bit at a time.

GM: It takes a few initial swings at low speed to find your grip with these delicate-looking hands, but this adjustment is not a lengthy one. The strength of Chaos and Amber is still in you, flower-sculpted frame or no.

Helena: It is distracting that my <donor's> face is on the back of my eyelids. I know Alma's goal, the mission she was given, was something else. I know if she'd behaved differently I would not exist. But how much different would things have been if she had just put her hand into the center of his heart and made a fist, instead of fighting just to keep his seed?

GM: Something has you trembling at the thought of it, as if the answer were at hand somehow, but still just out of sight.

Helena: The fucking awkwardness of this body causes me to overcompensate for distance around my torso, and I keep forgetting how short my arms are. I keep nicking myself across the top of my forward thigh as I lunge under the downswipe, and on my inner left arm as I come up out of it. But I can at least keep the speed; the whistle of the blades is at its familiar tenor and tempo.

GM: Once or twice, very early on, you are actually obliged to pause and bandage yourself; a frustrating distraction for one who could ordinarily close such a wound with a thought until it was healed enough to ignore. However, in an hour or two, you reach the point where your practice is clean and your form is correct.

Helena: I try to takes some satisfaction in having arrived there, rather than being frustrated with how long it took.

GM: You cast aside the bandages, satisfied that at least your innate constitution remains sufficient to regenerate such nicks, and begin to press yourself, to tap into the strength and skill that made you one of the best the Jesby Expeditionary had ever produced....

Helena: It is right there. I am confident, and walk slowly forward into that space, settling into it, envisioning it.

GM: Several hours of intense work later, and it is still out of reach. Something is holding you back. The limitations of your frame are as far behind you as physics will allow, and yet... you remember more speed than this, more power than this. Certainly your leverage has been altered, but not enough to explain this weakness, this tenuousness.

Helena: What? Is it physical? I set up the three-opponent pads and take up my stance between them. I take their distance and then begin, measuring the quickness of my turning and my strikes against the remembered rhythm in my head. Is it this body not responding, or is it my ability to formulate the motion mentally that is impaired? I even account for the distraction of my mounting fury in my observation.

GM: It is physical... but for the life of you, you can't diagnose why. There's no perceptible injury, no credible fatigue, and the frustration came well after noticing the lag. Your mind is as sharp as ever, at least as far as you can tell.

Helena: Is it just this body's... inadequacy, then? No matter how fast I want it to move, it is not made to move that way?

GM: There's nothing you can point to that would confirm that. You should be faster, regardless of this form's limitations, and you just aren't.

At the peak of your frustration, robe somewhat tattered (unless you cast it aside), flesh artistically striped in sweat and blood (does this form have to 'bleed cute' too???), you receive the beginnings of a Trump call.

Helena: (I had put off the loose gold layer of the robe, leaving the closer fitting, blue layer, but yes, I would guess it is ruined.) I take three breaths to bring myself back into line, but I am still breathing in a sharp rhythm from my chest when I accept the contact. "This is Helena."

Saras: Saras pauses, your card in his hand. With the slightest hint of social nervousness, "It's Saras. Are you well?" He lowers his arm slightly, half-hiding the package he's holding.

Helena: I breathe a couple of times and can feel the air in my nostrils. I am not calm enough yet. I tilt my head and smile through it. "Well enough." There is that tension in my jaw that makes my voice small. "Sorry for my appearance. Just... doing a little work. Come through if you don't mind waiting a moment while I clean up." I switch both blades to my left hand and offer him my right.

Saras: As he accepts your invitation, "I could hardly refuse," nodding with mock concern toward the swords in your off hand, his expression light.

Once he's through, "Since we never got to the champagne last time, I felt obliged to bring something else... but I may have overreached my artistic talent this time." He starts to offer you the clothing box, but pauses just shy of putting it in your hands. "This offering is not a reflection of how I expect the evening to go, by the way."

Helena: I don't reach for it;I feel fleeting annoyance cross my features in a way I would ordinarily control. "Please, my apologies. I'm in no state..."

Saras: He bows slightly, retucking the package to carry it, an apology on his face if not his lips.

Helena: I hold out my arms, shrugging slightly, to show that the blood and grime of my exertions would make taking the package awkward. "Come inside. I will return to you momentarily." I walk in ahead of him and brush the black sand off my feet onto the thick mat at the entrance. Waving Saras on, I set the practice blades rather carelessly on dresser, turn in to the bathroom and peel out of the tattered robe and throw it away, so I can rinse off. I cup water in my hands to drink for a long stretch. I then pin my hair back as I am used to doing. That done, I pad across to the bedroom and pull on loose trousers and a large shirt.

Finally I emerge into the living room.

Saras: Saras has conjured fresh ice for the champagne, and cubes for the juice glasses. He's sitting in a comfortable chair near the ice bucket in the lower bowl of the living room; distracted, but not lost in thought. When you reappear, he stands just a moment late, but not hastily, his gift leaning against the chair he just left. He awaits your word, perhaps, as to whether his presence is as welcome as before, his gentleman's eagerness for you tempered by what he feels was a bad entrance on his part.

Helena: I have tried to shake off my irritation in the shower, and I offer him what I hope is a welcoming smile.

"Knight Protector, it is good to have you here again." I hold out a hand to him for a more proper greeting than before. "I apologize for my state, before. I had lost track of the time." I smile more openly, suddenly, remembering. "And I must thank you for the portrait statue you left. Did you conjure it or craft it? In any case, it was most thoughtful, and quite lovely."

Saras: He takes your hand, kissing it lightly, any offense forgotten. "It was a bit of both; the only art I pretend to outside my profession. I'm glad you liked it." He blushes slightly. "I will try not to overpopulate your mantles with such things, despite the compliment."

Smiling, a touch of concern mixed with a desire to cash his raincheck, "Do you have any further developments to share, or am I 'off duty' for now, as we had hoped?"

Helena: "There are things I must discuss with you, but I hope we can dispense with them quickly and share the evening."

I motion for a glass of the champagne, and invite Saras to join me as I sit to speak with him.

Saras: He pours, and sits facing you, comfortably close (unless you chose a couch, in which case he would have joined you in yet closer quarters).

Helena: "I have spoken to my father. It is his thought that the being may require further interrogation; if so I will have to make arrangements to travel with it outside the reach of the JRS, who may put a premature end to required investigation. But I was not certain he was correct -- about needing further information from it. I wanted to ask your opinion..." I frown, looking away a moment. Then I look back at him squarely. "I think now that it has taken something from me, or damaged me further than just this form indicates. I don't understand how such a thing could be done. I had always thought my skills a matter of training and understanding. But apparently now I am not able to match what my mind demands, and it is not merely that this body was made poorly for such work.

"I don't know how to explain, fully. I am less... my work with the swords..." I give up and shrug in frustration. "Perhaps this is a less quick topic than I had hoped."

Saras: "Actually, I fear it is a quick topic, but only because I have no advice at the moment. If the entity did this, I do not know how. Your mind was whole, by every test I could think of, when I left, and the entity could not reach you while I was gone." He rises, moves to the bar, and checks on the sphere. "It is as silent as when I left." He puts his hands on the bar and sighs softly, searching his mind for something useful to offer. "I have not encountered symptoms like what you describe. Perhaps if I could observe the change you sense... but I only have one night of dancing to make a comparison with." He returns to you slowly, still thinking, but still seeming at a loss.

Helena: I sigh. "How thorough was our connection when you worked separating the entity from me before?"

Saras: "My methods focus on the physical, to avoid psychic entanglements. I tend to approach minds structurally. The connection does result in some surface thoughts conducting back and forth, especially in the more intense exchanges with the entity, but I didn't have to sift everything to do what needed doing.

Helena: "It would not be my first choice, but if it is no further intimacy, you might try to understand what I mean from my experience of it. Or I could bring out the swords again to bring it more to the forefront of my mind. I don't know enough about these things to really suggest anything, either." I look at him hopelessly.

Saras: "I trust your description of your symptoms. If something occurs to me to test, I will remember your willingness, but I'd obviously prefer to learn more of you socially than surgically."

Helena: "We could even spar, but as you say, without knowing what I was before..." Enough.

Saras: His look indicates that perhaps he'd enjoy sparring with you for sport sometime, but otherwise it would not be particularly informative regarding this latest development.

Helena: "Perhaps we should return to our champagne, and talk about something else. Your work, what you do now... you had said you were ready to leave your commission and Chaos for a time?"

Saras: He refreshes both glasses and returns to his place near you. "My work? As a soldier in peacetime, most of what I have been allowed to do is ceremonial, at best. Busywork, to put a finer point on it. My request to transfer back to Security detail was politely refused...."

He considers all that you have confided in him, and decides to proceed into personal details.

"In Blight's Pass, we lost a great many men... clearly.... The losses to the intelligence detachment were particularly severe, killing all of our advisors, from Crown and a half-dozen other services. Hendrake Advisement Bureau cleared me of all wrongdoing, but the JRS and another spook service that declined to identify itself weren't entirely satisfied, citing disagreement between their action guidelines and my command records. Since no charges would stick, and openly blacklisting me would be difficult to push through after they'd pinned a medal to my chest, they've settled for gray-listing me. My career is essentially over, unless I content myself with riding a desk to the grave."

He pauses to savor the champagne a moment before admitting, "That was my primary attraction to what Loren offered in our first meeting." His neutral expression slowly gives way to a soft smile. "But a personal involvement with a certain ambassador only reinforces my desire to serve."

Helena: "You presume much from such a short meeting as we have had," I chide him, but gently. "And I should think the urgent... medical situation might have prevented you from getting to know me as well as you might."

Saras: "I am being presumptuous, I suppose." Lowering his head slightly, eyes lightly clouded with regret, "My courting skills have atrophied from standing behind the chairs rather than sitting in them myself over the years."

Helena: "I suppose I haven't exactly discouraged you." I smile.

Saras: "For which I am thankful." Gentle amusement colors his expression. "Feeling like an awkward young man again doesn't leave one eager to be treated as one."

Helena: "And on the other hand there is a well-known tendency of a patient to grow fond of her doctor, given the trust there must be between them." I look at him appraisingly and add, "Not that I wasn't interested when we were first introduced. My mother is quite the meddler, is she not?" A fond smile for her and her intentions -- and this result -- crosses my face.

Saras: "Alma... surprised me with her mention of you in this light; but if this is the worst of her meddling, I am happy to endure it." His hand moves toward yours, but stops short of closing the gap between you.

Helena: I realize I was about to shrink back from him, and instead nod in thanks at his pause. "This body..." I make a dismissive gesture with my hand that ends up revealing a little more anger than I mean to, and my expression gets away from me again for a moment. I feel I have to say something to explain more. "I have to... I would wait to know you better." I frown at his discomfort. "I do want to know you better."

Saras: You sense him struggling with the urge to reason with you, to say 'all the right things,' that he might continue his discovery of the amazing woman across from him... but it takes only a heartbeat for the gentleman in him to win out. "If you feel that I cannot put you at ease as you are, then I, too, would wait...."

Helena: "Thank you."

Saras: He waits now: an encouragement here would bring him to you - over a span of hours of conversation and gentle conduct, if that was what you needed - and a refusal or change of subject would end his 'quest' for the night, or perhaps even the length of your recovery, depending on the weight of the words you offered.

Helena: I talk with him about many things... nothing to do with the being, Julian, or Mother's mission, but all about things I've done and want to do, some things about Amber, about taking the Pattern. And we share barracks stories and stories of the field and the war, both with dark humor and light. I tell a couple of things that were mistakes of mine, or things that are a little embarrassing in the telling, to see how he reacts to such or if he is willing to share in kind.

(Highlights include seeing the embassies -- both that of Jesby and of the Empire -- strong enough to act as true counters to further war; learning more about the Pattern and travel in Shadow in peacetime; keeping her father and mother proud; creating a family to continue her parents' lines and all, but this is in the vague future for me, quite abstract with little concrete about it.)

Saras: Saras nods, understanding the impulse, especially under those terms. He, too, has thought of continuing his line, especially after coming so far in his tenure in Chaos, but he wonders if his children would appreciate all he has gone through to reach his station, or worse, if they might suffer from the recent turn in his fortunes.

Helena: I can certainly empathize with his concerns, given the blood of Amber has had waxing and waning fortunes in the Empire.

(I probably leave out wanting to feel Julian's brain matter pulped under my fist, as I figures I'll get over that impulse in a few days or weeks .)

Saras: Saras has war stories going back farther than you would have expected, and he holds little back once you set the tone, perhaps only omitting those that might still be classified in some relevant fashion. He includes tales of his humble beginnings as little more than a bright demon, stories of his early service and the mistakes he made as he learned and trained and somehow survived. With the slightest prodding, he includes proud moments like his recognition as a Lord (albeit very Lords Minor at first) and earning the right to a human-form; and humiliations like the retreat from Blight's Pass and the JRS Tribunal some months after.

He could talk all night on the topics you chose, but if the conversation lags, he would offer to play {House Chess} or Cold Nines, or even return to the amphitheater to spar if you wished. The only further flirtation he allows himself this evening is to offer you his guest-present once more; after at least a few hours, but sometime before your tongues grow tired of talking.

Helena: Playing any game that is warfare based would be an enjoyable challenge; sparring would be interesting as well, but I warn him it's likely to bring our conversation back to earlier topics.

Saras: He raises the topic of {House Chess} first, recalling your mutual desire to stay away from matters of health and such for this time together. The games confirm for you that your mind is indeed as sharp as ever, as you only have to win twice before you realize he's letting you beat him.

Helena: Sadly it makes me think less of him that he allowed me to win. It's not a deal-breaker, but I am slightly disappointed. It is not so great or so shocking that my disappointment shows, except in the firmness with which I insist he not do that. If I have something to learn from him in this regard, I want to learn it.

Saras: "I apologize, Helena. Habit, borne of playing with temperamental Lords, but... it is little excuse. It won't happen again."

The next games become progressively harder, as Saras teaches simply by winning. He does not pause to instruct, likely thinking such a manner to be insulting, although he answers any questions you pose as to his strategy after the fact. During the games, he continues to offer war stories, and ask after tales of your own.

Helena: Occasionally accusing him of distracting me, I enjoy the challenges and the learning experience of playing against him. I hope I am not so far below him in skill that it is nothing but a teaching exercise to him. If that becomes clear, I will gracefully bow out of further games for a time, aware the poor man has done nothing much but work since we met!

GM: You are not that far beneath his level of skill, and after he describes a particular turn of strategy he's been using on the Board of Ways, you are able to win in your own right. Only that once, but it is genuine.

Helena: I am pleased with what I have learned, and show it with sincere thanks and the pleasure of a piece of a puzzle solved.

I will accept and open his present whenever he decides to bring it up again.

Saras: Inside, you find a very well made fencing jacket, in a rich, dark shade of green, sculpted to conform to (and support) your current dimensions. It is so finely tailored, it may well have been conjured in one piece or grown from some creature. The card inside says simply, I look forward to offering you a suitable replacement in the near future.

Helena: I blink a couple of times. When I look up, I smile. "It is lovely, Saras. I, too, look forward to the time you can create me another." I put the piece gently back into the box and set it aside so that we may continue to play.

Saras: Once the champagne is gone and the evening spent, do you offer him a place to stay, or give him his leave? He has brought an overnight bag again.

Helena: "Tomorrow I should introduce you to our Trump master and the staff here on the Chaos side of things. We can get some contracts drawn up for you in your several capacities, and get the paperwork started for your leave to enter Amber.

Saras: He nods, clearly agreeable and unconcerned. "Will you require a Trump sitting of me?"

Helena: "It is not required but would clearly be useful. Two portraits should be sufficient; one between us, and one for your recall from this end."

Saras: "If you trust the Artist, then that will be fine."

Helena: I change the subject again. "I must negotiate some way of turning the entity over to the Jesby justices; Father had no particularly practical suggestions."

Saras: "I'm confident Loren will make some arrangement. I doubt his connections have grown as stale as he would have Crown believe."

Helena: "That is my hope, yes, but he was not forthcoming earlier."

Saras: "Giving you cause for concern, as you have so many open questions at the moment. I understand."

Helena: Back on that train of thought, I pause. "Given this creature may have taken both my shifting abilities and my reaction speed, it would be a very dangerous thing indeed to allow freedom to indulge the hatreds it must have built in its years of isolation."

Saras: There is the slightest pause as Saras returns to 'consulting' mode, considering your concerns. "Any connection between you and the entity has been severed. At this point, I would stake my reputation on it. The entity might be able to emulate some of your ability, but not without acquiring your personality and convictions in the bargain. My sense of it, as I caged it, was that its personal shape-shifting ability was quite rudimentary at best. I'd consider it highly unlikely that it would or could conceal such skill while fighting for its life, as I believe it was at the time. I have considerable faith in your assessment of its temperament, having tasted some of its venom myself, but I don't think its ability is as impressive as you assume in the realms you mention."

Helena: I give a sigh. "I am afraid in this particular area I don't quite believe it. Still, armed with as much warning as I might offer, better heads than mine will have to decide. And I suppose if it is granted a body, that body can carry its own limitations."

Saras: "I believe wingless cherubs are the standard, although I don't know if Jesby cleaves to that tradition for supplicant consciousnesses."

He puts his hand over yours, intended as friendly and supportive rather than intimate, but your reaction may vary.

Helena: I don't quite twitch, and try to accept it; the support does not seem to make any demands of this form.

GM: Appearances to the contrary, your body does not seem to carry a sex demon's sensitivities. It proves to be just a friend's hand over yours, although your small dread may have colored the touch slightly.

Saras: "We should measure your 'losses' today, and again after a day or two, to see if they are healing, or if they remain steady. That may prove informative in several realms."

After a moment more of consideration, "If your feeling is that the entity should instead be destroyed, the Abyss is not so far from here. I could take it and be back in a few hours with minimal fuss, and it could hardly be more gone."

Helena: I consider this seriously. Finally I reply, "Given that I have consulted Father about the protocol and legalities, it would hardly now be correct to ignore them. Unfortunately, therefore, such easy answer is denied me. But thank you for offering.

Saras: He nods, fully understanding your refusal.

Helena: "And so we're left with the question, how would you suggest we take measure of my condition for this baseline you speak of?"

Saras: "We avoided sparring earlier because you wished to speak of something other than our duties, but now that the subject has returned to the table, perhaps that would be a fair measure. It would let us test your reflexes, your strength, and perhaps even your stamina, if you so chose, and with blunted blades, it should not be so 'exciting' as to be unwise." He steps to his bag. "Considering my gift, I brought my own armor, in case you were inclined to judge my taste in cetihide immediately." With just a hint of caution, he asks, "Should I endeavor to retain enough strength to return home, or may we spend another night as friends when we are spent?"

Helena: "You are welcome to stay should that prove wisest; I must say in my own assessment I do not believe I will wear you out by this effort." Putting aside my foolish concerns for the time being, I stand and lift the gift jacket out of its box. "Practice blades of many styles are in the drawers of that display." I point. As he goes and selects some, I remove my shirt and get the front piece of the jacket set correctly.

GM: The jacket is constructed with an ingenious web of soft cords in the back, terminating in two short lengths of sash that hang within reach. After pulling the coat on over your head, knotting the sash ends in front pulls everything snug, allowing you each to dress alone. The cetihide is cool against your skin, but not uncomfortably so, and seems intent on remaining so, even after you have begun to move. It's a little distracting now, but perhaps a blessing in a long match.

Helena: When he returns, I turn so that he can fix the back, and help him with his. At that point I lead him back through to the small arena. I clear the target pads out of the way, and await his direction.

Saras: He tosses you one of the sabers with a generous hand guard, and begins testing the weight of one for himself. After a brief period of consideration, he paces out a square in the sand, and directs you to the north point with the tip of his blade, taking the southern position for himself.

He names a style of saber combat you have some familiarity with, and suggests a point-and-edge drill that an intermediate student would be expected to master. His initial pace is slow, but not insultingly so, and becomes more rapid quite quickly. After two passes through the form, feeling that his trust has not been misplaced, he begins to show you the guidelines of another 'style'; one common to young bravos, eager to test their skill and bravery.

He tosses you a pair of reinforced gloves from your collection, shifting his left hand into an armored lump as he does so. "Your left hand remains out like this, if you wish to match me," he explains, holding his left forearm parallel to the ground, with his elbow just ahead of his hip, so his fist is a foot or so from his body. "Your target is my arm. Nothing above my left bicep is fair game, although minor cuts to the torso are ignored. If I withdraw my target hand, the match is a forfeit. I can defend only, or we can compete." He salutes with his blade. "How do you wish to be tested?"

Helena: "Would a more consistent baseline be had by my testing against your defense? The other of course seems more interesting." I smile a little as the work with focus on another has taken my mind off my shape and limitations for a time.

Saras: "I trust that I can keep count well enough with both of us in motion, and I would prefer to keep your interest, of course." Smiling like he's in his element and loving it, he breaks salute, waiting for your arm to come up, and then his blade extends to protect his exposed hand.

GM: What stance do you take: Aggressive, neutral, or defensive? Anything tricky, or playing it straight?

Helena: Entirely defensive at first, until I understand how the positions work. Then defensive with fast follow-ups to the aftermath of his attacks (i.e. ripostes). If I can gain the offensive I keep it with shallow parries and further ripostes; if he overmatches me I go back to defensive. Obviously lacking overwhelming strength I would have to make quite a few hits rapidly to have any chance against him.

GM: His feints do not baffle you, but your ripostes are pushed through molasses such that you cannot gain the offensive. "Over chess, I promised that I would not let you win. I believe you would hold me to that... especially now." He works around your defense to sting your target hand just above the base of your thumb, although not easily. However, your late parry seems to surprise him a bit, pushing him back. Either your strength is not as diminished as you thought, or you still have an edge over him even in a weakened state.

Helena: If I get a feel for those moments when both mentally and physically I should have been faster, I mark them with a quiet, "There." I carry on as I have been, learning from his strategies as I can. This is a nice exercise because I can get into the flow of it without it being so repetitive that I can get angry with my lack of responsiveness: there's plenty to think about while working, I mean.

GM: Several times, you are able to manage a leverage advantage and score on his target, but you spend a significant amount of time on defense as well. If not for the moments you are marking, you think the score would be much closer. Saras is a man of his word, and gives no quarter, testing your limits throughout.

Would anything prompt you to draw back your hand? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you are using the glove, right?

Helena: He gave me the glove, therefore I am using it. I doubt I would draw back my hand, even if struck a couple of times. (Helena does not respond much if at all to pain -- or at least she didn't before being in this form. Let me know if that's changed as well.)

GM: So far, it's only the one hit, but you'd say your current form has at least your baseline pain threshold, or maybe even a bit better.

Helena: In which case, as I said, I carry on until he calls a halt or something changes. I doubt being hit, even hit hard, would cause me to pull back, especially as the target is my inactive hand. Dunno if that would surprise Saras or not.

Saras: Hours pass at a furious pace, and at last Saras calls, "One hundred." He steps back and salutes. "If this is not your best, I would fear you healthy." His smile brightens. "I look forward to that day, My Lady." There is a soft popping as his target hand becomes proper flesh again, and a touch of blood, which he seems to be ignoring for the moment. "How are you, and how do you wish you were?"

The metacarpal above your left index finger is broken but healing nicely, and that thumb feels like one long bruise from nail to wrist, but you aren't any more tired than you would expect to be while at your best, and none of your injuries are particularly bothersome. You can think of dozens of moves that should have been better for you, and you recall scoring only seven hits, but you feel you acquitted yourself well enough against a modestly superior swordsman while at least moderately handicapped.

Helena: I strip off the gloves and collect the blades -- later I'll be cleaning them and the other practice swords I'd used. There is a small handpump well here by the edge of the bowl, and I draw a mug of water for Saras and one for myself. After drinking deeply, and thinking about his question, I finally answer, "There is a sense occasionally, that I have sent an action, that the muscle memory for the action exists, and that even this body's less adequate tone could respond, but, for a brief beat, there is a delay somewhere along that line. I really can only sense it at the edge of my range, where I would switch balance completely at speed, or strike with strength back while committing to an immediate defense response. I don't know if that shows at all from your point of view. For me I was frustrated on only a few of your touches as I committed to some action I'd expect to complete quickly enough, and then find it not quite happening."

Saras: Rather clinically, "I could tell, although it took your comments to put some of it into proper frame. Your tactics were ahead of your execution, which I thought was strange for someone of your field experience. Now, at least, we have a measure of your concern, if not a cause." His smile returns full force. "I very much look forward to testing you again."

Saras cannot seem to stop smiling, and - small victory though it might be - he appears to be sweating more than you. He does not seem surprised by your pain tolerance, but considering what he's already seen you through, this is not terribly remarkable. Ditto for your courage, but you have certainly impressed him with your skill.

Helena: I smile, too, because the game was fun and interesting and because I acquitted myself well in spite of things. "More water? Or are you ready to head in?"

Saras: After gulping down the last of the water you first offered, "Do you have your own contest in mind, or would you like another round of Bravo?" His eyes glitter with anticipation, whatever the challenge.

Helena: I arch an eyebrow. "Not certain you have that baseline yet, then?" I grin after a beat. "This game is quite good, especially given what I'm working around... It's long enough I can take interest in getting the few tags I manage." The grin stays to let him know I am not seriously downplaying my efforts. "So another round, or a good bout of anything goes -- I'd need more armor than I'm wearing -- or a couple of straight fencing matches." I realize I'm giving more options rather than fewer. "Okay, so, I'd enjoy pretty much anything at this point."

Saras: "Why don't we try another round of Bravo, then. I'd like to see how much you learned in our first match... and maybe see if I can counter faster now that I'm not marking your skill so closely." Playfully, he adds, "Just try not to push me around too much," referencing his growing awareness of your strength advantage. He makes ready for another round, closing the wound on his hand and re-hardening it against your strokes.

GM: Any changes in your strategy? How much do you want to capitalize on your strength advantage? Do you reinforce the glove at all, since you haven't completely healed the mild punishment from last round?

Helena: Changes to my strategy? Heh, uh, do more of what worked and less of what didn't?

In all seriousness, actually, try to avoid that sense of overextension; be more aware of the problems that arise when I do things at that edge of my range where the delay will become a problem. This means I'll be a little more conservative, but I also will not just be layin' out there waitin' to be hit.

GM: This round goes longer, so your strategy does seem to be having an effect, at least.

Helena: Obviously I capitalize on any advantages I have. He tires a little more quickly than I do, therefore I make him move his feet more, use more of the space, do a lot more work in high line rather than low line, make him lunge further to actually get to me. He's a little weaker than I am, therefore my parry's are a little heavier on the beat (though I'll back off on that if the tradeoffs for speed are too great), and when I close I'm more likely to jostle him. I'm not hitting his hand extra hard, if I manage another few hits this go-round, but everything else I'm willing to push on, strengthwise.

GM: Pushing every advantage, you manage over a dozen hits, including several strung together when his count is in the nineties, but he's tiring out. When he calls, "Hundred," he seems very, very pleased, even though he's bleeding twice as badly as before.

Helena: As for the glove, I'll reinforce it if the hand is bothering me.

GM: At the start of the match, the injuries are completely ignorable, but as things proceed, you might feel some regret for not doing more. Though he stays 'friendly' with the strength of his hits, the increased level of competition does result in a re-break, a few fresh cracked small bones, and some blood from a one-in-a-million catch on the web between your thumb and index finger. You might want to indulge in a little first aid, although it won't strictly be necessary. Saras offers to do the honors once he gets his own hand functional.

Saras: "I think I'm done," he says, spent but very pleased.

Helena: "Ah, well then, Doctor, I presume you know what you need to know... purely professionally, of course?" I tilt my head, smiling, having greatly enjoyed myself, and admitting that working on the "puzzle" of my unexpectedly slow reactions added an interesting dimension to things.

Saras: He laughs lightly. "It is always good to double-check your results."

Helena: Peeling off the glove is a little ugly, bringing an, "Ooh, nice color," and a grimace. I am happy to trade off any bandaging or first aid duties with him on his hand.

Saras: Saras has you re-break his index finger to correct a mis-fuse done in haste, and then he neatly bandages your hand, retaining quite a bit of mobility despite the wrap. You feel a mild emotional stirring at the gentle contact, but nothing seeming unnatural or form-induced. Saras does his best to remain a gentleman, but the long looks into your eyes....

Helena: Ah, sigh. I am definitely starting to return those looks. I cover (badly) by getting up to get more water. "How are you feeling? Do you need to stay?"

Saras: "I'd like to," he replies, with a bit more feeling than he probably intended. Looking away to recover himself, careful to omit any implied blackmail from his tone, "My Ways are an hour's swim..." he admits, accepting your offered water.

Helena: I nod, "'I'd like to' is good enough. Please, come inside. We should eat, and I need to clean these blades and get clean myself."

I indeed go about arranging dinner (or Saras can summon something if he'd like), snack, feed Boss, and get out the blade cleaning and honing cloths and sit down with him either watching or helping work on them, or perhaps he can use the bath while I'm finishing. Talking about whatever comes to mind all the while.

Saras: Saras helps out, pitching in some way or other with each task, but he's a little quiet. He does indeed summon dinner while you're feeding Boss and laying out the blade maintenance stuff, pulling together a seafood feast for two, plus a few dog-safe treats if Boss is good. He cleans the blades he used, occasionally making light contact as you reach for the same things.

Helena: It's all good: eating, talking, working, getting distracted by Boss, occasionally brushing elbows.

GM: The gentle brushing against each other reassures you that you are in your right mind, relatively uninfluenced by your form.

Helena: When that's all done and put away, I head in to bathe myself, leaving Saras and Boss to their own devices.

Saras: Saras will bathe after taking Boss out for a while. "One last stretch before I settle, if that's okay," and suddenly you realize he's asking Boss, too. Boss is, of course, quite cool with that plan. *happybark*

Helena: "Let Boss show you the way," I smile as they go, and I stay and do about half an hour of very slow isometric strength and stretch work, fearing this unaccustomed body will punish me for working it so hard. I'll throw open all the doors for the crossbreeze, and have the fire low in the living room, with a reading lamp on so I can tuck myself into a chair and finish the book I'd started.

GM: You feel good enough, but the stretch is pleasant insurance. As you finish opening the windows, you can see the 'boys' coming back.

Saras: Boss leads Saras back into the house, does a turn and a half, and plops down beside your prepared chair. Saras surveys what you've arranged on his way to the bath and asks, "I'm not kicking you out of your bed, am I?" amused and maybe a little embarrassed at the idea.

Helena: "Not at all! Just my usual routine. I'll be heading to bed at the end of this chapter," I give him a big smile, "or maybe the one after that. And anyway, if you're at all difficult it's clear I would be pushing you out of the bed. Go on!" I wave him away encouragingly, "I plan to take over at least two thirds of the space before you're even out of the tub."

Saras: "Of course," he says, chuckling on the way to the bath.

Helena: I do finish up that chapter and head in to the bedroom. As I undress, I stop in front of the mirror and try to shake myself back into my correct form a couple times, but not with so much stress as to hurt myself. Giving up (or taking whatever gain I've made) I notice the little trail of black sand we've tracked in from the arena, and pause to brush off my feet and sweep that away.

GM: All you get is a odd sense of colored lights behind your eyes on your third attempt, and then an ache begins to blossom in that same spot. By the time you've cleared the sand trail, though, you're recovered from the effort.

Helena: If in that time Saras has not emerged, I get into bed with the notes I've been collating the past couple of days and wait for him.

GM: You have time to get into bed before he comes out. Saras is wearing comfortable shorts and a short robe, foregoing the undershirt from the previous night. How covered up are you, and what cues might he take from your demeanor?

Helena: I am mostly covered, neither "artfully" nor carelessly, but as though (as is mostly the case) I am not concerned but don't want to give any wrong impression. I would probably be even less concerned -- and more likely to respond to him -- if it were not for my distaste for this body.

I put the notes aside as he comes in. "How is your hand?" I ask, reaching to take a look.

Saras: He offers you his hand, and, other than a bit of warmth over the re-break, it seems completely restored. "You definitely sped things along for me with that reset. Thank you." His hand lingers a bit.

Helena: I hold it as it lingers, then let him go.

Saras: "So... which third of the bed is mine?" calling back to your jest in the living room.

Helena: I look up with a wan smile. "Honestly? I haven't decided yet. Perhaps we should start with the other third."

Saras: Sensing your unease, he offers, "I'm not too tired to whip up some sleepwear for you, if that would help." He sits on the edge of the bed, taking a little care not to tug the blanket covering you. "I don't want you to regret letting me stay."

Helena: "I don't regret it at all. And frankly if I need the sleepwear I'll have you pass me a shirt from that drawer over there. I did stretch out while you were walking with Boss, but I would love a hand between my shoulderblades for a bit. I'm just a little unsure how I'll react. The way I want to react is to forget what else is going on and pay attention to this wonderful person who has come into my life. Given I'm not sure that forgetting is possible, I'm just... I'm going a little slow, is all."

I watch his face to see if he understands.

Saras: He lets you finish, nodding his comprehension at last. After easing out of his robe, he moves in behind you, hands on your shoulders first, to accustom you to his touch, and slowly working down to the spot in question. "Whatever pace you require is fine with me, and if we fall asleep with nothing but a back rub and a few kisses between us, I will still sleep beside an {angel}." If you do not tense up, he will move your hair aside and gently kiss your shoulder, testing the waters and looking for cues.

You're still reacting pretty much like you'd expect, although some pleasantness may be a bit muted by your anxiety.

Helena: I would expect a little tension in reaction to his touch, if only as you say because of anxiety about what I might feel or how I might react to mess things up.

It is an effort of will to relax into his touch, and I make myself stretch out my neck in response to the kiss. I begin to think I can enjoy this.

Saras: Saras is patient without being overly methodical, working up your neck and along the line of your jaw. He is almost teasingly close to your lips when he pauses to let his hands explore, easing away the blanket and tracing down the length of your arms to intertwine his fingers with yours before the kissing resumes. Do your hands take his anywhere?

Helena: I start by holding his hand flat against my belly, but as I tilt my shoulder towards him to face him, I draw it up along my ribs to the underside of my breast. I leave his hand there as I take mine and put it behind his neck to kiss him properly.

Saras: Only once you are deep into kissing him properly does his hand move, rising slowly and then receding back down your body, avoiding your most sensitive areas thus far.

Helena: What would pull me out of it is any feeling that is out of place, foreign-seeming, different than I expect my body to respond. It is only a shape, after all, I tell myself. That advice can stand so long as the shape doesn't change what I expect of myself with him, and what I expect to feel if we go farther.

Saras: Things seem to be building as you would expect, but as your mind is drawn to any difference, you do note that the intensity of some of your reactions is different. A few of your favorite places perhaps do not raise your desire quite as quickly as usual, while some touches that you would not expect to excite so well seem more sensitive. It's not jarring, but it is different.

Helena: Less reaction is not jarring, but more... that unexpected spike of sensation as his hand passes by...? I draw a sudden breath and pull back from him a moment, breathing a little hard, both from his attention and from the slight rush of fear.

"Ah." I breathe a couple of times. "This is not... me, here. I..." I really don't want to stop... or I do, but I don't want to disappoint him, and the fear is not so great that it has cooled my desire for him. I am stuck, not knowing quite what to do.

Saras: The 'offending' hand eases up toward the safer territory of your waist; the other sliding up your neck to focus you on his eyes. "It is just you and me here," he whispers, as if that clears everything up... and perhaps it does.

Helena: I keep that focus another moment. "Is it? You believe that?" My brain tells me this must be true, but there is that lingering, foreign reaction...

Saras: "I do." Saras is too breathless to enumerate why, but his eyes say he truly believes.

Helena: "If we have this to do again when I am whole, will you learn me again?"

Saras: "Yes..." and behind that single word is the promise to continue his education to the end of days, regardless of form or Fortune, for as long as you will have him.

If you do not resist, he will close to kiss you anew, slowing only enough to let your panic pass.

Helena: I nod at the question of his kiss, and meet him halfway, this time arching against him so that his bare chest is against mine and I can wrap his leg with mine, too, pulling his hip against me. There is a little desperation in my wanting him, perhaps to move quickly past the point I can think about my disorientation and into the place where thinking is not necessary at all.

Saras: The last of his clothes lost some time before, he meets your press, easing you onto your back to seal the deal, his gazing upon your face until the rush becomes too much for open eyes. Any remaining awkwardness falls away in this union. After the first explosion in urgency, he slows to savor you (and conserve his strength).

Helena: I allow myself to be lost entirely to the physical side of this, responding to him avidly and hungrily, passionate if not as creative or thoughtful as I usually push myself to be. Hopefully he enjoys taking the lead for the most part in this instance.

Saras: Once your reluctance falls away, he allows himself to become bolder by steps; never rough, but certainly giving full vent to his pent-up enthusiasm. You do not sense any meaningful regret or disappointment in him.

Helena: Looking back on it, I'll realize that my anxiety--and my relief of it by losing myself in the passion of the act--left me with less time to focus on him. I will miss that on this first night I did not get to explore him as I like to explore a new lover, but I content myself with his promise that there will be many more opportunities.

Saras: When he finally has no more to offer you, he whispers, "Next time, I will not let you fence for so long beforehand," playfully bemoaning his inability to give you a few more hours of his best, as well as perhaps testing to see that all your reluctance is truly exhausted.

Helena: "Mmm, I will remember to make sure you are rested." I am guardedly happy as I tuck myself against him when we're spent. Sleep is fitful but welcome when it comes.

Saras: Saras sleeps embracing you, spooned up behind you, sleeping the sleep of the just.