Cupid's First Shot
The ting of metal colliding with metal was a sound that Squalo knew intimately by heart, one that he could recognize from meters away. It was a sound that sang in his heart and soothed his restless soul when nothing else but his Sky could. And his Sky was frozen - out of his reach and nothing he could do could bring him back, could stop the injustice - and he had to deal with the consequences in the meantime.
Still, hearing the sound of a battle of blades had drawn his curiosity, especially so when he felt the emergence of cloud flames, of someone going Active, and he couldn’t help but meander his way towards the sound and oh what a sight. A lone female was taking on six separate opponents while wielding a large broadsword. Squalo’s eyebrows raised as she held her own, confidently, serenely, almost as if the call for battle sang for her as it did for him and she danced between her opponents, one minute here, the next there. He stayed back, watching the show, not interrupting as Cloud flames began to grow visible as she was very careful not to knick the skin of her enemy, instead slapping them away with the fuller of the blade.
One by one, she knocked them unconscious, which was really interesting to witness considering that it took more effort not to simply kill her opponents but to disable them from the fight with their lives. She was going to great lengths to not kill them, which just showed the level of skill she had. It was easy to know how to kill with a sword, it was more difficult to know how to disarm and disable an enemy. When it came to the last enemy, he watched with high amusement as she straight just spartan kicked the man into the wall behind him, leaving him unconscious to join his fellows.
Squalo whistled in appreciation, even more so when she spun around, her arm bringing the sword up to defend herself, blade at the ready for the next enemy to appear, and sporting a wild and fierce look in her eye as if she was prepared to slice his head off. He couldn’t deny the way his eyes trailed up her body. She was fit like a swimmer, lean in muscle but sturdy which spoke of some training with the blade, wearing a pair of boots with some kind of scale on it, a pair of breathable pants, and what looked like a hand-knitted sweater with the letter H on it.
Between the heaving of her chest and the sweat on her brow, he had a feeling that the sword was probably heavier than it looked - especially encrusted with jewels that he could see on the rain guard and pommel. “Who taught you?” He asked, leaning against the building at the mouth of the alleyway he had walked through, he certainly couldn’t place the style she had, though the stance she used was definitely an older one, most notable in the United Kingdom, circa 1600 or 1700s, he thinks if he remembers right.
She gazed at him, noting with a flash of bright, luminescent green eyes at the sword on his hip before she carefully put her own away at her side. It left a slightly odd look about her, considering the massive size of the blade versus her own diminutive height. “Sir Cadogan,” she replied, raising a hand to wipe away the sweat and nervously brushing her bangs down over her forehead. Black hair suited her, he thought, admiring the dark tan of her skin that hinted at more of her ancestry than the English with Scottish undertones accent she carried.
“I don’t recall ever seeing him in the circuit.” He mused, thinking back on the sword-fighting tournaments he has watched or participated in.
The girl blinked at him, head tilted slightly to the side, causing her ponytail to shift off her shoulder. “He’s dead.”
“Sorry for your loss.” He replied, eyes half-lidded.
“He’s been dead for like a few hundred years.” She remarked with a shrug of her shoulders as she turned and knelt down by the man closest to her and began searching his pockets before pulling out a piece of paper, looking it over, and then stuffing it in her pocket as she stood back up.
“Convenient.” He murmured, watching her as she began to walk away without further comments.
“So, tell me,” he began as he followed her, ignoring her huff of frustration and he couldn’t stop the grin of amusement at the side eye of irritation she sent him as he caught up to her side. “What’s a guy have to do to get you to fight him in a sword fight?”
That had her stopping, eyes scrunched together in confusion as she stared at him a little lost. “Why would someone want to challenge me to a sword fight?”
Squalo grinned, “Maybe because they are adrenaline junkies or maybe they enjoy a good fight.”
“Hmmm.” She hummed in reply, as she continued walking, leaving the unconscious bodies behind.
“So tell me, pretty Cloud, where are you heading?” He asked, a mischievous grin on his face as he followed her out of the alleyway they were in and as they headed down the street.
She side-eyed him again before clicking her tongue, “Why do you want to know?” She walked with purpose, not hesitating in the slightest - she was confident in her direction even though he caught her eyes flickering around to her surroundings, never settling, always on the lookout. It boded well for his silent evaluation of her, adding a few more points in her favor. She moved like a survivor would, a fighter but not a soldier and that was a very powerful distinction. She did not seem like the kind of person who took commands from others well, which made sense considering she was a Cloud. He wondered where her territory was, that she would leave it behind to be here, in Italy.
“Out of curiosity, have you heard of the Varia?” He asked, a sharp glint in his eyes as he looked down at her. He had so very many questions he wanted to ask her. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had fascinated him this much that wasn’t his own Sky - who had beaten him up, dusted him off and then had raged on his behalf, his Sky who he couldn’t even be around - and wasn’t that an interested thought to have.
Her brows furrowed together, before asking simultaneously the best and worst thing he had ever heard, “What’s the Varia?”
Squalo grinned wider, revealing sharp teeth and an even sharper expression of wild glee. Was Christmas coming early this year? It was only Spring time. “Tell me, how many languages do you speak?”
“I can speak six, why?” She paused in her walking, staring at him in pure confusion, hands settling on her hips as she gazed at him in suspicion.
“Why didn’t you kill them?” He asked, choosing instead to ignore her question to ask his own.
“My blade has the world’s deadliest venom on it. A single scratch can kill a grown man. Why do you want to know?” Her confused stare started to turn hard and her cloud began to leak just a little bit more. A tingle of excitement shot through the Rain, he was greatly looking forward to what tomorrow would bring him. He hoped she would accept his offer, he would be so disappointed if she didn't.
Squalo pulled a card out of his pocket, handing it to her. “Be at this address tomorrow, at nine am sharp. We’ll put you to the test and see what you are made of.”
“Why should I show up?” She asked, eyebrow fully raised inquisitively.
“Because I can explain those purple flames you have.” He teased before walking away, leaving the woman befuddled behind him as she watched him walk away. Oh, he hoped she showed up. It had been a long time since he had last gathered a mook to join, especially one who had just strong flames but who was super unaware of what was going on.