Bodies in Motion [Eryka]

Nadia liked to imagine the bones as the joints pivoted on their fulcrums, the way the muscles stretched over them and retracted, fibrous and alive. Sometimes when she was drawing the students as they ran or jumped, she would just sketch the skeleton, or use a quick line of red pastel to outline muscle movement. It was good practice, and one she had learned about from a fellow art club member, though that Art Club member rarely made these trips with her. It wasn't like they were friends or anything.

Still, there was something interesting today. One of the students who was currently excercising further down the field was wearing something on her right arm. Curious, and having gotten a little bored of the subjects she was currently drawing, Nadia collected her tools into her satchel and walked further down the field. There was a smaller set of bleachers over here, and a few bags set out by them that likely belonged to students who were exercising their privileges with the practice fields. Although as far as Nadia could see the only one using this particular set of track was the student with the metal sleeve. Or, perhaps, there was nothing under it at all. A prosthetic limb, acquired after the Divide, maybe.

Curiousity thoroughly piqued, Nadia settled herself on the bleachers watching the solitary figure, and set out to capture some of her movements, taking special care of the lines she used to describe the angle of the metal limb. As she did so, her mind began hatching thoughts of what could have happened to create such an odd attachment, and what powered it. Or, if it was just a glove or gauntlet, what drove this woman to wear it even while at school doing exercises like these? Was she a new recruit for the cadets, and had some strange combat exercise that involved it? Nadia couldn't be sure, but it was fun thinking about as her eyes caught each movement.

As she watched, Nadia found herself admiring the efficiency with which the woman moved. She was young, but older than Nadia, and the way her muscles coiled and sprung like a predator's spoke of experience beyond a typical student. Intriguing. Everything about this person was so intriguing.

Nadia was so focused on redrawing an aspect of the woman's pose that she didn't notice when the athlete closed the space between them. It was a harsh, foreign-sounding voice that cut through her concentration like a knife through butter.

"Your observations are unwanted. If your require something or have an inquiry, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Nadia looked up, a slight blush coloring her cheeks in her surprise of having someone suddenly focused on her. But, as she met the eyes of the woman in front of her, the artist's expression cooled. She closed the sketchbook and set her pencil down beside her on the bench, and leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees and resting her chin on her clasped fingers.

As she opened her mouth to apologize, the sound of the whirring inside the prosthetic arm caught her attention, and her vision shifted to the arm for only a moment before she returned it to the woman's face.

"I apologize..." the first question that came to the girl's mind was the arm, but that probably was the last thing she should mention. The woman seemed to dislike her presence enough without her bringing up something potentially painful. Although, Nadia had to admit she kind of wanted to see what the woman's face would reflect as she shared that story. "Unaware models are a truer representation of themselves." she explained apologetically.

Straightening her back and wiping her chalk-smudged hands on a rag she'd pulled from her satchel, Nadia continued, "My name is Nadia." she extended her left hand to shake. "Are you a Cadet?"

Nadia's eyes hardened a little at the other woman's brisk and hard demeanor. There was no doubt in Nadia's mind either that this person would become a Cadet. Still, now that the woman was still standing there conversing with her, sharp though her words may be, Nadia was easing into the conversation a little. Her initial shock gave way to her usual keen interest.

For now, Nadia pushed the name concern aside and folded her hands in her lap, curiousity undeterred. Instead, she focused on the woman's other question. Answering quickly, "For what? For my own personal betterment I suppose. As a soldier trains their strength and endurance through excercise, an artist trains their eyes by drawing what they see."

Nadia flipped open her sketchbook to show the quick and free-flowing sketches to the woman. The lines were smooth and continuous, describing human frames in motion by using the fewest possible lines. The likenesses were not remarkable, but that wasn't really the point of this exercise. "In Japan, many Samurai picked up the art of ink painting for similar reasons, to discipline the mind as well as the body." She finished. "Not that I am by any means a samurai."

Nadia watched the woman walk away to return to her exercising, having the distinct feeling like their conversation was over. Even so, she had to say she was more than little intrigued by the foreign woman, especially now that she had seen her up close. Scooting to the bench in front of the one she'd been in before so that she'd be a little closer to the subject, she continued her sketching as instructed, only making a few more light sketches before curiousity hit again.

She shifted her posture to rest her chin on one propped up hand. "How does one so young develop such hard eyes?" She asked, raising her voice just enough that she could be heard over the bit of distance between the bleachers and the field. She nibbled lightly on the eraser of her pencil as she contemplated the fierce eyes still recent in her memory.

Nadia had to cover her mouth to stifle the sudden laughter that bubbled up out of her at the woman's response. Sobering, she shook her head and stood. How did you explain something like that? Crossing the field to where the woman was standing, Nadia looked into the woman's hard eyes with her own bright, curious gaze.

"It's a figure of speech, I suppose. I guess it means guarded, or... difficult or complex to read. It's used to describe soldiers and fighters who have seen ugly things. When I say it, I mean that your eyes make you seem mysterious, like you have experienced a lot of things." she explained, taking a few steps back to make sure she was no longer in the way. "I didn't mean to make you stop your workout. It's just that now I've become curious about you." and that Curiousity was evident in the way she studied the woman with unguarded interest.

Nadia watched with fascination as the tale unfolded. She felt like she had broken down at least part of the barrier between herself and this new acquaintance. Cecil probably would have been better at it, but she was trying. The story she was told was definitely a painful one, and went a long way to explain that look in the other's eyes. She suddenly remembered something Cecil had said to her in their first meeting. ...a lot was lost during the Divide. Bet a lot of people are still trying to get things back together. Was the cadet program the way this person had found to put the pieces back together again?

"You've been through some hard things, but you don't need to hear that from me." Nadia remarked. Her eyes drifted to the mechanical arm again. "For what it's worth, I think you'll make a wonderful cadet. Especially since you're already experienced in saving people. You're a good person, and I'm glad I had the chance to meet you."

She could say that she was only joining the fight, but the reason for joining the fight was saving people, wasn't it? and she herself had said that she lost her arm saving someone. That kind of self-sacrifice was something honorable and pure in it's own right, even if it was pursued by impure hearts. This person was good, even if she didn't know it or believe it.

A wistful look overcame Nadia's face as she took a few steps back and appraised the woman again. "I can understand those things. Although, I wonder if 'simple war' is enough to explain the situation. From what I have heard it seems as though there are more than one angle from which our situation can be viewed, although..." She turned to retrieve her belongings from the bleachers as she finished her thought. Or rather, as she debated about whether or not to say it. But, she had never been one to hide her feelings, and she had no reason to start now.

Turning with bag in hand, slinging it over one shoulder, she said resolutely, "Although I imagine no matter who wins, very few of us will make it out of the conflict alive." Strangely enough, she didn't seem to be terribly remiss about that fact. She spoke it as matter-of-factly as if she were recalling what she'd had for breakfast.

Nadia considered as the woman spoke. She was determined to deny any good or bad in her actions, instead holding to the impassive mantra of "survival." That was good enough, Nadia supposed. It wasn't that different from her own belief that no matter what she did, they would all die screaming. Death was the one immutable fact about life, after all. It could strike at any moment and remove whatever piece it chose from the game without care or feeling. In either case, there wasn't much she had left to say to this woman, despite her interest. Only time would tell if she could get the woman to open up to her more.

"Your convictions are clear. You should be proud of that, not all of us are so resolute." She smiled slightly and adjusted the weight of the bag on her shoulder. "Take care. I'm sure we'll meet again around school sometime. Maybe next time you can tell me your name."

And with that, the artist turned and started walking back toward the school building. She'd need to grab some things from her locker before heading home for the evening. She had some work waiting for her there as it was...