Training: Fists and Feet [Brenner, Eitan]

[Eitan Angevin]

Eitan knew Brenner could be a sore loser, which made him try even harder to be a gracious winner. He complimented the man on his own scores, and when Brenner's brief upset had passed, he winked at him from the ring as he cracked jokes. Losing to Stefan was a foregone conclusion; he only wanted to make a good showing of it, and he seemed to. Stefan did go easy on him despite his admonishment, but his halts helped Eitan see what he was doing incorrectly. And he still won. But Eitan grinned. He could be competitive, but how that played out when competing against someone who was obviously superior, he just focused on learning as much as he could so he could eventually win.

He shook Stefan's hand and gave Brenner an encouraging smack as he went to sit one out. He paid at least as much attention to the brothers, trying to visualize himself from the outside as he watched them sweat and grunt about it. They took their turns against Stefan, who eventually got to sit one out, and then Eitan just grinned and adjusted his wraps at the suggestion.

"So you do want us to double-team you," he said, smirking. "Come on, then. Maybe now that we've worn you down and you'll have to mind the two of us, you'll stop hitting like a little goblin bitch."

Eitan reached out of the ring for a quick sip of water and then was bouncing a bit to keep the blood flowing through him. He never minded a bruising or a split lip in a fight; badges of honor, really. If anything, he liked the idea of working together with Brenner to defeat a superior opponent, and he wanted Stefan to say that he had been paying attention, that this whole thing actually had led to a slight improvement in his martial skills.

[Brenner Dornkirk]

"Gut gemacht, Stefan! Gut gemacht!" Brenner clapped heartily at his brother's triumph, though the sound of his applause was muted by the fabric covering his hands. His pleasure at being avenged was not long lived, as it meant that he was the next to go up against Stefan.

The elder Dornkirk's stop start method of instructive sparring actually proved less bruising to Brenner's ego than just being beaten outright and given notes in the aftermath. He respected Stefan and his prowess enough that the suggestions he posed raised no hackles and, though they might have been met with the occasional quip, they weren't met with anything approaching earnest resistance.

Brenner grew less resistant in general, even as he was matched up with Eitan again. Having seen his old friend handily defeated had helped to ease the friction of his own losses.

After chugging a great deal of water, Brenner lowered his head to regard Stefan as he posed a fresh recommendation. Eitan beat him to the suggestive jape about it, so he just laughed along and patted Eitan on the back approvingly.

"All right." He said, pulling his shirt up over his head and using a dry spot to dab at his sweat-soaked forehead. With arms and torso now bare, it was clear Brenner had been taking his training quite seriously since the go ahead from the First Minister's offices. His arms and torso were defined in a way they hadn't been since the early days of his academy training, when his metabolism had been at its peak and the drill sergeants had been relentless. But, whereas he'd been very defined then he'd remained slender, now he'd bulked up to the point where he showed a bit more of a family resemblance to their present opponent.

He headed back into the ring, and stretched the bits that felt tight from recent exertion. He bumped fists with Eitan.

"Let's make him our bitch, yeah?"

[Stefan Dornkirk]

Stefan did not blush at the second allusion that he was gasping to be bedded by his brother and his near-brother at the same time. He merely frowned, attempting the stern disapproval that every adult man he'd known growing up had somehow mastered. He was vastly unsuccessful as he was sweat-slick over his whole torso, hair clinging to his forehead from the extended exertion and the corners of his mouth kept trying to turn up against his will. The comraderie that existed so comfortably between Brenner and Eitan lowered the stiff pride that so often kept Stefan from relaxing enough to enjoy himself in company.

Following Brenner's lead, as he so often did he bared himself to the waist and ran a towel over his damp hair, trying to ensure it wouldn't drip into his face. As he threw the towel to the side his eyes came to rest on his brother's form, noting the changes that had taken place since the Spring, the last time he'd seen it unclothed. It seemed natural to follow the close inspection with one of Eitan, noting the strength of the long, lean body.

When he realized the two men were watching him stare he stepped forward and into the ring, telling himself it made all the scene in the Empire to size up your opponents, particularly when you intended to face both at once.

Making sure the wraps on his hands were still firmly tucked he took a slow breath before looking up at his brethren,

"Alright, try to take into account each other's intentions. It is easier to win with an ally but you won't have time to discuss strategy in combat so you have to keep part of your mind on following the movements of your partner, or partners. Otherwise, you are as likely to bump into them or even strike someone on your side. I'm sure you've learned this in weapons practice but in the closer confines of hand-to-hand, it's even more likely. You've spent the last hours watching each other move, try and use that in concert now instead of to attack each other."

Stefan wasn't really worried about Brenner and Eitan working well together, they seemed to do so automatically, taking verbal and physical cues from each other without seeming to notice. The Dornkirk brothers had their own way of flowing together but it was offputting to see it between Brenner and someone else. It wasn't jealousy Stefan was feeling, he did not want to take away what the two friends had, perhaps he only wanted the connection to spread to include him.

The two certainly knew tactics, giving each other a look before splitting, one going to Stefan's right and the other to his left so he was forced to divide his attention farther than it already was. As tired as his body was from the extra workouts he'd been giving it all week, the run he'd started with, and then hours of staying in the ring to instruct he had to let go of the part of his mind trying to be gentle just to keep from being struck. Circling continuously so they couldn't pin him into a corner he begin to have to really fight for it. As the constant footwork began to wind him he took a chance, spinning quickly he brought his legs into play for the first real-time, landing a blow over Brenner's ribs, distributing the force equally so his brother was pushed back hard. As the smaller Dornkirk caught himself on the rope Stefan turned to throw a one-two set of punches that looked like they were aimed at Eitan's ribs as well but looped high to connect with the darker man high on one cheek, throwing his face directly into Stefan's other fist as it reached his jaw.

Watching blood spatter from Eitan's mouth cause Stefan to drop his guard, hands coming up he started to speak.

"Mists, Eitan I'm," Was as far as he got before the half-breed's counter-attack took him hard, one blow low on his ribs and the other at his mouth. He had no time to think about what had happened before Brenner's own rally found him with a hand on each of his shoulders and a knee being shoved into his back. Swearing and coughing to the taste of blood he held up his hands as he had to call halts throughout the training. Realizing he was panting he grinned and said,

"A draw then?"

[Eitan Angevin]

"Well, damn," was all he said when the Dornkirks shed their shirts. He couldn't not answer the challenge, and his frame was hard, but the muscle was compact on his frame rather than matching the proportions of the beefier Stefan nor how the shorter Brenner showed more. He had been training more vehemently of late, but he could only hope that his perfromance was more impressive than his torso.

Though he had been four full years behind Brenner at the military academy and then officer's training, he had seen him in action and so he was able to fit himself into strategies he had seen played out. They split Stefan's attention as best they could and while he landed blows upon Brenner and bled Eitan, they managed to make him yield. He may have been going too far when he grasped Stefan by the hair and smirked bloodily down into his grinning face.

"No draw," he said, teeth lined with his own blood. "Say you're our bitch and spare yourself a beating."

He was smiling, but it was ghastly. Eitan might have been joking, but the jokes of men could be barbed and bloody.

Eitan wouldn't actually damage Stefan. He wanted the man for a brother-in-law and the Dornkirks for family. While he wanted them to all feel like equals, there was a seed in him that wanted to be stronger. There were just too many deficiencies in him that needed redress and compensation.

His free hand rose as if to deliver a coup de grâce, though Brenner could easily stop him with a word or a hand. Or perhaps they still believed that his Dratori blood was just waiting to boil up and erupt into unreasoning violence. He wanted so to belong here among them, even if their lineage was inferior to half of his own.

[Brenner Dornkirk]

"Our ever-dutiful Stefan Dornkirk!" Brenner lauded playfully, "Even as our opponent, he is didactic." He bounced backward on the balls of his feet to put space between himself and his longer-limbed rival. As Eitan was a longer-limbed ally, he would let the altered elf make the opening salvo to give Brenner room to close the distance and sneak in when Stefan was occupied. Before that strategy could be realised, however, Brenner found himself stumbling backwards. The kick Stefan had dealt him didn't hurt badly, it was more pressure than pain but it sent him against the ropes gasping a bit for breath.

After his retaliatory effort yielded a parley from Stefan, Brenner stepped back and dropped his martial stance, prepared to accept the terms. He cocked an eyebrow at Eitan's refusal and tilted his head,

"Enough, Eitan." He snapped firmly, "Let's earn it like gentlemen and reserve our scorn for the true enemy." A complicated sentiment coming from the son of a lesser renowned lineage to a bastard with at least something of a better pedigree, albeit marred by atavistic influence. He softened quickly, and stepped closer to place a fraternal hand upon Eitan's shoulder.

"A draw is an improvement." He offered consolingly. Perhaps there was even something apologetic in his tone, after having sounded so sharp moments earlier. He hadn't overtly accused Eitan of giving in to base, bestial instincts, but there were tacit implications to be considered and Brenner hadn't intended to invoke those.

"So let's get even better..." He mused to Eitan as he turned his gaze upon Stefan, "And we'll make him our bitch next round." He grinned devilishly and rolled his neck.

[Stefan Dornkirk]

Looking up into the dark eyes and teeth filled in with red was shocking, stunning Stefan right up until the moment his mind caught up to the words. Movement came into his limbs, loosening and tightening them in preparation for the fight such words implied was forthcoming.

The elder Dornkirk had gone through the academy, the same as the two actively militant men in the ring with him, and no amount of money had spared him the disdain of the better-bred boys there. By the time he'd entered officer training his own person had earned the respect of many of his peers but the first years he'd spent away from home had been peppered with beatings from groups of others. Perhaps that was why his penchant to fight had come to the fore of his abilities. Brenner had suffered similarly but significantly less often due to Stefan stepping up to quietly threaten the lives of any boys who laid hands on his younger brother. Violence wasn't something that stuck around in Stefan's mind as it seemed to in some men, but he had not flinched at breaking bones or tearing ligaments the few times rivals had decided it was worth it to take their impotent anger out on the younger Dornkirk.

It was Brenner's voice that saved Eitan, and Stefan, from dealing with the sudden surge of barbarity that rose, chemically, through the larger man. The call for a halt hadn't been directed to him, but it was enough to remind him where he was and with whom. The chemical wash did not dissipate, burning through his chest and brain, acidic against his pride. He caught himself though, let his mind control the monster as he stood, not accepting any helping hand that might be offered and walking to the edge of the sparing square where he'd laid his towel.

Glancing back over his shoulder as he wiped the blood from his lips to see Brenner comforting Eitan with touch, looking right at Stefan as he repeated the mocking words, it was too much. With supreme effort he didn't throw his towel, he didn't turn and show his brothers what he'd been holding back, that he'd been gentle with them. Slipping under the ropes he made himself walk towards the showers, angry and aching inside enough not to care as his bare torso drew confused stares from the civilized patrons of the club.

[Eitan Angevin]

Of course, he let go of Stefan's hair immediately.

"It was a jest," he said lamely, then caught the man's gaze, pregnant with meaning. He hoped his cheeks were already ruddy with effort as they suddenly felt hot with shame. They did all look disheveled and perhaps a bit barbaric for the violence they had been practicing. It stung — more than stung — to imagine they thought he was losing control. It had been a joke, hadn't it? As the youngest, he did feel as though he had something to prove still. Perhaps Brenner was right and he was letting childish things crop up when he was a man grown. Better that than wonder whether he was as adept at controlling his Dratori temper as he thought.

"I'm sorry, S—" but Stefan was already leaving them.

He watched him go for a moment, struggling with competing desires: to call after him; to run after him; to stay and let him cool down so he might be in a better mood to accept a heartfelt apology. His head hung for a moment before he looked up to meet Brenner's gaze if he too wasn't looking after Stefan's departure.

"I apologize, Brenner. That was in poor taste." He paused. "Do you think I should go apologize now or give him some time?"

Eitan hadn't seen Stefan like this before that he could remember. As such, he wasn't certain how to proceed. As his choler subsided, he felt a bit of the impending weariness he would feel for the intense workout. There was something draining about having one's body react to violence with violence, more than one might expect from actual energy expended. Stefan would know more about that. He was a brainy sort, full of facts and figures. He certainly hoped he hadn't stumbled into some hidden trigger and done much more damage than mere fists could accomplish.

[Brenner Dornkirk]

"Scheiße!" Brenner exclaimed the Kathalan expletive through a hiss, but what it lacked in volume it made up for in intensity. He was vexed with himself more than anything, for having assuaged both Stefan and Eitan momentarily only to enrage the former further by being overly casual with Eitan. He had been looking Eitan in the eye when he'd attempted to temper his actions. He hadn't been looking at Stef, so he didn't realise how close to the brink he was in response. He oughtn't to have needed to see Stefan to anticipate it, though. He'd certainly known him long and intimately enough.

"Just, um..." His eyes shot from the back of Stefan's head as he departed over to Eitan's eyes, "Leave it to me, yeah? I think things just got a bit intense whilst our blood was up." His gaze returned to his rapidly retreating brother.

"We should all convene for a nightcap at the Manor later, I think, to debrief and smooth things over with a spot of schnapps." Brenner's panacea, it seemed. "I'll send word about what time you should meet us there once I've salved Stef a trice." He placed a hand on Eitan's bicep and squeezed, before ducking the ropes to quit the ring and jog after Stefan. He cast an apologetic glance over his shoulder toward Eitan, before quickening his pace to catch up with his long-legged elder sibling.

"Stef! I'm sorry!" He reverted to their mother's tongue, for whatever discretion it afforded from the ears of bystanders who might not speak it. "I shouldn't have been so flip, when you've been nothing but aces. I was only trying to keep things light and playful, I didn't mean it in earnest."

[Stefan Dornkirk]

The locker room was right beside the sparing arena, so the elder brother was already in a private stall, pushing his way out of his sweat-soaked workout attire by the time the young caught him up. Sitting on the little bench provided he had one laced shoe off and was bent, working on the second when Brenner found him with apologies in his mouth.

The chemicals were already leaking away, like dirty water down a partially clogged drain; sort of relieving, sort of disgusting. He shrugged one shoulder, not looking up as he picked the knot out of his second shoe and pulled it off.

"It's alright, Brynn." He said, even though it wasn't. It was as alright as it ever had been and that would have to be enough. He knew he didn't fit in with the boisterousness camaraderie of the armed forces, no more than he had with the camaraderie of the schoolyard, or childhood birthday parties. The thought stung more than he'd thought it would and he had to swallow hard against a lump that he refused to understand.

Standing he pushed the rest of his clothing off, stepping from his trousers and stockings before straightening to his full height to finally look at his brother. He could not stop the way his chest rose and fell in slightly frantic little heaves, and in truth he wanted Brenner to see. Yes, he was affected by things said and done. And, yes, he would shoulder them, stand tall and face them as they'd been taught, even if having to do so made him feel like the weakling of the group.

"You're men at arms together, your blood rises to survive. I got what I asked for." Turning his head to the side he spat away the last of the blood left in his mouth onto the clean tiles. Then Stefan stepped into the shower proper, turning on the water and letting it flow over him, leaving Brenner with his blood and spit, on the floor.

[Eitan Angevin]

And just like that, Eitan was alone in the ring. He imagined that all eyes were on him and he hated the flush of shame he felt rising from his chest to his face, but in reality, nobody really noticed. Barred from the locker room while Brenner sorted things out, he slipped out of the ring and sloughed off the wrappings on his hands. Water rinsed the blood out of his mouth. Water went down his throat to keep his body hydrated. He had been excited to spar, to show off how fast and strong his body was getting in preparation for their expedition, their adventure. Somehow he had ruined everything.

Growing up, just being had been wrong. He wasn't afraid to be wrong, to admit being wrong, to apologize, do better, and move on. But he hated when he entirely misread a situation and didn't realize until it was too late that he was fucking everything up. It might have been better if Brenner hadn't intervened; he could go and apologize properly to Stefan himself, but then Brenner knew him better, and by the time they got together for a drink, cholers would be down and it might all be easier. He would have to defer to the one Dornkirk about the other.

Taking his shirt down off the ropes, he pulled it back on over his head. The flush had given way to a chill, and he supposed he was going to have to find some calisthenics to occupy his time until the locker rooms weren't contested territory. The last thing he wanted to do was make an enemy of an ally, or leave umbrage festering between the childhood acquaintance he had begun to consider a friend in his own right.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself and then went to an unoccupied speed ball to punch out his feelings.

fin.