It's a bit crowded, with all of the curious Titan pilots and the Archon wanting to see the sparring match between Cadet Tasha and Tomorrow's-Hope. The trainer is a grizzled old cheetah who looks like he was carved out of stone, his mask identifying him as Master-of-Technique. He immediately waves Tasha over to one corner where a maskless youth waits in attendance.

Tasha decided to forgo her uniform in favor of her much used khakis, not wanting to damage one of the only uniforms she has, not to mention one of the very few outfits she has. She walks over, smiling at the child before returning her attention to Master-of-Techniques.

While Tomorrow's-Hope goes to the opposite corner, the trainer approaches Tasha. "You can understand Sign?" he signs.

"I am well trained in Formal Sign," the young half-Vartan replies with a flicker of her right hand.

The old cheetah nods, and signs, "Disrobe, and I will explain the rules."

Tasha raises a brow at the order to disrobe, then she merely shrugs. This must be why all the pilots came to watch, although I suppose it's only fair given I've seen the Archon disrobed, and if you've seen one Silent-One naked … She pulls off her khaki top and hands it to the child before stepping out of her pants, leaving her dressed in only her form-fitting undersuit. "This suit is an extension of my powered armor and Titan control interface, as well as armor; do you want it removed as well? I do not remove it normally."

Master-of-Techniques runs a finger pad along the 'scales' over Tasha's shoulder, testing the resistance. "Does it act as armor itself?" he signs with one hand, while tapping on a hexagonal scale with the clawtips of his other.

"Punch me as hard as you can in the stomach," the red woman answers, reaching a hand down and tapping the indicated spot while smiling. "You will see."

The man shrugs and punches Tasha as asked. The plates stiffen on impact, and the cheetah nods. "Your opponent does not have this protection, so you should remove it." The attendant has been removing pieces of black cloth from a trunk during all of this.

"If it is required, then I will." The hand that she had tapped her belly with reaches over and runs from her naval up to the nape of her neck, the plates splitting and then folding out as they lose their grip on each other. A few more runs of her hand and she steps out of the suit, picking it up and handing it to the child before turning back. "I do not make a habit of stripping in public," she insists in sign, smiling and looking a little like she may be red in the ears – it's hard to tell with her. While Tasha naked is certainly a spectacle of a kind, there's also the shaved tracts and silver tattoo work to take in. Like an ornate living circuit board, her tattoos run across her, seeming to radiate from her spine across her limbs and up in to the hair on the back of her head, which seems significantly shorter than the rest of her hair.

Of course, she still has her mask… so she technically isn't naked by Silent-Ones standards. Once the suit is set aside, the attendant begins wrapping Tasha's limbs in the black fabric, which is covered in fluff on the outside and has a strip of plastic hooks along the inner edge that catch on the fluff, so that the fabric can be conformed to the shape of the wearer. "The rules are simple," Master-of-Technique signs. "You will be fitted with weighted simulation armor. Each piece can suffer so many blows before becoming disabled. If a blow falls on disabled armor, you will be fitted with extra weight or have limbs immobilized as appropriate to reflect damage suffered by a Titan."

Tasha glances over to watch the instruction from where she had been testing the flexibility of her arm wrap. "I understand. You may wish to add more weight for me, as it is only fair given I am a half-Vartan and much stronger than a Karnor of my size and appearance would seem," she signs back.

"Personal strength is not an issue," Master-of-Technique claims. "Only armor and weight must be equal. Do not underestimate the strength of a Silent-Ones warrior." The dresser pauses a bit when he gets to Tasha's chest, having already wrapped from her stomach down. It's not her breasts that give him pause, but her wings. He holds up a piece that's big enough to cover her front, and signs for her to hold it in place.

"I was only trying to ensure a fair competition," The young woman signs before bowing slightly in apology. She looks about to sign more but blinks when a piece jostles in front of her, which she takes and holds on before signing again, "My knowledge of Silent-One duels and affairs often prescribe a sense that combatants should seek an equal challenge, and not rely on superior armament to win glory. It is said that combat is another form of prayer or offering. My deity … " Tasha pauses, thinking back to Abaddon with flicker of ear and a shift in tension before she decides Abaddon is still her god, imposter or no. "My deity also is fond of conflict, and my personal interpretation is that it should be productive and, when appropriate, fair."

With the main piece held in place by Tasha's arm, the dresser uses narrower fastening strips to secure it in place, often wrapping around several times to fill up any gaps. More strips are used around the throat so that the space between Tasha's wings can be covered as well.

"Combat is never balanced," Master-of-Technique signs. "If it were, there would be no need for it. Only when there is perceived advantage or the need for defense is combat practical."

"I believe the idea was that there is no glory in using an advantage one can put aside; it's an idea for personal glory. If the idea was simply victory, or that there are more important goals such as safety, protection, and so on, the terms may be different. It is a very old custom, as well." The young woman stretches one wing, then the other, before rocking her head back and forth and then rolling her shoulders. "It is not my thought, simply an old idea in an even older machine."

"Warriors of the People fight for the Star, not for personal glory," Master-of-Technique replies. With all but Tasha's head covered now, the dresser begins attaching the 'armor' plates – they seem to be made of a leathery fabric, with visible seals on them. Their backs are covered in hook-strips, so that they stick directly to the exposed fluff of the fabric. "Do you need assistance securing your hair?" Master-of-Technique asks.

"I will need something to tie it back with," Tasha signs. Her hand pauses, then she bows again and corrects, "Glory to the Star, that is what I meant. My assumption of the gesture was that 'glory' and 'for the Star' were the same sign and the same idea, but this sign seems to have developed a different usage, or I used it wrong due to my own knowledge of glory in other languages. The concept is a very culturally specific one and I did not present it right. It is 'glory of the Star' that I meant; I am sorry for the confusion." During her explanation a tie is handed to her, which she uses to tie her hair in to a, if not exactly neat, bun.

Once the simulated armor is affixed, a simple helmet is added. There's no visor, which is lucky since Tasha's nose is a bit longer than a cheetah's. "Do you have a preferred weapon?" Master-of-Technique inquires, gesturing with his other hand to the weapon rack. There swords, pikes, shields and multi-handled clubs – all very realistic looking, but supposedly 'safe' for training purposes.

"I am not a solider or fighter by training; my education in combat came from real-world experience and cobbled together techniques from many instructors and a great deal of brawling. If I am familiar with any weapon, it is either my bare hands, or the uncommon sword-like weapon of my Titan. But, since we are here to learn as well as enjoy ourselves, I will chose a sword." The young woman points at a large, broad-bladed weapon, "That one seem right."

The broadsword is brought over by the dresser, who does his best not to look put out by the weight. It's got a long-enough grip to be held two-handed.

Tasha accepts the weapon with one hand, hefting it up to look at it before giving it a good test swing to get a feel for its heft. "It is not unlike the chain-weapon I used against the rotbiters; it will do nicely," she declares with her free hand before then settling the weapon point down and resting her hands atop it.

Resting the sword like that reveals Tasha's one disadvantage, if it can be called that; she's shorter than the typical Silent-One warrior, who has longer legs, and quite likely a reach to match. On the opposite side of the ring, Tomorrow's-Hope chooses the same weapon, and steps into the ring of sand. "The first to be driven from the ring forfeits," Master-of-Technique signs. "If you are immobilized or hindered to the point where you cannot effectively defend your territory you will be considered defeated."

Tasha lifts a hand to sign, "I understand," before she picks the blade up; this time, she uses both hands to grasp it. Time to show the JEF isn't a military organization and that I am not a soldier, the young woman thinks, wryly. She knows enough about weapons by now to know her grip probably isn't quite right and that she isn't familiar enough with the weapon in her hands to be confident, but she's also knows she's not here to win. No shame in losing; always learning, she reminds herself.

Tomorrow's hope moves to the center of the ring, and makes a 'come hither' motion to Tasha.

"I knew on our first meeting we would end up like this eventually," Tasha signs back, grinning widely, then winking. Unlike her old ways, she doesn't rush head long in to combat. Instead, she proceeds with caution and does her best to remember the lessons or stance and grip Melchior taught her, knowing full-well her opponent is likely a superior combatant and that he is probably waiting for her to reveal an opening by making a reckless move. It then occurs to her that presenting a faux reckless move might be an able tactic, and so she makes a under-extended swing with her grip shifted and power less than normal, ready to turn the weapon in to a parry and thus allow her to get much closer than his reach and skill would have permitted.

Her opponent parries with his own weapons, moving with considerable speed. Tasha estimates they're each carrying almost a hundred pounds of armor and the weapons alone are over thirty pounds.

It all makes the young woman appreciative of all those years carrying things. She doesn't have time to reflect, though, because she quickly tries to step close in the hopes her ruse payed off, turning her blade to attempt to slide it off his and strike!

It's tricky, and exposes Tasha's side for a moment. But she manages to follow along the blade to strike the padding on Tomorrow's-Hope's shoulder before she feels his blade twist and the flat of it smacking into her hip armor.

The young woman barks a laugh even as she continues on. Melchior taught her to never flinch, never stop, and never become unaware in combat – a lesson she payed for in a lot of virtual pain and sound defeats! Shifting her stance and twisting to bring her weapon around to parry his weapon, trying to prevent further strikes from her exposed side. She then hopes to use her strength to force him in to a side step, allowing her to twist forward and use her left wing to momentarily blind him as she brings her blade up again to strike.

Tomorrow's-Hope's response is surprising – he draws back, deliberately exposing his chest and prepares to swing his blade from the edge of it's range.

In a flash Tasha thinks the opening is likely a ruse, but also suspects he may be trying to use her own trick against her. Without enough combat knowledge to have a strong feeling which it is, she decides to avoid being hasty. Rather than make a effort for his chest or parry the strike, she pulls back enough to try and evade the reaching swing and thus cause him a motion deficit as he has to recover from the wide blow.

The cheetah grins when Tasha doesn't take the obvious bait, and repositions himself into a more guarded position, where he can parry with the heavy sword as he tries to figure out Tasha's next move.

The young woman grins right back, and has largely mirrored his own defensive posture. She realizes he'll be able to pick her own inferior defense apart in time, so her ability to play defensive is likely limited. Given this, she decides try things a little differently: rather than feign this time, she decides rush up and make a swing that looks too short, and thus seems like another feint, but will beat her wings at the last second to close the gap and make a potentially glancing blow a cleaving one.

This works! Tomorrow's-Hope shows surprise at the unexpected burst of speed before his guard is fully ready. He manages to deflect the thrust, but suffers another hit on his shoulder. The seam on the 'armor' bursts, and sand spills out to deflate the armor.

Tasha remembers another lesson from her combat training: push an advantage. Giving your opponent time to recover means allowing them to regain the ground you have won, losing both material advantage and a psychological one. Battles, as Melchior lectured her once, are often well served by pushing an advantage fast and hard, before your opponent can react, before things become drawn out. She assails the Silent-One warrior with more and more blows, edging inside his reach where his long arms are more of a liability than an advantage, pushing every forward and trying to drive him out!

Tomorrow's-Hope only defends at first, but once it's clear that Tasha isn't going to let up, he presses the point of his sword into the sand and uses it as a pivot to swing around to Tasha's undefended side, where he delivers a mild kick to her knee armor. He's suffered several blows, but never twice on the same spot so that his armor would fail. So far, he hasn't delivered any serious strikes against Tasha.

This is unexpected, but not wholly beyond prediction. While she isn't anywhere near the point of mastering the analytical calm of full depth and combat mode outside of her machine, she's at least gained some focus and an awareness of both present and future possibilities, giving her a mind for not only now, but several steps from now. Even so, had the man pushed harder, she'd have been in trouble! Instead, she stumbles and turns, bringing her weapon up and watching him with those hawk-like eyes. He's trying to avoid overtaxing any one area by sacrifice or defending heavily … It's a pattern, and patterns can be death – another Melchior favorite, and one she learned the first time she fought her machine's AI. With this in mind, Tasha tries to play the man's pattern pressing forward to strike against his damaged right hand, shoulder, and leg so she can hopefully force an opening and finish off his left arm during his parrying efforts.

In another surprise move, Tomorrow's-Hope sacrifices his shoulder to land a second blow on Tasha's knee! A whistle blows, and Master-of-Technique signals a pause!

Tasha is breathing heavily as she steps back and lowers her weapon. Her finger shakes over the grip, then she signs as she waits, "You are as good as I expected."

"It is not over yet," her opponent signs, just before his dresser arrives and binds that hand to his hip, effectively immobilizing his left arm. Tasha's attendant is slower, as he lugs a heavy load. Lead weights are strapped to Tasha's ankle and calve below the 'damaged' knee joint. It's not immobilizing, but it does add another fifty pounds to that leg, simulating a partial motor failure.

The dressers return to their corners, and the whistle blows again to signal the return to combat.

"It never is." Tasha smiles, seeming at ease, even happy, to be in a bout. When she's returned to her corner, she readies her grip and considers. Driving at his weak points didn't work; he's too good for me to exploit a predictable pattern in defensive technique; it's not exploiting his training or the expected that has won me points, but acting outside his predictions. She begins to advance, testing her weight and gauging how well she'll be able to react. He'll try to take advantage; probably try and maneuver against my leg or circle me, and with his blows weakened, he'll try to avoid a conflict of strength while I should press one. With this in mind, she prepares for the inevitable mobility assault and readies to answer by readying wing thrust as needed. If she can get it just right, she may even be able to make a light parry in to a fully one, creating a contest of strength in which she anticipates victory.

Tomorrow's-Hope comes in fast. Faster than he moved before, certainly! It's also a lot clearer what he's aiming for – Tasha's right shoulder, swinging the sword downwards one-handed to add gravity to the force of the blow. Tasha notices how he uses his tail for balance now, but the strike necessarily leaves him fully exposed. Maybe he hopes to use speed as his defense?

Tasha may be slow, but she's not immobile – and she moves to show it! Rather than aim for a counter swing or a light parry, she actually moves to intercept the blow with a full parry as planned, beating her wings to help carry her forward and meet his blow with a hard block of her own weapon which she means to force further. By closing quickly and parrying hard, she hopes to leave him insufficient room to maneuver away and overwhelm his single hand style by both shock and her own strength!

The cheetah's blade strikes against Tasha's upraised one, and slides towards the hilt. For the moment, both combatants are exposed from the chest down, except that their weapons are locked together. So as Tasha makes a grab for handle of Tomorrow's-Hope's sword, the Silent-One lands a kick against her (as yet) undamaged right knee.

For a moment, the two opponents lock blades – Tomorrow's-Hope's single grip struggling against Tasha's double. The young woman doesn't pay any mind to the initial blow to her leg; she has something else in mind and she can take low blow well enough. No, she wants something else! After a twist and a jerk, Tasha gets the two weapons close enough for her to release her left hand and dart in to grab the wrist of her opponent, severely hindering his control now that he has only one arm, and that now under Tasha's control! Using the strength of her grasping hand and that of her weapon locked with his, she plays to try and force the man's hand weapon away for a free blow, but just as it seems like she'll be able to do it she lets her grip slide to her opponent's guard and then violently pulls back, wings beating for extra force and powerful legs shove to give her gripping hand enough of an advantage to steal her opponent's weapon!

Tomorrow's-Hope barks, and then kicks at Tasha's leg again to burst the armor while pushing with his hand – before letting go completely! The blow to the leg and sudden top-heaviness of holding two swords puts Tasha in danger of falling over backwards!

Falling away, Tasha has her prize, but not her balance! She staggers three steps back, trying to beat her wings downward so to lift herself up and shift backward momentum in to upward. Meanwhile, she angles her new weapons forward, hoping their weight will help. Even if she falls, though, she now has two weapons to use!

Swinging the weight forward helps, until Tomorrow's-Hope plants a foot in Tasha's stomach and pushes. As she lands on her butt, swords still splayed forward, the whistle is blown.

Chest pounding and muzzle panting, Tasha folds her legs underneath herself and settles the swords cross-wise in her lap. With her hands full, she can't sign, but she can grin and wag her tail.

Master-of-Technique arrives to examine the scene. "Both legs are damaged, but the Cadet holds both weapons," he signs. "Tomorrow's-Hope has one arm and moderate damage, but without a weapon further attempts to disable his opponent would face a dual-bladed defense. I call a draw."

Tomorrow's-Hope offers his hand to help Tasha up.

Tasha thrusts one of the swords in to the sand, the other going in to her hand, while her free hand accepts the offer. She pulls herself up, then offers the man his sword back. "I am sure my Titan will lecture me on that last move when I see him tomorrow morning," the woman signs with her free hand.

"You should show dominance over your machine," Tomorrow's-Hope advises, once his left hand is untied. The quiet audience begins to filter out, and the dresser returns to tug on Tasha's wingtip.

"I do not dominate those who would teach me; we are partners and part of each other," the young woman signs back, and looks about to sign more when she blinks and looks down.

The dresser points back to Tasha's corner, and signs, "You can continue in the recovery room after I have your armor."

"Then I will not keep you," Tasha signs to the youth, whom she finds surprisingly aggressive. It makes her chuckle even as she walks over and waits to be free of bindings.

It takes just as long to remove the armor as it did to put it on, especially all of the extra straps used to get around Tasha's wings. Once the last of it is removed, the dresser signs, "Take your clothing through that door," and points to an opening in one wall, where an oddly blue light shines through.

"Thank you, too." Tasha smiles at the child after picking up her clothes, and has to resist the urge to pat his or her head. She goes where bidden, and in to the blue light.

The room she enters is covered walls, floor and ceiling in light-blue tile, and even the lights have a bluish tint. Along one wall are a series of odd-looking bathtubs with complicated plumbing, and before them are pad-topped tables. Tomorrow's-Hope is face down on one of them, being massaged (or possibly examined) by a burly attendant (also dressed in blue). Another one, marked as Healing-Touch stands ready at a second table, and nods to Tasha while gesturing to it.

If her adventures have taught her anything, it's adaption.Tasha places her clothes beside the bed then smiles and signs, "Hello."

"Do you feel sore anywhere?" the man signs, and Tasha does realize her left leg is a bit tense after swinging the extra weight around.

"My left leg is tensed here," the young woman replies, touching the point of strain. "Otherwise I feel fine." Honesty, especially in medical examination, is another one of the lessons she's learned.

Once Tasha is in position and comfortable on the table, Healing-Touch goes to work massaging and stretching her muscles, paying extra attention to the tired leg. From the next table over, Tomorrow's-Hope turns his head to smile to her while he gets himself worked over.

Tasha smiles right back as she settles in, although her tail wagging does present a bit of a problem as it sways over worked on areas. She loosens a hand enough to sign, "I am jealous that you receive such a wonderful after-practice reward."

"Your machine does not require physical exertion I was told," the other pilot signs back. "Yet you maintain your physique. Is it so your armor will fit?"

"I grew up working every day, even as a child, carrying and lifting and eventually droving with a whip for long hours; it is strange now to use my mind more than my muscles. I can't imagine being anything other than fit, so maybe it is a part of home, or just a conceit. It is also not true my machine does not use my body; the Melchior reads my nerve impulses and slight muscle movements, creating both neurological and neuro-muscular strain. After practice, I can be exhausted mentally and physically because certain modes can require whole body effort much greater than the lower levels," the woman explains.

"Piloting a Lawbringer takes great effort," Tomorrow's-Hope explains. "It follows your movements, but you cannot always feel where your extremities are. Concentration is key. I could not have made many of the moves I did today in an actual Titan without falling over."

"I have seen the inside of the Silent-One technologies Titans and they are very different design principles, I think. There is a great emphasis on personal strength and ability over the machine with a Lawbringer, where as my machine was build to draw on both the best of the pilot and a machine's mind, creating a single entity. Both share a mind for artistry and perfection, they are just expressed differently, and ask different things of their pilots. Of the two, I would say yours seems more difficult, but also more limited because it is difficult, if that makes sense," the Cadet signs as the fingers rub in to her leg. If she were a cat, she'd would be sure she'd be purring by now. "There is also separation; you are distinct from your machine always, I can cease to be individual in mine. When I faced the daikaiju I was a component in a single entity. I ultimately directed decisions, but my brain was only one processor. It is a strange thing, to be a part of a machine, to exist on its level, in a world of data and numbers, faster than a mortal may think, unfettered by emotions or flesh."

"What you describe seems a state that only a woman could accomplish," Tomorrow's-Hope signs. "To gain strength through surrender of the ego. Our women are not physically strong enough to pilot Titans, which makes you unique. It would be interesting to mate with someone of your strength. Would it be a battle of wills, or would both end up surrendering to form a stronger whole?"

Tasha's eyebrows go up at that; it's certainly the most unique pass she's ever received! As usual, it's hard to tell if she's blushing, but she does momentarily glance away and blink a bit as she takes a moment to recover from the embarrassment. "Well," her hand waggles as she slowly looks back, " … you would have to ask Gabriel what he thinks … I … " Despite not talking, Tasha seems to have to take a deep breath before continuing. "I don't know. Until very recently, I was always fighting the world, trying to dominate everything through violence or … other methods. Now, I seem content to play a lesser role, to be a part of a group, and to even merge with a machine rather than dominate that machine. If I can answer any way though … I would say that the JEF is your answer. In the beginning, it was just my thought. You see, I am the founder of this new JEF, but I surrendered command to the Captain because he is a superior leader. We gathered who we could, and I met with people to try and work with them. Now we are a organization, and on the verge of importance. That seems like the best answer I have."

"Women hold the family together," Tomorrow's-Hope signs. "But we all follow the Star's light. I wish you well and you may call upon me if my help is needed."

"Thank you; I will be here for you as well, as much as I may be. I do not know how much longer I will remain in the city, as my duty here is complete. It is possible I may not even come back in two days, as I intend to fly a high-risk mission while I am in position to do it. I think you must understand the need to do something before fear builds in your heart?" The woman's ears perk, questioningly. "I must go for that reason, and because it is my duty."

"There is duty of honor, and duty of the heart," the cheetah signs, a bit shakily as his attendant seems to be pummeling his shoulders now. "Which duty do you follow in this new quest?"

"I think it is both. It may be more the latter than the former, but it is both," the young woman signs back, smiling a little lopsidedly as her partner gets jostled. "There is an unknown out there, and it is our mission to understand the unknowns of Sifran space as best we are able. It is why our ancestors came to these worlds, after all. It's a core JEF goal. But, I also fear that place, because it almost destroyed me. I will not return to it exactly, but what I pursue may be more dangerous. I would not go if it was solely my heart, unless it was to aid another. But it is not just my heart, it is something that needs to be understood, and I am here to discover it, so I should take the time to do so while I am not occupied with another mission. And, one more thing: as the founder of the JEF I must not fear doing what I have created my organization to do – I must be as best an example as I may be."

"Survive to tell your children the tale of your bravery, Tasha of the JEF," Tomorrow's-Hope signs with a smile. "It would be a shame if no one heard you story."

"I will do my very best to survive – I did not resurrect an old idea just to fill its grave," the half-Vartan replies, and she even wiggles her ears. "Come wave to me the morning after tomorrow and wish me luck, and if I return, we can share the tale with an old bird who will never believe it." Then, she laughs.