Testrun Box

1.

Presea found herself, for the first time in a long while, feeling uncertain about her life and her future. She was completely grateful to Stacy, once things had been explained, and in fact she occasionally paused as she wandered the corridors to pat the wall affectionately. It was reassuring to know that their vessel was alive -- it was something like the giant flying fish of her homeworld, although she'd never heard of anyone riding inside one of them.

She had been uncharacteristically quiet since she had woken, trying to take everything in. And then, instead of immediately seeking company or making friends, she'd gone wandering, alone with her thoughts and the soft pulse of the ship. She hadn't met anyone yet that she could admit this to, but she just wasn't quite sure how much help she was going to be towards the missions ahead. She was fairly competent with weapons, but the people here seemed to use all kind of weaponry she'd never seen before. Did they need a blacksmith? Did they have one already?

She was not too old to adapt to another trade, if she had to, but it made her wonder why she had been chosen, among all of the people she had known on Cephiro. She would never offer the Knights' service without their permission, but wouldn't they be more qualified? Or Cail Lantis, or Guru Clef?

She was here. There had to be a reason for it, and she would find out why. It was with this mixture of worry and determination that she walked the halls, lost in thought.




2.

Presea was perhaps a little frustrated. More than a little frustrated. It had been a bad week, and this individual was not helping.

"I promise you," she said, eyes dark, "that if you touch me again, there will be punishment." She leaned back, resting her hands on her hips, feet planted. The scowl on her face didn't last very long, however. As she continued speaking, her gaze went dreamy, amused.

"What should I do? I could hang you up by your toes! I could record your singing in the shower and show the whole ship! I could boil you in oil!"

By this point, she had reached a frightening grin. "Just try me."





3.

Presea was happy. She was practically glowing, in fact. There was nothing better to her than the opportunity to do what she was good at, and she was going to take it. She could practically feel the press of her circlet against her forehead again, the way that sweat collected around it in the heat of the forge.

She hummed to herself as she lifted the weapon she was repairing, holding it out in a basic attack stance. She sighted down the sword to check the balance, and made a couple of nice practice swings. Despite the heaviness of the blade, she wielded it with ease, if not comfort. This was a bigger sword than she preferred, but she wasn't fixing it for herself, after all.

"There! Good as new," she said, beaming.