[Fiction] Week One

[z-Carver]

Date: August 29, 2015, 8:00 a.m.

Carver looks around the large warehouse with a touch of distaste. “This is where we’re training?”

,,

“Yes,” Jager says, glancing around the area. “It is large, secluded and perfect for our needs.”

,,

“It smells,” Carver sighs as she idly stretches, easing her hips from side to side as she clasps her hands over her head.

,,

With infinite patience, Jager says, “It used to be a cattle yard. Now, it’s our hunting yard.” He notes Carver’s reaction with interest; she initially tenses up at his casual statement, then forces herself to relax.

,,

She snaps her long striped hair into a hair-tie and turns to face him, asking, “So how do we begin?”

,,

Jager gives her a slight smile. “Why, at the beginning, of course.” She follows him over to a workout pad where they spend a few minutes stretching out. Not long; both of them have enough supernatural agility that their muscles need little warm-up.

“Now,” Jager says, “we start with the basic stance – the horseman.” He spreads his legs to shoulder-width and bends his knees until it looks like he’s riding an invisible horse. Carver’s suddenly grateful that he’s wearing baggy pants. She almost misses the last part of the stance – setting his fists at his waist, fingers upwards. “Normally, this exercise would consist of you holding this stance as long as possible, until you could hold it for hours. With your stamina, you won’t have a problem holding it; still practice it as often as you can when you are carving, since you do that in hours-long sessions.”

“Sure,” Carver says, mimicking him, “but I thought that martial arts would be more about ducking and weaving rather than squatting.”

“The horseman’s stance is a stable platform from which to learn your upper body strikes. And squat deeper – good,” Jager demonstrates by punching twice, not fast, flashy strikes, but slow, correct punches, emphasizing form. Carver watches, enraptured, as he extends one fist, then the other in a slow rolling punch. Each one ends with a snap and a sharp exhale.

Carver imitates him and Jager nods as he moves behind her. “Shoulders back,” he says, wrapping his fingers around her shoulders and using his thumbs to arch her shoulder blades forward. “Deepen your stance again; most people drift upward early on, so keep an eye on it.” Jager moves to her right and tucks her arm tighter against her side. “Don’t rest you hand on your waist, hold it there. When you punch, keep your arm tight; when your fist is on level with your shoulder, begin to roll your fist over with a snap. That’s where you upper body’s strength comes from.” Jager grabs her shoulder, holds it firm. “No, don’t thrust your shoulder forward.”

Carver focuses and coordinates her body. She does better, but Jager still moves to stand behind her and gently lock his hands on her shoulders. Geez, he’s tall! she thinks when she realizes that he’s resting his hands on her shoulders without reaching very far up. Of course, I’m still in the Horseman’s stance, but still – tall!

“Won’t I be using my claws more?” Carver asks as she crawls through another punch.

“Tighten and straighten your wrist; if it’s loose or at an angle, you can break it. You want to hit with your first two knuckles,” Jager responds, then answers, “Learn the basics. It’s easier to punch than slash, and learning to punch teaches you how to use your body to best effect. Besides, there will be situations when you don’t want to kill immediately.”

Carver nods and focuses on her punching while keeping her stance. Gradually, Jager releases her shoulders, moving in front to mirror her. “Your time with Wakinyan was very stressful,” Jager says as they both punch with their right fists. “You haven’t said anything about it.”

Carver doesn’t say anything until they are in their left hand punch. “I... I lost control.”

“How so?” Jager asks.

Again Carver pauses before answering, “I woke up naked. I attacked him blindly. I barely remember it.”

“Did he take advantage while you slept?” His face is even calmer, blanker than before.

“No, he didn’t,” Carver answers with no hesitation. She shrugs awkwardly and adds, “I mean, it didn’t feel like he had – because it’s obvious. When that happens.”

Jager moves on. “What did you feel when you lost control?”

“Rage. Fear. Joy,” she answers softly.

“Joy?”

Carver forces her voice to be calm as she says, “There was blood, his and mine, in the air. I… I liked it.”

,,

“You’re faster,” Jager remarks without warning.

Carver blinks. “You mean faster than I was before?”

“Your time with Totem was somewhat beneficial,” Jager remarks. “Haven’t you noticed a change?”

“I’ve noticed my art’s been better,” Carver says. “I thought it was inspiration from working on those rocks.”

“You’re moving faster,” Jager remarked. “That will be handy.” Jager mentions nothing more about Wakinyan or Carver’s changes that day. Confident that she has her stance, he has her work a punching bag slowly and repetitively. When Carver’s sure she can’t continue, mostly from boredom, Jager calls a stop.

“Come here,” he requests, indicating the mat. He sits cross-legged and Carver mimics him. “Take a deep breath and relax. Draw up your hidden self. Feel it. Be it. Experience it for a moment while you are at peace.”

Carver is trying, but she’s afraid to let it lose again. She doesn’t even remember much of the fight with Wakinyan – mostly the smell and taste of blood in the air. She’s overjoyed when Jager releases her from the exercise and dismisses her for the day.

[z-Carver]

Date: August 30, 2015

“Punching again?” Carver asks as Jager settles into the Horseman’s stance and nods for her to join him.

“I want to see if you’ve retained the knowledge,” Jager says, beginning a slow punch. Carver mirrors him. After several repetitions, Jager nods and stands up. “This is will be our routine. We’ll start by covering material you’ve already learned. When we have too much to cover in the time allotted, I’ll pick what I ask you to demonstrate. After our review, we’ll learn something new. If you fail to learn what we covered yesterday, we’ll continue to work in it. This will be at your pace, Carver. We have the time for you to learn this art properly. Understood?” She nods. “Then let’s work on your open-hand strikes.”

“What about footwork?”

Jager shakes his head. “I know this seems backwards, but upper body first.” He gives her one of his rare smiles. “It will be clear in the end.”

“Alright, you’re the boss,” she says.

He smiles again but doesn’t reply to her flippant remark. Instead, he holds up his hands, one horizontal, one vertical. When she mimics him, he says, “Bring your hands together; when your middle finger touches your palm, begin to let if fold upward. Keep pressing until the tips of your pointer, middle and ring fingers are even. Good, now, flatten your palm and fold in your thumb.”

Carver tries, but her fingers roll into a hook. Jager takes her hand and resets her fingers before gently flattening her palm. “Ehmmm,” Carver mutters, glancing up to meet his eyes, “that feels weird. Like there’s a band across my hand trying to stop me.”

“It doesn’t feel right because you aren’t used to it. Give it time, and you will be,” Jager tells her. “The other hand – good. Practice this whenever you have a few minutes and nothing else to do. This position is awkward, but it helps you keep from breaking your hand with you use a side strike. Keeping your three fingers level means that you won’t break you middle finger,” he pounds his tensed fingers against the palm of his other hand as a demonstration, “and it makes your strikes harder.

“We’re going to focus on striking for a couple of days, as this will be closer to what you will use. Baseline martial arts tend to focus on using the side of the hand, but the some of animal styles of Kung Fu stress attacks with the fingertips, which is what I want to focus on eventually.” Jager slides into some quick stances, showing off some movements that Carver recognized from bad Asian movies. But she also notices that his strikes all end with his fingertips.

“To do this successfully, we’ll need to teach your muscles to do as you ask them to do,” Jager says, “and that starts with the three-fingered strike that I just showed you. It can be hard to hold that hand position and using it will discipline your muscles.” He has her take the Horseman’s stance again and walks around her while she practices. She rolls through the now-familiar motions of a punch, only with open hands today. She’s starting to get bored when something strange happens; she begins to just move with an empty mind. No thoughts, no voices, just the smooth flow of her muscles rolling through the motions.

Jager sets himself into the Horseman’s stance in front of her and smoothly begins to mirror her. “Pick up your speed,” he orders, “I’m going to do the same and it’s up to you to keep up. If you don’t, then you’ll probably be hurt, understand?”

Carver nods and begins to match his speed. She’s not as fast as him, but she’ll try. The speed increase is slow and settles out at the edge of what she can do and maintain proper form. “Very good,” Jager nods. “Stop and shake out.”

Carver dances back, jumping from foot-to-foot to loosen up tightened muscles while shaking her arms. There wasn’t much loosening needed and she quickly settles down. The rest of the day is spent on the bag, working on her strikes.

And again when they are done, Jager sits her down on the mats and tries to get her to release that inner self. Carver really tries, but there is something inside of her that just won’t let go. She’s beginning to wonder if Jager is wrong; if she’s not cut out to be a killer.

[z-Carver]

Carver’s late this morning – the rain caused an accident, and she had to get off the bus and run the last two miles – but Jager quietly hands her a towel and makes no comment.

“Thanks,” Carver mutters, rubbing her wet face and hair. Her Eufiber sheds the water and settles back into her sweatpants and tank-top. “So what is up for today?”

“Review first,” Jager points out, moving to the mats. They move through the strikes and punches; to her embarrassment, Jager has her work on her three-finger strikes for a while again. She wants so hard to become skilled at this that messing up on what she just learned yesterday feels like a real failure.

“Very good,” Jager finally says, moving on. “The next strike I will teach you is the palm strike. It may sound like you use the flat of your palm, but you should never strike with that. Use the heel of your palm instead. The flat of your palm can cause your wrist can buckle and break or cause you to lose power, while the heel has the driving force of the arm behind it.” He demonstrates with his own hand. “We’ll need to adjust your palm strike; because of your claws, I want to teach you to strike with your fingers extended so that you can use a palm strike effectively with your claws out.”

“And now back to the Horseman’s stance,” she smiles ruefully after she has her hand positioned right, “and back to the slow strikes. Right?”

Jager nods and smiles. “Martial arts are hard work. They take time and dedication to master.” He reaches out, makes a minute correction with her hand and adds, “You have come a long way already. Your superior physical abilities allow you to learn faster than a baseline. You have long to go still, but you can be proud of what you have done in just three days.” His eyes narrow as he watches her shrug off his compliment.

On the mats, Carver quickly falls into that calm place inside herself. As she concentrates on how it feels, she realizes that it is akin to the wonderful trance that she feels when she loses herself in carving. But carving is passive, as if something else flows through her, while this is all her: her arms moving, her breath exhaling, her legs standing firm and supporting her body.

“Carver, tell me what you are feeling.” Jager’s voice is soft and cajoling, designed to communicate without breaking her concentration.

“Warm but empty. Like I’m a vessel waiting to be filled. Like I’m carving. Peaceful.” Carver smiles blissfully. “I’m enjoying feeling my arms move with such surety, such strength. It feels good, almost ecstatic.”

“Good,” Jager says. “You’re doing well, so let’s add something else today. The claw strike. While keeping your palm flat and your upper joints even with your palm, curl your fingers forward; keep your fingertips pointed at your opponent. These strikes are used to grab, pull and twist parts of your opponent. We’re also going to alter the striking exercise.”

Jager moves to mirror her on the mats. “Strike down with your claw strike towards your opponent’s groin.” She gives him an ‘are-you-sure-look’ since he’s her ‘opponent.’ He grabs her wrist and extends her hand toward his groin. Her hand stops well short. “Spatial awareness. It is one more thing that you’ll have to learn, especially with your claws extending your finger length. When you are facing taller opponents, remember that they will have a longer reach than you.” Carver has a sudden urge to extend her claws right now and see if they would bridge the gap to his groin. She fights back the urge as he releases her arm.

“First strike to the groin, the second to the solar plexus and the third to the head,” Jager demonstrates. “Make sure that you roll your arm over with each strike and that you snap with the power of your strike at the end. Move as slowly as you need to make sure that your form is always correct.”

Carver settles into the rhythm of the workout, falling into that dark, quiet place that is starting to become an internal sanctuary. When’s there, the voices are silent, and she stops worrying, stops thinking. She just is.

For a while, Jager watches her, walking around her in slow circles. Gradually, he mirrors her on the mats and says, “Let’s play a game.”

“A game?” Carver asks as she continues the exercise.

“A learning game,” Jager clarifies as he steps into her rhythm. “If I say ‘fist’, change to a punch; ‘fingers’, change to the three-finger strike; ‘palm’, change to a palm strike; ‘claw’, change to a claw strike. Keep the groin-sternum-head rhythm going; just focus on changing the strikes.”

They work like this for a while; suddenly Carver realizes that he’s stopped saying what he wants her to change. Instead, he’s simply switching his strikes and she’s matching him reflexively. She falters in surprise and her left hand collides with his right arm.

“Agh!” she yelps, dropping back from him and grabbing her hand. It throbs mercilessly.

“Let me see,” Jager says, and Carver holds out her hand. He carefully feels the hand, pressing gently to feel the bones. Carver helps by holding still and not screaming like a baby when he hits a tender spot. She can’t stop the wincing or her pained hisses.

“We’re done for today,” Jager says, his voice tight as he releases her hand.

Carver flinches. “I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes dropping. She screwed it up.

“I’m not angry,” Jager responds, his voice softening. “I’m worried. You didn’t break your hand, but you could have.” He frowns. “I almost didn’t anticipate your change in rhythm. If I hadn’t, then…” His jaw sets for a second before he finishes, “I could have hurt you badly.”

“Isn’t getting hurt part of this?” Carver asks.

Jager gives her a slight smile and points out, “But not from your instructor as an accident. If I need to hurt you as part of a training lesson, then that’s different.” He grows serious and says, “Part of my duty to you is to train you in the safest manner possible. I am to teach you to survive while killing well.” He turns from her and begins to straighten up the few materials he kept here. “Put your hand on ice, tonight, and we’ll see how it is in the morning. Take care and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

[z-Carver]

Date: September 1, 2015

When Carver arrives the next morning, her hand is still a little sore but works fine. Jager frowns over it for a while and finally nods, “You can work with it, but we won’t do bag work. Tell me immediately if it starts to hurt worse. I don’t want to re-injure it.”

,,

“Oh, by the way,” Carver says, “I’ve contacted Ulysses Bailey for help with that problem I mentioned. If it doesn’t go way in a while, I’ll probably need that wink, wink, nudge, nudge you were giving me on the board.”

,,

“Ok, then. Just call if you need to use my methods,” Jager says, moving toward the mats. They fly through their review, and Carver is pleased to see that the practice she did at home this morning before coming over paid off. Jager nods his approval as he says, “Time for something a little different.” He pulls a small audio player out of a crate and sets it on the ground. He precisely stabs the play button and a rich, spicy music roars out of the machine.

,,

Carver blinks as Jager begins a side-to-side dance with the music that involves a lot of dipping and moving. “This movement is the base for this type of martial arts.” He glances up and sees the look on her face. Stopping, he raises a cool eyebrow and orders, “Attack me – no claws. And I will mind your hand.”

,,

Carver settles into the evasive stance that Jager had just taught her as he begins that sideways movement. She steps forward, striking as he told her with her good hand – wrist straight and firm, leading with three fingers and a flattened palm – and he uses that sideways bounce to effortlessly evade her strike. “When you stay moving,” he lectures as he bounces around her, “when you stay on the balls of your feet, your enemies have a hard time putting you at a disadvantage.”

,,

“So dancing around like a loon will help you evade your enemies?” Carver mutters.

,,

Jager’s stance tightens up and he dances forward with unnatural grace. In three quick movements he has Carver on her back as he stands over her. He didn’t move supernaturally fast; he was simply better than her. “Do you understand now?” Jager asks, carefully sliding his hand from behind her head and stepping back. Carver hadn’t realized that he had grabbed the back of her skull to protect her head until his hand was removed.

,,

“Ok, I guess the loon thing does help,” Carver grunts as she flips to her feet.

,,

“This style of martial art is called Capoeira,” Jager lectures. “It’s a fluid, rhythmic style that will suit you better than any of the more traditional arts, which you can learn later. Capoeira is just the one I will teach you to master first.”

,,

“Will I be ready by Tuesday?” Carver asks with a grin. Jager gives her a blank look. “Haven’t you ever seen Remo Williams: The Adventure Begins?” Jager still looks blank. “You mean you’ve never seen that masterpiece? It has the best line ever: ‘Master Chiun you’re incredible!’ ‘No, I am better than that.’”

,,

“I don’t watch movies,” Jager admits, “I don’t find that I have the time, even when one looks worth my time.”

,,

“I used to love movies,” Carver sighs, “but I don’t have time for them anymore either. Between the house and… the house, I don’t have time for them.”

,,

“Back to training,” Jager commands as Carver bites back a groan. God, he’s single-minded, isn’t he? But she wants this, and she stops her mental whining.

,,

Jager begins the swaying movement again, and Carver follows along. She thought she was doing pretty well until Jager stops and straightens up, eyeing her critically. Carver starts to stop, too, but Jager orders, “No, keep going.”

,,

Feeling more than a little self-conscious, Carver starts again. Jager circles her like a hungry wolf, eyeing her up and down. Carver tries to ignore the nervous tingle that runs up her spine – she hates being the subject of this much scrutiny. “Not quite,” he says suddenly, “the Ginga, the basic movement of the art, is the foundation; you must master that first. You have to pick up your feet more.”

,,

Jager steps up behind her and puts his hands on her hips, changing her motion slightly. “Good,” he remarks when she lets him redirect her. “Now, move your feet more- No, with the music.” He lightly taps her feet, showing her when and how to move them. “And shift your weight – that’s the key,” he adds, using his hands to give her little pushes.

,,

After a moment, he stands back and circles her again. “Good,” he says, approval and satisfaction warming his voice. “Keep that up for a few minutes, ok?” She continues to bounce as he glances critically at her. When her time is up, he says, “Did that start to feel more natural?”

,,

“Kinda,” Carver says, jumping to stretch her calves. She ends her last jump by bouncing forward into a flip. She straightens up with a grin; she still loves her increased agility.

,,

“What is that like? What does if feel like, I mean?” Jager asks.

,,

“You asked that before, on the way to Endeavor’s boat,” Carver says, arching backwards and planting her hands on the ground. She’s aware that she’s showing off a little, but after several days of struggling like a klutz, playing with her amazing abilities feels good. “Don’t you have an increased physical ability?” She pushes her feet off the floor and stands on her hands, turning to face him.

,,

“Yes, I do,” Jager answers as he flips forward into his own handstand, also turning to face her. He swings back onto his feet and says, “But I don’t remember not having it.”

,,

Carver buckles her arms and twists into a roll, coming up in a sitting position facing him. Her expression is intrigued as she asks, “So you don’t remember not being a Nova?”

,,

“We can keep discussions about what I do and don't remember for another time, but yes, I have always have had supernormal physical abilities,” Jager says evenly.

,,

“Well, it feels like confidence,” Carver says, locking her hands around her knees. “Sometimes, when you’re hurt or sick, it feels like your body is betraying you. Or if you try to jump a mud puddle and can’t make it. You feel weak, pushed about by forces stronger than you, like gravity. Some of the physical changes I have experienced have made me feel like my body is better, which it is. So it feels like confidence.”

,,

“So why don’t you act on it?” Jager asks.

,,

“What?” Carver asks, the thoughtful look on her face fading into panic. “Why don’t I act on what?”

,,

Jager can tell that she knows what he means, but he plays along – for now. “Why don’t you act on that confidence? You have an incredible potential. Why don’t you act as if you do?”

,,

“I don’t feel that great compared to other Novas,” she mutters, dropping her eyes. They still flash like silvered steel through her faintly striped eyelashes, so Jager knows she’s upset. “You, Long, Singularity and others are so powerful with so many amazing powers that I sometimes feel like a baseline again.”

,,

“You are not a baseline, Carver,” Jager points out. “You are a young Nova, just learning her own potential. You have to give yourself time to become as powerful as those who have been doing this for years.” Normally, he wouldn’t push a Nova to realize her own potential, but he’s accepted an obligation to teach her, and that means doing more for her than he would for other Novas. Growing very serious, Jager says, “I have told you that you have great potential as a killer. You have asked me to teach you to kill and to kill well. You will not kill well until you are confident. Until that, you’ll be a bumbling amateur.”

,,

Carver looks down at her feet. “I don’t know how,” she whimpers. “I don’t know how to be confident.”

,,

“Yes, you do. I can see glimpses of it,” Jager insists, “but something or someone took that away from you. You have to find it again.” She shakes her head and Jager exhibits the first sign of frustration she’s seen from him: a small frown touches his face.

,,

Taking her by the shoulders, he steers her behind some junk. Nestled back in the corner is the silvered steel of a walk-in freezer. “What do you see?” he asks.

,,

“Me,” Carver says. “Is this going to be some empowerment babble?”

,,

“What do you see?” Jager hisses as he tightens his grip on her shoulders. The core of steel in his voice cows her.

,,

“A Nova?” Carver asks.

,,

“Who are you?” Jager snaps.

,,

“A killer?” she hazards.

,,

Jager actually growls with frustration. “That is what you could be, but it will not be all of you. What are you?”

,,

“I don’t know!” she yelps.

,,

“Yes, you do!” Jager insists. His forefinger and thumb snake forward and pinches some of her colorful hair. He holds it up over her shoulder, causing it to arch forward and tickle down the front of her shirt. “You see this as a flaw, but it is a sign of what you are. You are ashamed of your hair and eyes, but they are the marks of what you are. Now, what are you?”

,,

Carver still doesn’t know, but her dark self offers an answer, and Carver hears herself say, “Power. I am power.”

,,

“Yes,” Jager murmurs in her ear, his words burning themselves into her mind. “If you kill with power, you will kill well.”

[z-Carver]

Date: September 2, 2015

Training in the morning is more Capoeira; after their review, Jager teaches her the next maneuver. “A handstand?” Carver asks, her tone slightly disbelieving.

,,

“The handstand is an important part of Capoeira,” Jager remarks. “We’re going to work on the different headstands and the way that you can use them when fighting.”

,,

“A handstand in fighting?” Carver asks, raising an eyebrow.

,,

Jager shakes his head. “Am I going to have to prove everything to you?” A slight curve to his lips lets her know he’s not angry.

,,

“Yes,” she perks in reply, “you do.”

,,

His answer is to flip into a handstand, his feet swinging through the air. They miss her head narrowly and she reflexively dodges, dancing backwards. Jager turns his attention to the bag, spinning and kicking, dropping, rolling and spinning, most of it on his hands. Finally, he rolls away from the wildly swinging bag and bounces to his feet. He turns and smiles at her amazed expression. “That is Capoeira. Any questions?”

,,

They practice handstands all day, working on popping into them from various positions: during cartwheels, from laying on the ground, from the middle of the Ginga. By the time that Jager calls the end of the day, she’s dirty from the mat and the concrete floor. “That was fun!” she laughs, rolling into another handstand. At the apex, she lifts one hand and twists her legs, spinning on her hand. Her legs scythe powerfully through the air and Carver grins.

,,

Jager watches her with a smile. “Come to the mats,” he says after he gives her a chance to enjoy herself. Tensing up, she follows him.

,,

“I notice that you are resisting my attempts to draw forth your inner self,” he says after she settles herself. She starts to speak, but he holds up a hand for silence. “There is no need to talk about it. I can see the fight, the struggle. We should have made some progress on this issue, but we have yet to see any results.” He frowns harder and continues, “I have seen you draw it up in conversation and in combat, when you are afraid or aroused. I want you to be able to draw it up when you want it, regardless of the situation.

,,

“Frankly, I’m a little surprised by how hard it is for you to draw it out without impetus.” His voice flattens, becoming more even. “I have also noticed that you don’t like an audience, so I’m going trust you to do this on your own, at home. Perhaps you can make the breakthrough away from me and earn a level of control that you can demonstrate here.”

,,

She thought that she had failed two days ago, but she now knows what failure really feels like. The bus ride home is hell – it seems like all the passengers are staring at her with accusing eyes. She has to fight the urge to jump off the bus and run the rest of the way home. When she’s finally home, she’s exhausted, both from her unhappy thoughts and all the people she had to deal with today on Chicago’s public transportation. Carver lethargically enters her house, dropping her keys in her usual place in her curio drawer.

,,

“Rough day?” Amped pulls his earphone as he looks up from the book he is reading, his foot bouncing so fast it is a blur.

,,

Carver smiles. She gets a kick out of watching him do things super-fast, especially when it was clear that he was just tapping his foot to the music. He probably has it on fast-forward so that he can hear it without distortion, she muses to herself. “Kinda,” she sighs, dropping onto the couch. “I have this problem that I can’t get past. It’s so frustrating.”

,,

“Like writer’s block?” Amped asks.

,,

“It is a mental obstruct,” Carver affirms.

,,

“Don’t worry about it,” Amped shrugs. “The more you worry about it, the worse it becomes blocked.”

,,

Carver isn’t sure that is the answer, but she nods and smiles, “Thanks, Amped.”

,,

“No problem,” he answers as he goes back to his book. But he has, she realizes, given her an idea.

,,

She goes up the stairs and into the small, dark room at the end of the hall. Normally, she’d be showering right now, but she wants to try this first. Carver settles into a Horseman’s stance before the chair rail and starts to wait for the room to whisper to her. Once I lost myself in the carving, lost my inner voice in the work, she thinks to herself. Maybe I can find it here again.

,,

Carver is paying attention to herself, so she feels the moment when her brain clicks and Carver stops seeing wood and starts seeing what needs to be removed. Her claws dig into the wood, making a series of shallow cuts that become small fragments of wood falling away under her fingers. And as she begins to see the shape of what is forming under her care, she smiles.

[z-Carver]

Carver is still feeling wierd in the morning, but it's business as usual. The day is spent recovering old ground, but with her claws out as much as possible. Carver actually finds herself slowing down as the day goes on; Jager pushes her hard, ordering to produce and remove her claws several times over the course of the day.

,,

She feels herself getting tired and then she hits an invisible brick wall. Carver feels almost a pop in her head. For a second, she thinks that she’s hurt herself, but she continues her slash even as her arms falters and nearly falls. Jager is suddenly grabbing her wrist, holding back her strike; her knees tremble and almost buckle and his free arm snakes around her waist. Carver realizes that she’s exhausted; she can barely breathe and her throat burns as she rapidly draws air. “Wha- wha’s wrong?” she gasps as she leans against Jager.

,,

“Your quantum reserve ran out,” Jager explains as he turns her in his arms, guiding her over to the mats. “I wanted you to know your limits.” Carver nods weakly; she sure as hell can’t talk. “Be aware of fatigue, Carver. Always leave yourself enough reserve to escape if you’re overwhelmed.”

,,

He carries her over to a mat on the floor and lays her down, sitting cross-legged next to her. Her braid is pushing into her back, and it takes an effort to pull it over her shoulder. She is weak, limp, and panting. “How… long?” she pants.

,,

“If you rest, not long,” Jager says softly. “It will go faster if you take a quick nap.” He takes the washcloth off, smoothes her hair away from her eyes and replaces the cloth with the cool side down.

,,

Carver curls on her side and pillows her hand under her head; her other hand flops out and brushes against Jager’s knee. She should move it, but she’s too tired... The mat isn’t very comfortable, and she’s not sure she’ll be able to doze off, but the shadowy form of Jager goes hazy and she’s gone.

,,

She feels much better when she wakes up. Still tired, but she can pull off a spinning handstand, so she’s happy. “I think we’re done,” Jager says after a few minutes of her working out. “It was a short day, but you learned something important.” Carver nods as he adds, “And I want you to start playing dexterity games at home. They will improve your coordination and reflexes.”

,,

“What kind of dexterity games?” Carver asks.

,,

“Don’t start with too much,” Jager replies. “A good one is to take a pebble or coin and place on the back of your hand and snap your hand away. Reverse your snap as fast as you can and catch the pebble. Things like that. Switch them out, keep them interesting and fun and something that you can do while waiting for the bus or watching a movie.”

,,

So Carver found herself in her garden enjoying the soft sounds of late afternoon in her neighborhood and bouncing a pebble on the back of her hand. “You know, you look like a simp idiot d'une fille,” Rene told her. “If you wish to learn dexterity, you should find a lithe male and faites comme la bête avec deux dos.”

,,

“What did you say?” Carver growls without looking at the gnome.

,,

“As you frightful Americans say, ‘get laid.’”

,,

“That’s stupid,” Carver mutters, turning a little red. “Sex shouldn’t be casual; it’s the development of a meaningful bond between a man and a woman.”

,,

“Fleur bleue,” Rene scoffs. “You tie yourself up like a nonne. You do not have to – I know of at least three men who wish to goûtez votre fleur.”

,,

“And look who just lost their umbrella privileges!” Carver snaps as she strides over and grabs at it.

,,

“Fine, be a child,” Rene snits as she starts to dislodge it from the earth. “But I have never lied to you, nor shall I. And if I am to be punished for it, so be it. I will not change.”

,,

Carver sighs and releases the umbrella. “God, I wish Angel were here,” she says as she sits down next to Rene.

,,

“So do I, for he would say the same things I do,” Rene tells her, “and you listen to him, you idiot aveugle.” Carver remains next to the little gnome, his red cheeks and bulbous body at odds with his voice. “So why are you sitting in your yard making a fool of yourself?”

,,

“It’s for my training,” Carver says, scowling as she drops the pebble. Picking it up, she adds, “Jager says it’ll improve my reflexes.”

,,

Rene is silent for a long moment before he says, “Who is this Jager?”

[z-Carver]

Carver bursts into the warehouse. She’s trying not to come across as aggressive or angry, but she’s had all night to wonder about this and her voice is hard and a little angry as she asks, “Why doesn’t my gnome know who you are?”

,,

Jager looks briefly surprised. He takes in her glittering, flashing eyes and angry scowl and his expression quickly evens out as he calmly asks, “Your gnome?”

,,

“Rene, my stone yard gnome,” Carver says, refusing to allow him to derail this into humor or make her feel stupid. “He doesn’t know who you are, and I want to know.”

,,

“You’ve gotten used to finding out secrets about people,” Jager says, his voice hardening a touch as his eyes darken to gray, “and now that you don’t know someone’s dirty laundry, you’re angry.”

,,

“Maybe that’s a part of it,” Carver growls, “but the things that talk to me always tell the truth. So when they say you don’t exist, that there is no blonde man named Jager training me and they can’t tell me how I’m learning, what am I supposed to think? Am I supposed to just go, oh well, Jager isn’t real?”

,,

“Can you just accept it as part of who I am?” Jager asks, leaning against a support pillar and crossing his arms.

,,

For once the casual display of his physique is not able to distract her. “I’ve put a lot of trust in you, Jager. I come to a deserted warehouse everyday and seclude myself with you for hours, completely at your mercy,” Carver points out. “I’d at least like to know what this part of you I’m supposed to be so casually accepting is.”

,,

“I warned you about trusting me, Carver.” He shakes his head. “Never mind that. I truly have no ulterior motives regarding you. I am simply difficult to sense, on all levels,” Jager says. “I believe that I’m invisible to your objects.”

,,

“How?” Carver asks. “I’ve never heard of that.”

,,

Jager shrugs. “You are going to meet Novas with all different types of powers,” he says. “Many of them will possess powers you’ve never heard of.” He tips his head to the side slightly as he points out, “You’re going to have to deal with me as you did with people before you erupted – without help from your inanimate friends. Are we ready to begin?”

,,

“No,” Carver says, crossing her arms and subtly shifting her stance back. “I think… I think that I need today off.”

,,

Jager stiffens, but it is just the slightest change in his stance; Carver wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t been looking for it. “Very well, if you need the rest, then by all means, take it,” Jager says. “One thing though: Carver, why are you so angry right now?”

,,

Carver glares at the floor for a long moment before answering. “I don’t know,” she admits, glancing up at him. “I think that I got used to things being one way, and I find out they’re another. It would be like if my claws stopped being sharp; it feels like my powers are letting me down.”

,,

“They aren’t,” Jager remarks, “they’re doing their job. They’re just being counteracted by mine.” There is a long silence; the two Novas look at one another. Jager finally asks, “Are you going to stay or go?”

,,

“I’m going to go,” she says after a long, tense moment. She turns and opens the door.

Jager’s voice stops her. “Are you coming back tomorrow?”

,,

“Of course,” Carver says. Her tone is a mixture of surprise that he even asked and strong affirmation.

,,

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jager tells her as he begins to gather his equipment up. Carver watches him for a moment and then leaves quietly.

,,

She goes home and loses herself in her artwork. The banister is coming along well; she hopes to be done with it in time for the party next weekend.