Another Training Session (OPEN)

[Rouge Ako]

The sun had begun its slow descent nearly half an hour ago, casting the academy in the deepening hues of dusk. Soon, night would claim the grounds, where flickering pathway lights guided students through the shadowy campus. The grand halls of the school grew dimmer as one by one, their lights blinked out. A few students hurried toward their dormitories, anxious to avoid the encroaching darkness. Others strolled languidly, mesmerized by the painted skyline—a kaleidoscope of fading golds and fiery reds. Yet amidst the serene transition, an anomaly stood out: one training room burned brightly, its open window spilling sharp echoes of wood clashing against wood into the evening air.

WHACK.

Inside, the training room was a chaotic tableau of destruction. Wooden dummies lay shattered and splintered across the gym floor. Glass-like blades protruded from low-hanging targets, their edges glinting ominously in the fluorescent light. A slashed and leaking punching bag sagged in the corner, surrounded by a graveyard of broken wooden practice swords. The evidence of prolonged use—discarded water bottles, crumpled food wrappers—hinted that this wasn’t a scene born from a fleeting burst of rage, but hours of unyielding, relentless effort.

Near the room’s center stood Rouge Ako, the red-haired musician. Sweat dripped from his brow, tracing the sharp lines of his face as it mingled with the tattered remains of his determination. His loose gym pants and clinging undershirt bore the marks of his grueling session, the signature red sash around his waist. A broken practice sword trembled in his grip, its surface dented and splintered from the fury of his strikes.

Rouge didn’t set out to destroy nearly every weapon in the room. But tonight, the anger and hollow ache within him had taken control. This year, he was alone. The bonds of friendship and camaraderie he had painstakingly forged over the past two years were now little more than memories, leaving him adrift in an ocean of isolation.

WHACK.

The blow landed hard, reverberating through his palms and up his arms. The vibrations dulled the turmoil in his mind, though only for a fleeting moment. Each strike left his hands stinging and his ears ringing, sweat pouring from his body in relentless streams. His chest heaved, every breath a labored effort as he struggled to find relief from the suffocating heat and humidity. But relief did not come. Instead, his muscles screamed for rest, and yet his resolve kept him moving.

Raising the battered sword above his head, Rouge swung again.

CRACK.

The practice blade gave out with a final snap, its wooden tip soaring across the room before landing with an almost anticlimactic thud on the mat. Rouge stared after it, his grip tightening instinctively on the now-useless hilt. He felt the emotions well up inside him—anger, frustration, grief. His fingers twitched, gripping at the air, and from nothing, a crude glass sword began to form in his hand, shimmering and jagged. Without hesitation, he brought it down in a sweeping arc.

The glass blade carved through the wooden dummy effortlessly, its edge slicing as though the wood were no more substantial than air. As the halves of the dummy toppled to the floor, Rouge let out a long, shuddering breath. Slowly, he tightened his grip again, and the glass weapon in his hand shattered, scattering in brilliant shards before disintegrating into fine dust and fading into an ethereal aura. All around the room, other glass constructs dissolved in kind, their remnants vanishing into the void.

”The finale of an otherwise unorthodox performance.” Rouge muttered under his breath, the first words he’d spoken since he began. His voice was hoarse, raw from disuse and exhaustion. He stood amidst the ruins of his training, a lone figure in the flickering light, unsure whether he had found release or only dug himself deeper into the void.

[Pericles Herodotus Ozymandias]

"Cousin, I understand you desire to see me, and I am not so steadfast to deny that the intent is mutual, however I truly consider this present time to be non-ideal for you to visit me... Yes, Cousin, I am well aware that your office is near to the Beacon campus, however class demand my full focus... No Cousin, I do not take pleasure in disrupting your plans to meet with me, but I do take pride in making wise decisions... Indeed Cousin, I am aware of both your older age and the archetypal understanding that age begets wisdom, but I'm sure you take pride in existing as an exception to that proverbial rule." A firm and steady voice echoed into the training room, followed by firm footsteps as an unknown figure approached, unaware as to the current state the training room was in.

"Cousin, we will have to finish this matter at another point, I have at last found time to train after a day of prioritizing my academia... Yes Cousin, I... I value you as well." The voice called out, only a few steps away from the training room. At last, Pericles turned the corner, revealing his armored form, his warrior's composition in its entirety as a raised brow gazed upon the wreckage of the training room. The Scroll was succinctly deposited into a pocket within the leather bindings of his armor as Pericles took in the entirety of the room and the occupant within.

Thinking for a few moments, Pericles finally spoke, "I suppose I should start by clarifying of your health and safety before inquiring of the reason for the room's current state."

[Rouge Ako]

Rouge’s head snapped toward the source of the voice, his sharp, ruby-red eyes narrowing as he took in the figure stepping into the room. The clinking of armor echoed faintly, a sharp contrast to the silence that had settled over the wrecked training hall. Broken dummies, splintered wood, and the faint shimmer of dissipating glass constructs told the tale of an hours-long battle waged not against an opponent, but against himself.

He exhaled heavily, brushing damp strands of scarlet hair from his face, his chest still heaving from exertion. The stranger’s polished armor gleamed in the fluorescent light, their composed gait and eloquent tone immediately setting them apart from the students Rouge typically encountered. This wasn’t someone who wandered in by mistake.

Straightening his posture, Rouge’s sharp eyes lingered on the stranger for a moment before flicking to the wreckage around him. He adjusted the crimson sash around his waist, its familiar weight grounding him as he searched for words. His usual blunt tone softened, shifting to something more measured as he picked up on the stranger’s formal manner of speaking.

“Health and safety, you said?” Rouge began, his voice low and deliberate, carrying the faint edge of exhaustion. “A rather apt observation, considering the current state of affairs. Though I’d argue the room has suffered more grievously than I have.”

He leaned the broken practice sword he’d been holding against the wall, the movement almost casual, though his eyes remained watchful. ”I must admit,” he continued, his words carefully chosen, “this is not the sort of company I anticipated tonight. But I suppose, given the circumstances, company was inevitable.”

Walking toward the corner of the room, Rouge spotted a broom leaning against the wall, its bristles frayed but serviceable. He picked it up and paused for a moment, brushing shards of broken glass with the tip of his boot into a smaller pile before beginning to sweep. The rhythmic sound of the broom scraping against the floor filled the space as he gathered the remnants of his shattered constructs.

“Forgive me,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, carrying a hint of sarcasm woven beneath the formal cadence he was adopting. “It seems I’ve been remiss in maintaining the integrity of this training room. A most regrettable oversight, I’m sure.”

He glanced briefly at the armored figure, his ruby-red gaze piercing yet calm. “I take it you’re not here by accident. Clearly, you’re no stranger to formality or structure, given the way you carry yourself. So, enlighten me. What brings someone like you to this rather… undignified corner of the campus?”

He resumed sweeping, his movements steady, though the faint smirk tugging at his lips suggested he was testing the waters with his newfound conversational tone. “If nothing else, I hope you’ll pardon the state of things. It’s been a long evening, and I suppose I let my temper get the better of me. Not my finest moment, but we all have those, don’t we?”

Rouge paused, leaning slightly on the broom handle as he turned to face the stranger fully. ”Now then, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, his voice calm but edged with curiosity, as if he were as interested in deciphering the stranger’s purpose as he was in cleaning up the mess around him.

[Pericles Herodotus Ozymandias]

Pericles visibly mulled over Rouge's words, his jaw flexing and unflexing as he thought, before finally replying, "You owe as much as lightning owes to a tree, which is to say, only a debt of luck. Today, of all day, was merely the point at which I found a time at which I could slip away from my other responsibilities in order to maintain my training of my discipline and physicality."

Pericles' left eye glowed with the blue symbol of the Eye of Horus as the glass shards and other inorganic sediment debris was quickly gathered in a whirlwind before hardening together into a small cube, which Pericles deposited in the nearby bin, "Shall I leave you, and with that, this room as well, in order to finish your earlier acts, or are you comfortable with my borrowing of the space?"

[Rouge Ako]

Rouge paused mid-sweep, resting the broom against his shoulder as he watched the armored figure’s display. The glowing sigil in Pericles’ eye and the efficient swirl of debris caught his attention, though he kept his expression neutral, save for a slight lift of his brow.

“A debt of luck, huh?” Rouge said after a beat, his tone even, though a faint note of dry amusement lingered. “Well, I guess I’ll take what I can get. Luck doesn’t visit me much these days, so thanks for the assist.”

He leaned the broom against the wall and crossed his arms loosely, his scarlet gaze lingering on the small, compact cube of debris Pericles had deposited in the bin. “That’s a neat trick,” he added, nodding toward the now-cleared floor. “Saves a lot of time, I’ll give you that.”

Rouge shifted his weight slightly, glancing at Pericles before letting his eyes wander over the room. “As for the space, it’s not like I’ve got a claim to it. You’re free to stay if you want. Plenty of room for the both of us to train without stepping on each other’s toes.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers brushing against the edge of his sash as he considered the figure in front of him. “Though, if we’re sharing, we might as well do more than just exist in the same room. You’re clearly here to train, and from the way you carry yourself, I’d guess you know what you’re doing.”

Rouge took a step back toward the center of the room, his boots crunching faintly against the last remnants of glass. “Name’s Rouge Ako, by the way,” he said, inclining his head slightly in a polite, though informal gesture. “If you’re up for it, maybe we could trade a few techniques. No harm in seeing what someone else brings to the table.”

His ruby-red eyes met Pericles’ glowing gaze, a spark of curiosity breaking through the fatigue in his features. “Of course, if you’re just here for some quiet, I’ll stay out of your way. But something tells me you didn’t come all this way just to keep to yourself.”

[Pericles Herodotus Ozymandias]

Pericles listened on silently as Rouge made his offer and various statements. Humming in thought, Pericles set aside his satchel bag as he looked Rouge up and down appraisingly, "How skilled are you with calisthenics that rely on balance?"

Without waiting for Rouge to answer, Pericles would allow himself to fall forward, his hand coming up to brace the impact before they suddenly pushed upward at the same time as his legs. Entering into a handstand, the full bulk of his armor, weapons, and tower shield weighing down upon him, Pericles would speak once more, "I could make use of a warm-up before I am to trade anything in a sufficient fashion."

Pericles' piece said, he'd begun to bend his arms, lowering his head and upside body to the floor before pushing once more against it in the weighted handstand.

Pericles' eyes would rapidly flicker into and out of the middle distance as his mind worked against his body to devote everything to the strength of his task versus maintaining focus on balance. His breath would come in steady heaves as his whole body seemed to thrum, his Aura gentling surfacing in a few patches of his skin.

It would take roughly thirty seconds before Pericles seemed to enter into a harmony with the exercise, calling out to Rouge, "If you intend on joining me, do me the assistance of grabbing the 45lbs plates." Pericles would divert a little of his focus in order to make his booted feet completely level to the floor.

[Aurum Dasheng]

Can’t delete this post so ignore me, apologies.

Thx

[Rouge Ako]

Rouge watched silently, the broom propped against his shoulder as Pericles shifted into a weighted handstand. His sharp, ruby-red eyes narrowed slightly, appraising the stranger’s movements. The sheer bulk of Pericles’ armor and equipment, coupled with the control he displayed, was impressive, but Rouge didn’t let that show. Instead, his lips curved into a faint smirk, more intrigued than impressed.

Without a word, he moved toward the weights, his boots crunching softly on the floor. He grabbed two 45-pound plates and carried them back, setting them down near Pericles with a deliberate thud.

“Here,” he said simply, stepping back. “Though if this is just a warm-up, I’m starting to think you might’ve set the bar a bit high.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Dropping into a crouch, Rouge rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms with practiced ease. Without hesitation, he planted his hands on the floor and kicked his legs up, his body snapping into a handstand with fluid precision. But unlike Pericles’ rigid, controlled posture, Rouge’s pose shifted almost immediately into something far more dynamic and flexible.

Tilting his body, Rouge arched his back deeply, his legs spreading outward and bending slightly at the knees, resembling a calisthenics pose straight out of a martial artist’s training regimen. His core tightened as he shifted again, slowly lowering his chest toward the floor while keeping his legs elevated and poised in the air like a crane’s wings. As he held the pose, shimmering shards of scarlet glass began to materialize around him, hovering in an intricate pattern.

With a flick of his fingers, the shards shifted and began moving deliberately around him. The first shard sliced toward his shoulder, and Rouge arched his back just slightly, letting it pass by mere centimeters from his skin. Another shard followed, aiming for his torso, and Rouge twisted his core with a fluid motion, dodging it with practiced ease.

He continued to move, each evasion slow, deliberate, and seamless, as though the shards were part of a well-rehearsed choreography. The sound of the glass humming through the air added a sharp edge to the silence of the room, accentuating every precise motion.

“Slow… Deliberate…” Rouge muttered, his voice steady despite the strain. Another shard whipped toward his outstretched leg, and he shifted his balance entirely to one arm, pulling his leg up at an almost impossible angle to let it pass.

As the last shard spiraled toward his head, Rouge pivoted gracefully, pressing his weight into his palms and lifting himself fully upright. The shard stopped midair, hovering for a moment before shattering into fine dust.

Rouge let out a slow breath, balancing easily in the upright handstand. His crimson gaze flicked to Pericles, his expression calm but laced with faint amusement. “Many don’t work on their body like you. Most think strength or speed is key, but they can only take you so far.” he said dryly, lowering himself back down to the floor with catlike grace. “You’re doing well.”

[Pericles Herodotus Ozymandias]

With the plates placed near him, Pericles allotted himself a moment of reprieve where he closed his eyes. They opened back up just as quickly as he shut them and with a slow breath in, Pericles stopped breathing altogether, becoming perfectly still before he slowly shifted his entire weight to balance of his left hand. Then, Pericles gradually let his left leg tuck downwards towards his chest, the knee bending so that that when the motion was completed, his heel was level with the base of his spine.

Still denying himself breath, Pericles parted his right hand from the floor, allowing the left hand to carry the burden as his right softly grasped the edge of the weighted plate. Curling the plate off of the ground with first only his wrist and then allowing his elbow and finally shoulder to pivot, Pericles deposited the plate on the bottom of his foot. Then, as his breath from a minute earlier began to dry up, Pericles started the slow process of raising his left leg upwards to match the right as his right hand came back down to share the weight of Pericles' body.

One down, Pericles took a minute to breath while in his fully extended position, before repeating the process but with the other foot and other arm. With the plates set up on the bottom of his feet and adding an additional 90 lbs of weight to the exercise, Pericles began again.

He'd let his elbows bend, lowering his body until the joint came to a 90 degree angle. Now however, he would also then lower his lower body to sway slightly forward over the top of his upper half that was on the floor, so as to counterbalance as Pericles would slowly transition from his bent wrist to flattening them relative to the floor. In doing so, Pericles would allow his shoulders to rotate, eventually ending with the same position, however now his elbows would be braced as well. Then, Pericles would rise up once more, coming back to rest on bent wrists and to his arms straight until they sat parallel with one another and perpendicular with the ground.

And so, Pericles continued in this manner for a few minutes, before finally letting his feet fall and the weights drop. His face would be red from the over-pressure of blood in his upper body and sweat from his concentration would mist his brow, but Pericles felt ready to begin.

"What then, if I may be so bold as to inquire, do you seek to trade in particular?" Pericles asked as he began to quench his thirst with his metal canteen.

[Rouge Ako]

Rouge’s crimson eyes tracked Pericles’ movements with quiet focus, his head tilting slightly as he studied the intricate display. The precision and strength were undeniable, but Rouge wasn’t one to be easily impressed—or at least not to let it show. Instead, he let the silence hang for a moment, the faint hum of the room settling around them before finally speaking.

“What do I want to trade? A technique. Something worth using when it counts. If you’ve got one, I’m listening.”

He stepped forward, his scarlet aura rippling faintly around him as he extended a hand. Slowly, a weapon began to materialize—a translucent, glass-like replica of his sword, elegant in design and precise in detail. The blade shimmered faintly under the light, its surface reflecting scarlet hues as Rouge held it loosely, testing its weight in his hand.

“For me, it’s about adaptability. Knowing how to move, how to strike, and how to adjust when the situation changes.”

With a flick of his wrist, the sword shifted, transforming seamlessly into a sleek dagger. Rouge twirled it effortlessly, the glass-like blade catching the light as he demonstrated a quick series of close-quarters maneuvers, each strike precise and controlled. Pausing for a moment, he allowed the dagger to extend into the curved blade of a scythe, which he spun in a wide, controlled arc, its edge humming faintly as it cut through the air.

“The way I see it, every weapon has its purpose,” Rouge said, his movements fluid as the scythe dissolved and reformed into a broad, heavy axe. He let the weight of it settle in his hands, adjusting his stance as he performed a single, deliberate strike that seemed to reverberate through the air. The axe shifted again—this time into a pair of short swords that Rouge wielded with expert precision, his movements quick yet deliberate. “You don’t just learn to use them. You learn to switch between them, to stay unpredictable.”

He stopped, the glass weapons dispersing into shimmering shards of light that dissolved into the air. Rouge brushed a stray lock of crimson hair from his face as he crossed his arms, his scarlet eyes locking onto Pericles with a steady, measured gaze.

“So, let’s trade. You show me a technique that gives me an edge—something I can build on—and I’ll show you how to make every weapon, every movement, and every strike work in your favor. Deal?”

[Pericles Herodotus Ozymandias]

Pericles listened in upon Rouge's explanation, not bothering to hide the very slight movement upwards of his eyebrows, which for him was the highest amount of dubious surprise he was capable of showing, "You craft claims with the confidence of someone either consummate or cavalier. Let us hope upon Destiny's leave that it is the former."

"Selecting a skill to showcase is an unseen struggle for myself as certain restrictions spawned from our separate styles arise. Are you perhaps a pauper in perception of the Palestra of battle, and pursue pieces of guidance in praetorian preachings? Or, rather, do you require rigorous reminders in the often relegated rudimentary of wrestling from Mistral were it was first wrought?" Pericles inquired, removing first a mat and several wooden figurines similar to an ancient battle-map, and then removing wrestling oil and gauze.

"I can also aid you in approaching apprenticeship ability in the application of alliteration in all your aspects of articulation, if you are in avarice of such anointments." Pericles said, with a small, almost imperceptible grin.

"Yet," Pericles said, stopping his motions temporarily, "I'd need more mastication on the matter of mastering movements and might that you mandate to have mastery to motion to me in order to mollify my misgivings on such a mandacious mandate."

[Rouge Ako]

Rouge watched Pericles with a raised brow, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as the armored figure’s words poured out like an ornate tapestry of antiquated vocabulary. He shifted his weight to one side, arms crossing loosely over his chest as he let the wave of alliteration settle in the air.

“Well, aren’t you a wordsmith,” Rouge said dryly, his sarcasm cutting clean through the layered complexity of Pericles’ monologue. “Can’t say I’ve ever had someone offer me wrestling lessons, poetry, and a history lecture all in one go. You’ve got range, I’ll give you that.”

He gestured lazily at the mat and wooden figures Pericles had brought out, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “But if I’m being honest, grappling’s never been my thing. My plan’s usually to dodge, counter, and let the other guy exhaust themselves. Keeps me from having to roll around on the floor, you know?”

As he spoke, scarlet light flickered faintly around his wrist, and a translucent, glass-like set of cuffs materialized in his hand. The design was simple but solid, the smooth edges glinting faintly as Rouge turned them over before letting them dissolve into shimmering fragments.

“That said, there’s potential here. If I knew what I was doing, these could lock someone down fast. But to pull it off, I’d have to figure out how to get close without getting flattened—or at least how to survive when things get messy.”

Rouge stepped toward the mat, crouching briefly to run his fingers over its surface. Straightening, he brushed his hair back with one hand, his movements quick and practiced. With a flick of his other hand, several small, glass-like pins materialized in his palm. They glinted faintly as he worked them into his hair, pulling the scarlet strands up and out of his face. He gave a satisfied nod as the last pin settled into place, the translucent glass securing his hair neatly.

Taking a step back from the mat, Rouge extended both hands. Two glass swords shimmered into existence, their edges sharp and their design mirroring his usual weapon. He flipped each one in his hands with practiced ease before driving them into the ground on either side of the mat. The blades stood firm, glinting faintly under the light as Rouge turned his attention back to Pericles.

“Just setting the stage for my turn,” Rouge said flatly, his tone as blunt as ever. “Figured we’d need something to work with after this.”

He adjusted his sash and rolled his shoulders, his stance shifting into one of readiness. The faint shimmer of his aura rippled briefly as he squared his gaze with Pericles.

“So, here’s the deal: I’m looking for something practical. Holds, locks, ways to stop someone from escaping or overpowering me. Something that complements what I already know—movement, timing, control.”

Rouge’s smirk returned as he crossed his arms, his crimson eyes steady. “Pick something you think’ll challenge me,” he added dryly. “Though, for the record, I’d like to think I’m more consummate than cavalier.”

[Pericles Herodotus Ozymandias]

"A history lesson...? Hmph, a peculiar but perhaps not incorrect labeling of offering education in the tactical strategies of waging a campaign with men from ten to a million." Pericles remarked bemusedly.

When Rouge chose wrestling, Pericles nodded and began to remove his armor, starting with the various leather straps that held the different plates, meshes, and paddings together on him, talking as he did so, "You wish for practical and I am proud to say that it is all practical and impractical and merely depends on what you intend to do with it. If you wish for ways to prevent an opponent from using their greater strength from directing the flow of combat, then we can start selecting a specific style. Central Mistralian wrestling requires a much larger frame so that is off of the table, same with Southern Mistralian wrestling for it's reliance on the very marshy terrain upon which it was designed. The Eastern Mistralian style common in Argus could work theoretically, but if you prefer not getting too close until you know you have a greater chance of winning the altercation, then it is not fit for you either, and of course Western Mistralian style is more of a art form and meditative technique rather than a practical use, which in this case leaves Southeastern Mistralian wrestling, however the style is mostly been lost to the ages and even I am not well practiced in it."

Finished with removing his armor, Pericles next removed his chiton and rolled up the pant legs of his baggy clothing, revealing a host of scars all across his form, many of which were far larger than the ones on his face. Beginning to spread the wrestling oil on his body, Pericles then continued, "Thankfully, however, there is still hope. The people of Vacuo, in their brilliance, adopted some of the traditions of Eastern Mistralian wrestling and adapted them to fit a more cautious and opportunistic approach, with a greater emphasis on creating space between you and your opponent."

Pericles would toss the wrestling oil towards Rouge, before beginning to stretch and crack the various joints across his body while taking deep breaths to fully open his lungs, "So then, when you are ready, get into a stance you believe to be appropriate."

[Rouge Ako]

Rouge caught the wrestling oil with one hand, glancing at it for a moment before his dry tone cut through the air.

“You know, you really know how to sell it, Pericles,” Rouge said, his words laced with sarcasm. “Marshy terrain, meditative techniques, styles lost to the ages—feels like I’m about to write a thesis rather than learn how to fight.”

He shook his head slightly, setting the oil down for a moment as his gaze shifted to Pericles. The scars across the man’s body didn’t escape Rouge’s notice. They told a story, though Rouge wasn’t one to pry. Instead, he let his crimson eyes linger for just a beat before brushing his hair back again, making sure the glass pins were firmly in place.

“Vacuo’s take on this sounds more my speed,” Rouge said, kneeling briefly to pick up the oil. He poured a small amount into his hand and began applying it to his arms and torso with quick, efficient movements, the faint shimmer of his aura occasionally flickering as he worked. “Cautious and opportunistic—that I can work with.”

Straightening, Rouge took a step toward the mat, rolling his shoulders to loosen up as he studied Pericles’ stance. His smirk faded slightly, replaced by a sharper, more focused expression. He mirrored Pericles’ stretches, his movements deliberate and fluid as his body adjusted to the task ahead.

“Alright,” Rouge said, his tone flat but with a faint edge of determination. “Let’s see how this plays out.”

Dropping into a stance, Rouge kept his weight balanced, his feet spaced slightly apart and his arms raised defensively. His posture wasn’t perfect—it lacked the polish of someone experienced in grappling—but it was solid enough to show he wasn’t approaching this half-heartedly.

“Good enough for you?” Rouge asked dryly, his crimson eyes locking onto Pericles. “Or do I need to crack open a book on Vacuoan wrestling first?”

[Pericles Herodotus Ozymandias]

Pericles ignored Rouge's sarcasm as he stepped over, slowly walking around the other Hunter-in-training as he observed the stance. Occasionally, Pericles would tap or push at Rouge with the side of his hand or his foot, finding points that were either rigid or movable. During this, Pericles would speak, his voice entering his usual instructing voice for his history tutoring lessons, "Your heels are as wide as your shoulder are, which is correct for traditional style, but with the Vacuoan form you want your toes to be in line with your shoulders so bring your feet a bit closer together. That's because you will be standing both your heel and on the balls of your feet, right between your arch and the bend in your phalanges. The best practice for this is to always be conscience if any specific part of your foot feels heavier than the rest, as you want to be ready to move."

Pericles waited until Rouge had his weight shifted to be more balanced on his feet before he pushed him from the side, just enough to unbalance the young man, "However, with your toes raised, you need your knees bent and your chest forward. Bend at the waist, but do not arch your back, that way you still have the strength of your spine behind all your movements but...." Pericles pushed Rouge's other side, enough so that Rouge would be forced to either plant their foot or take a step to the side, other one being easier from the raised position.

"Secondly, and this applies to most disciplines, you are standing in what you might have seen cinematography portray a wrestling stance as, but it is done by individuals who have only seen vague pictures of wrestling and not actual practice." Pericles stepped in front of Rouge and pushed him on the shoulder, showing how with their legs parallel to one another in the stance he currently was in, any forward push would easily destabilize him, "Technically there are rare instances in more advanced forms of styles where you would make a cross over and you would temporarily be in this position, but even then it would be a position of motion and not of static, and for our purposes you should never stand like this."

Pericles continued speaking as he walked around Rouge, occasionally, pushing the other boy's shoulder around into a different position, "Whichever your dominant arm is should be the foot that is forward. You'll want to keep the same width you have now, but the foot should come straight forward until it is pointing towards your opponent. Meanwhile, your other foot should turn outwards slightly until it is in the 3'o-clock position. With here, you can twist your upper body so that you are parallel to your front foot, and we can get to the more dynamic aspects of this stance."

Pericles stepped away from Rouge and demonstrated himself this time, adopting the stance before continuing speaking, "For you, you always want to be more mobile than your opponent, so you this will likely be the most important rule I can show you. The closer you are to your opponent, the narrower your profile should be, with the inverse being true." Pericles raised his hands near his face, palms slightly outwards, starting in the narrow profile he put Rouge in, "This is for when you are closer to your opponent, while the farther away you are, the more you can wider your stance like so."

Pericles moved his front foot slightly outwards, but kept his toes pointed towards rouge, almost like a hinge on his back foot, while his upper body remained perfectly aligned with Rouge, "Keep your front foot aligned, and no matter what, never fully step back with this foot to the point of being parallel. All this is done to make you mobile and secure, as the wider your stance..."

Pericles trailed off as he began to walk, his feet silent despite his large size as he walked in a revolving pattern around Rouge, quite quickly despite the slow movements, with Pericles never raising one foot before the other was back on the ground. Then, Pericles began to circle inwards towards Rouge, his stance becoming narrower with every step, making him move quicker inwards with the stance before he suddenly lunged backwards just as quickly, ending up the same distance he was initially with the one move, his stance now wider again.

"Now," Pericles said, stepping out of the crouch and walking back over to Rouge, "would you like me to repeat or do you believe you are ready to begin?" Pericles inquired, before gently pushing Rouge's head be closer back towards his shoulders, "And keep that chin hidden unless you wish for someone to strike it."