Sisters gather, taking the little ones aside. This isn't a time to have small children climbing into laps. The sight of the Boy's biceps in action, and of the mud drying in flakes and scales across his broad back and chest, is not lost on many girls old enough to really notice. Even a lot of the ones who wouldn't have expected themselves to be interested have a bit of aesthetic appreciation, or take notes on their Sisters. There are some whispers and shushed giggles.
Hesri's thumbs are relatively normal if discolored, but under the bandages her palms are small and hard with scar tissue, and she's got bony fingers that don't fully uncurl or clasp strongly. Guts has to do most of the holding, and whether that makes things more or less uncomfortable is up to him. She bears that discomfort, chalking it up to unease about how messed up her body is; lots of people don't like to touch her. Regardless she does give it a good effort, sweat breaking out across her forehead as she strains against his arm. A disbelieving smile plays along the good half of her mouth when she manages to stall past the ten second mark the second time.
She's had to assure watchers that she's fine more than once. Nerine has not been among those asking. The smaller girl gets in close and stares at each contest without blinking until they end, and is all of about a foot and a half away when Guts challenges her judgement. Straightening, she says, "You're going to eat those words. You and me, Mister Boy."
Nerine is about Vena's height but wiry. So, she's almost two feet shorter than Guts is and probably weighs as much as one of his arms. On the plus side her movements are precise and quick, purposeful in a way the ten year old's just aren't. There's a poised, birdlike aspect to her even when she's standing still.
Having sighed in relief and leaned back once she was released from this latest round, Hesri's eyes widen. "Oh dear. Nerine, lovey, are you... you're sure. Okay, we're going to need to set up some ground rules here. Ah..."
"No biting," someone suggests, and then it seems like everyone has an idea and they all say it at once. No knives. Nothing below the belt. No punching. No tit-punches comes up several times, and while a lot of anxious glances travel over Guts, at that one actually Nerine is the recipient of several dirty looks. No throat-grabs. She looks increasingly disgusted as this goes on but doesn't back down.
Galli has returned somewhere in this, wet and with wet clothes clinging to her. She looks appalled but raises her voice. "Deflagging! The winner has to get a sash off the loser."
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Hesri's thumbs are relatively normal if discolored, but under the bandages her palms are small and hard with scar tissue, and she's got bony fingers that don't fully uncurl or clasp strongly. Guts has to do most of the holding, and whether that makes things more or less uncomfortable is up to him. She bears that discomfort, chalking it up to unease about how messed up her body is; lots of people don't like to touch her. Regardless she does give it a good effort, sweat breaking out across her forehead as she strains against his arm. A disbelieving smile plays along the good half of her mouth when she manages to stall past the ten second mark the second time.
She's had to assure watchers that she's fine more than once. Nerine has not been among those asking. The smaller girl gets in close and stares at each contest without blinking until they end, and is all of about a foot and a half away when Guts challenges her judgement. Straightening, she says, "You're going to eat those words. You and me, Mister Boy."
Nerine is about Vena's height but wiry. So, she's almost two feet shorter than Guts is and probably weighs as much as one of his arms. On the plus side her movements are precise and quick, purposeful in a way the ten year old's just aren't. There's a poised, birdlike aspect to her even when she's standing still.
Having sighed in relief and leaned back once she was released from this latest round, Hesri's eyes widen. "Oh dear. Nerine, lovey, are you... you're sure. Okay, we're going to need to set up some ground rules here. Ah..."
"No biting," someone suggests, and then it seems like everyone has an idea and they all say it at once. No knives. Nothing below the belt. No punching. No tit-punches comes up several times, and while a lot of anxious glances travel over Guts, at that one actually Nerine is the recipient of several dirty looks. No throat-grabs. She looks increasingly disgusted as this goes on but doesn't back down.
Galli has returned somewhere in this, wet and with wet clothes clinging to her. She looks appalled but raises her voice. "Deflagging! The winner has to get a sash off the loser."