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ishiah

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Sarah's surprised in how eager she is for these lessons.

The auction had brought multiple promising bids and she had made sure to distribute her chips amidst them all -- guns, self-defense, swords, other weapons -- because she knows all-too-well that allowing skills to rust will be dangerous. For all that her safety seems assured, she's too paranoid and too well-acquainted with disaster to know that it's gone forever. She'd had years of peace with Charley, but that had ended, as well.

It always ends, no matter how much you try and change fate.

She's even more glad that she's won something that her skills lack in. She can wield a knife with great expertise, but a sword is far different from that. She wants to be proficient in as many forms of fighting as she can manage. That's why today brings her a kind of joy that she hasn't felt since she learned to take apart a firearm as quick as she did.

She considers the sword in her hand carefully, hefting the weight up and down. "I'm going to have some very specific questions. They're just curiosities, though."

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While the tone of Casino Night was light, airy, meant to help people unwind and throw their chips in for games on a whim, Ishiah has absolutely no illusions about the fact that the offering he made to add to the auction board is one that will be taken seriously. Anyone who's been to the Hub, who works on or has close friends on the ITF, or even those who attended the last series of Council speeches, knows that Ishiah is someone who takes all aspects of his life seriously, going about all of his goals in complete earnest.

His interest in this particular student, however, is piqued even beyond that. Many people know that Sarah Baum is a close friend of Caliban's, and he means to find out exactly what he can about this woman, just to make sure that she does Caliban no harm.

"Ask away," he says calmly, his own sword at his hip.

Sarah watches him carefully, trying to suss out as much of an impression as possible. She has to be careful to balance Sarah Baum with the knowledge she's going to show today, but the safety of self-defense overrules that. "If I have an opponent taller than me. Not necessarily your height, but taller. Will I be able to angle the sword in such a way as to cause a harming blow, with the hilt or the sharp end, to the scalp?"

The question is quite pointed, and Ishiah's brows draw together suspiciously. He should have figured that any friend of Caliban's would have an interesting past of their own, especially one who saw fit to bid on his lessons, but even so, there's something about this question that's striking. She has a specific target. That much is clear. The only thing that Ishiah can hope is that she doesn't mean anyone specifically on the island itself— Ishiah's pretty sure that none of them deserve to be scalped.

"What portion of the scalp?" he asks to clarify.

Sarah tips her head forward, reaching up to circle the area that would allow access to the chip. They've become that strange substance lately that refuses reprogramming, but Sarah only cares about taking them out for good. "I've used knives before as a weapon, in self-defense only," she hurries to add, "but never a sword. I'm not sure what to expect."

Ishiah watches as Sarah gestures around her head, not especially fond of the image that it presents, of her having to practically lop off the top of a creature's skull (or even a person's, perhaps; Ishiah isn't entirely sure). But it's a move that he's familiar enough with, after all the years he's spent having to do battle against demons. Stepping to where he's set up a couple of poles erected to help Sarah practice her swings, Ishiah then reaches out for a fallen coconut, a quick stab with his sword opening up enough of a hole for the juice to pour out.

"It sounds like you're thinking of a very specific target. The most effective way of incapacitating a human, after all, isn't a blow to the skull," Ishiah remarks, a brow raising. "How tall is your target?"

"I have no idea," is her honest answer, adjusting her grip on the hilt of the sword as carefully as she can without causing callouses on her fingertips. "They've never been the same." Right there, she's already told more than she wants to, but it's unavoidable if she wants to learn the proper precautions to defending herself with a sword.

He's almost tempted to sheathe his sword at once, wants nothing more than to sit Sarah down and get the full range of details out from her. Ishiah needs it. He can't teach her in complete earnest or with a clear conscience unless he knows that her plans for the skills gained from these lessons are sound, morally. Even though it's true that the island is a difficult place to get away with the intent to hurt others, Ishiah also knows that underestimating in this respect could prove one of the most dangerous choices.

"What are they, exactly?" he asks.

She pauses and looks to Ishiah, her fingers tightening on the weapon as she debates giving a clear answer. It's dangerous if he knows, but it's dangerous if anyone knows. He can protect himself, is what is becoming clear, and he already knows Cal. "Machines," she says, curtly. "They're machines."

If he's to believe her (and for the most part, he sees no reason not to), then that alone removes morals from the picture. There's no more need for hesitation on his part, because machines are never living. They don't actually have lives of their own. Any choices that are programmed into machines, any learning that takes place there, are those specifically written down to the letter by another person, by a programmer. It's different than an organic birth or one that wanders readily away from the desire of the original creator.

But the confused look on Ishiah's face doesn't stem from that, as he raises his hand to his head, patting awkwardly.

"And someone decided to design a machine that has the same point of weakness as a human?" Ishiah asks, patting the top of his head.

"It's not necessarily the same point," she concedes, trying to imagine that when they were built, there was no weakness that they thought would be exploited. "You can destroy them in other ways, but the only way to completely take their consciousness offline is to attack the chip," she continues darkly, hating the fact that she's telling so much, but knowing that if she wants further lessons, she needs to do this.

"Because that's where the programming is stored," Ishiah concludes. It's not a difficult conclusion to arrive at, which makes him wonder further about the clear tension in Sarah's countenance. Is there more? Is there something that she isn't telling him, that might endanger the greater island population? Ishiah understands keeping certain facts close to oneself, and in fact better than most people on the island seem to, but in this, he wishes he could break right through her defenses. There's too much at risk, with her being Caliban's close friend.

Either way, he's not likely to extract all information out of her in a single conversation, so he turns to demonstrate a stance, his eyes fixed on a higher point on the trunk of a nearby tree. "How you grip the hilt will depend on whether you're aiming purely for damage, or for accuracy. It's difficult to manage both without much practice."

"What help will proficiency with knives give me?" she asks, as serious as a heart attack. There are people who would accuse Sarah of being joyless and when it comes to certain aspects of her life, she has to admit that she is. She would rather lose out on happiness a thousand times over if it meant she could protect someone from the threat of the future. "I'll take damage over accuracy. Damage slows them down."

"A knife can be lethal," Ishiah replies, matching her solemnity. It comes naturally to him, a weight in his words and a hard look in his eyes, looking for weaknesses wherever they may be, both in friends and in foe. Although he doesn't necessarily want for such a partnership to be formed, there's no doubt in Ishiah's mind now that if the two of them teamed up, their skills and drive combined would make a killing machine potentially more dangerous than any other. There are two types of strong people in the world: those with no fear, and those who feel nothing but. But often, it's the latter that makes the better choices.

"However, whether the use is prudent depends on your opponent. Depends on practical qualities. Size. Speed." He nods, as though to further his point. "If you're aiming for damage, you'll be able to gain the latter. A bigger blade may be more helpful than a smaller one."

There's a look of consternated worry on her face, as though she's not sure she likes that she has to learn this information, but is aware that it's going to help her live in the long run. "I don't have size as an advantage," she admits, seeing as the majority of the time, it's true. "Or strength. I have stubbornness and speed."

Pressing his lips together in thought, Ishiah slowly walks towards his weapons chest, a rough-looking box that appears crudely made, but at the least is secure against would-be thieves. Looking inside, he picks up the various swords and blades that the island has seen fit to gift him with (practically a dozen different types), before picking up one of the two Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knives he has and tossing it, still sheathed, in her general direction.

"Perhaps a sword isn't your best option, then," he says quietly. "It may be a large dagger. A sword's size and weight may make it unwieldy for someone who would be better off quickly zooming in on a target. If it's immediate training you want, we can start with this, and work up to swords later for range."

She's momentarily surprised by the kindness and the trust given to her, but she reminds herself that here, not everyone is an enemy. Here, there are known substances and she can assess threats as they come. For the most part, there are few threats.

There are human elements that she's been shying away from and at some point, she needs to ask. "So, you know Cal," she finally says, her eyes on the knife after she catches it easily in one hand.

"As much as anyone on the island can claim to, yes," Ishiah replies with a nod, watching her closely. Arming an enemy with a blade is one thing, but offering too much information about a friend is quite enough. While Ishiah is pretty certain that Sarah isn't an enemy and doesn't mean Caliban any harm, he can't help but feel as though he needs to be careful regardless. Some people, he's found over the years, are particularly good about hiding their intent. And no matter how much he wants to relax on Tabula Rasa, the fact is that if anyone from their world arrives on the island, chances are that person will be out for Caliban's head.

(Ishiah can't even blame them for taking that stance. The Auphe are, indeed, a species everyone ought want extinct.)

"And I imagine a question is to follow that remark."

"I'm not really sure yet," she admits, wanting to be honest -- or as honest as she'll ever permit herself to be. "Cal seems to bring on a million questions and refute them, at the same time." In some ways, she's aware that she's the same and if he hadn't found her with the exoskeleton, he wouldn't have known. "How do I get him to stop doing something?" is the question she finally settles on. It's the easiest question to get an answer to.

Especially when there are questions that she's yet to even ask herself.

Edited 2011-07-29 01:55 (UTC)

Ishiah huffs the barest of a laugh, shaking his head upon knowing (or at least suspecting) what type of behaviors have probably led Sarah to ask this question. If there's one thing that Caliban does which surely rivals every bit of Ishiah's own ability, it's that of digging his heels into the ground. Both of them are the unyielding type, even if with respect to different areas.

"I'm afraid that the answer to your question depends," he begins, tilting his head almost as though in surrender. "What is it that you are trying to stop him from doing? There are some areas in which I would have you know that he is unlikely to yield regardless of what you do."

She clenches her fingers around the weapon a little tighter, pressing her lips together. She doesn't want to say this out loud, but she's willing to if it brings her closer to a possible solution. "How do I make him stop forcibly carrying me when he gets it in his head that I can't walk."

"I'm not the best with metaphors," Ishiah replies plainly, his lips pressed together in a firm line— while he doesn't blame Sarah for what seems, to him, like an attempt to hide the real matter at hand, he also doesn't have the time to waste throwing guesses in every which direction. "As I can see that you're perfectly capable of walking right now, I have to either assume that you're talking about a previous incident in which he tried to help you through mobility issues, or that you're trying to refer to something else entirely. If it's the latter, I'd much rather not dance around the topic."

"No, it's...it was neither. It has been neither," she says, sighing as she realizes that she shouldn't have brought it up at all. "He gets it in his head that I can't walk or won't walk somewhere and he picks me up and takes me there because he thinks he knows best," she goes on, a bit archly. "How do I make him listen to me?"

It's not difficult to see the exasperation in Sarah's tone, Ishiah feeling as though he's certainly felt along the same lines many times in the past few years. But there's just nothing to be done. There are ways in which any of them will end up digging their heels deep into the earth, and Ishiah's not sure that it's honestly any of his business to try to go about changing that. So, he shrugs lightly, his expression impassive, although his eyes are still sharp and observant, seeking every fleck of color in hers out, trying to read for the words between the lines.

"You don't," he replies frankly. "If you've asked repeatedly and if it's a perfectly reasonable request, yet he still shows resistance, you'd only find luck asking Niko or Robin for help. Neither is currently on the island."

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