Jenny pushes back a strand of hair that's been sticking to her face and strikes, parries, strikes. If anyone saw her, a dark-haired girl in breeches and a tight-buttoned vest, dancing a slow-slow-quick bladed waltz, partnered by a lizard-woman-- she doesn't know what they'd think, and she doesn't know what they'd be more surprised by.
Not Vastra's green skin, she thinks, or the tiny gemstone scales that dust her hands. No, it would be her, Jenny, her smooth-silk movements, her ease with the blade. Not that she's anywhere near as good as Vastra, who parries her sword with ease. Not that she has her mistress's confidence, or sardonic eye. She's handicapped by her race, her birth, her very body, and she knows it.
But she's growing. She's learning. And Vastra, she thinks, is proud.
lessons
Jenny pushes back a strand of hair that's been sticking to her face and strikes, parries, strikes. If anyone saw her, a dark-haired girl in breeches and a tight-buttoned vest, dancing a slow-slow-quick bladed waltz, partnered by a lizard-woman-- she doesn't know what they'd think, and she doesn't know what they'd be more surprised by.
Not Vastra's green skin, she thinks, or the tiny gemstone scales that dust her hands. No, it would be her, Jenny, her smooth-silk movements, her ease with the blade. Not that she's anywhere near as good as Vastra, who parries her sword with ease. Not that she has her mistress's confidence, or sardonic eye. She's handicapped by her race, her birth, her very body, and she knows it.
But she's growing. She's learning. And Vastra, she thinks, is proud.
"Good," Vastra says, and smiles. "Again."