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The room Ray opens is one that's probably rather larger than two men need for any form of combat practice. It's quite bare, in fact. The walls are painted, but not particularly paneled, and the lighting is recessed into the ceiling rather than out in the open. There is no window, either. The floor appears to be either hardwood or an excellent imitation thereof, fit for any high school gym.

"I rented this room for a ball sport I'm going to be organizing just as soon as I can get a few practices in myself, originally," Ray says. "It involves flashing balls in the dark and two teams. No idea how that's going to turn out, but since I've already got it set aside-"

He gestures to one side of the room, where he's stacked the various pieces of equipment as neatly as he can.

"Here, I think, I have to defer to your superior experience and understanding. Because there's no way I can claim to have a clue about what comes next."

Comments

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"Yeah, if that's how it manifested for you," Ray says. "It might possibly be excitement, but that's usually a little more recognizable, because of all the adrenaline involved. Fun is one of the enjoyable emotions. Sorta grew out of the evolutionary need to keep our ancestors interested in doing things that might prove good for them or their offspring, somewhere down the line."

He smiles wryly. "Like I said, I'm new with the swords. But I've spent two-plus years now fighting ghosts in my homeworld, and they come at you from every possible angle. The damn things can phase through walls or the floor or the ceiling, so you can't afford to think in the Cartesian plane. Granted. most of that is done with beam weapons- how do your people put out fires, anyway? Do you still use fire hoses? The technology my colleagues and I use is rather like a firehose full of water in terms of its range and control, but it spews high-energy subatomic particles instead. I'll have to show you."

"And yeah-" Ray transfers the sword to his other hand, and flexes his fingers. "I'm up for it. Show me what you've got."

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Preston knows of fire, however he has never heard of one breaking out in his lifetime.

"...with the advent of prosium it also cut down on the need for firemen." Preston says, studying the sword handle, "In that, structures were better maintained due to increased efficency." a pause, "Obviously arson is no longer an issue."

Preston studies the handle, "The starting move to Iaido, the very life of this particular art is nuitsuke." He places the sword back in his hands and grips the handle firmly, "The very drawing of the blade."

In a quick motion preston draws the sword out of his hand, while at the same time moving the opposite hand back behind him as if gripped around a sheathe or saya.

"The entire sword from it's blade to it's saya can be used as a total weapon." Preston says calmly, "The trick is to be concious of where both of your hands are. To balance their movements."

A quizzical look, "Do you follow me?"

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Ray nodded. "Okay. I'm guessing lightning strikes aren't really a problem either, then? Just a thought. There's not much else to compare the experience to."

One of these days he's going to make the well-meaning, great and terrible mistake of inviting Preston to see his New York City. Talk about sending a guy screaming back to his own universe... anyway.

He's silent as he watches, eyes narrowed a little in concentration. Eventually, he nods. "I think I do," he says. "If we're still looking at the 'one with the sword' thing, then we're dealing in proprioception here as much as conscious control and motion. You have to be aware of where the hands are going because you're doing something that's essentially extending yourself in a single strike."

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Preston nods, "Exactly."

He repeats the move again for Ray's benefit, "That, and should an opponent attempt a strike from either of your sides the hand, and the saya in the hand will act as a balance."

Preston nods to Ray, "Attempt to strike me."

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If Ray were just a fraction geekier he would be thinking Stop trying to hit me and HIT ME, but he's a little too old school for that. His 'evil computer programs control the world and try to smoosh our hero' movie was TRON.

Do or do not- there is no try works much better under the circumstances anyway.

The wooden hilt has to be held just so, just there, and the grip has to be arranged under his fingers just like that, and it's just like the 'sabre in that you only get one chance to get it right.

He strikes out with his own blade. He'll probably be swatted away like a fly. But that's not anywhere near his thoughts right now.

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Preston doesn't need to see the sword. He twists to the left side and blanaces on the balls of his feet. With a flick of the wrist hebrings his own blade to meet ray's with a loud crack. Take careful note of his hand, held behind him, directly behind him, keeping his balance and firmly holding onto the circular shape-as if once again holding a sheathe.

The movement however causes his wrist to spasm-but he, Grammaton Cleric's don't show pain.

"Do you see?" Preston says, "The sheathe is kept behind the body to balance your movements."

He drops his own Bokken to the side, "Now, let me see you draw it, and we'll repeat the excercise."

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"Aaah! Handshock!" Ray exclaims involuntarily- but he nods. He has no reason to avoid showing pain, so he shakes out his left hand for several moments before taking up the ready posture.

Again, do or do not. But this, at least, he thinks he can do- No. No thinking. Thinking would be bad. Like, giant marshmallow man of doom, bad.

Close eyes, breathe, open eyes, and don't even stop to wonder at the fact that for possibly the first time in ever, the mind is genuinely blank and not merely focused on another image. The processing power is needed elsewhere: to move properly.

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Preston decides attacking from the left, despite his lack of skill in that direction would be best, so once again he takes the ready position with the bokken, draws back and-

Preston grimaces at the pain in his wrist before delivering a sidestroke in an almost half twirl.

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He sees it coming. And it's really hardly anything to change course, just so, and counter the incoming blade with a downward block like he's done against Master Qui-Gon's blade.

It'll hurt like hell shortly but right now he's not noticing that.

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Both swords connect and the movement throws preston off balance, to the cleric's surprise, chagrin, and amusement. Acting purely on instinct he brings his opposite hand around in a full body spin and empty air cupped in a hand connects with-
Nothing.

so much for practicing without shriken.

He looks at Ray and snorts, a grin on his face, "I'm used to practicing with unsharpened Shuriken but...well..."

He lowers both hands and lets the Bokken hang at his side, "I suppose the biggest difference between Iaido and other sword styles is that it uses the entire sword as a weapon. sword, saya, or-

He waves his left hand at Ray, "Another sword, or an opponent's weapon. Although for now let's just assume that your secondary weapon is a sheathe alright?"
He rubs his wrist, holding the sword in between his fingers, "...These Jedi. The...lightsaber is their primary weapon?"

Something's just occurred to Preston, a minor point really but still..

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Ray nods. "Fair enough. If I had a real sword it would have to be sheathed anyway- no chance of carrying something like that around without one, so I might as well get used to using it. And yeah, it is. They train in other weapons as well, but the 'sabre is almost exclusively associated with the Jedi and their opposite numbers, the Sith, which are basically what happens if Jedi allow themselves to fall into rage and anger and hate at the expense of other people."

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Preston nods to himself for a moment.

"I don't know the differences between their world and mine but..."
He studies the bokken in his hands, then looks back at Ray.

"I was taught, and I wish to impart to you that the knowledge and use of a sword was always a last resort." Preston bit his lip, thinking about this, "These people...if they support the same ideals that you support-freedom and justice..."

The rest of preston's sentence comes out, in a flurry and hail of words, "What I mean to say is that no situation should ever esculate to the point where swords are needed. There are always other options available. If not weaponwise then with negotiations and..."

He looks to Ray, wondering if his point is getting across, "I guess the message here is that using your weapon, your sabre or your katana...is like unleashing the final part of ourself. Using your sword should be..."
He looks at his hands, " Like ...unleashing your soul."

He does not bother to explain that since in Liberia they were required to not have souls they rarely unleashed them. The use of the sword was only to develop discipline for the Gun Kata.

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"It's not as different as all that," Ray says quietly. "It's... it isn't something they do lightly. I mean, practice is one thing, demonstrations are one thing, but Jedi are supposed to be peacemakers and negotiators as much as anything else. They're supposed to be guardians, not aggressors- not that they haven't screwed up in the past, everyone does, but that's how it's supposed to be-"

He falters. "Sorry. Not doing so well with the words here. This is why Peter does most of our PR work. What I'm trying to say is that Master Qui-Gon says violence is only supposed to be used when absolutely necessary."

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Preston's curious, "They...they don't believe in using force?"

Confusion. Not the best idea for a cleric, although Preston's definately got it in his head to meet one of these Jedi now.

"I thought-"
Digest it Preston. Preston's working through it, and the workings of the gears are plainly evident on his face.

"A group of people who keep order in the universe without using force and..."
He wonders, a small part of him, if that's what the Clerics were initially intended for-but discards it immeaditely.
We were meant to supress people

After such a long moment of introspection he turns back to Ray, "They sound wise." He nods, "Very wise. Your Master Qui-Gon is absolutely correct. Violence only when absolutely nessescary..."
or if ordered to..
" Would you like to repeat the move again?"

He looks almost desperate.

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"They're not pacifists," Ray says. "And as far as warfare goes the Jedi can be extremely scary. Some of them make incredible generals- Ben Kenobi, for example. But they're not supposed to turn to violence except at need. There was an apprentice who went looking for one of the greatest Jedi masters in the Order's history- he found the master but didn't recognize him, and said he was looking for a great warrior. The master laughed at him and told him wars didn't make anyone great-"

It'll take him a while to remember the rest of Yoda's lines. In the meantime he nods. "Yeah. Yeah, that would be good."

He might not be the sharpest marble in the deck when it comes to body language, but even he can see an incipient crack coming.

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Preston, in an urgent need to banish the thought that someone can be a warrior and not be absolute evil brings the blade up in front of him again, blade pointed downward, spinning-in the hope of catching Ray offguard.

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Ray... well. Ray isn't a soldier, or a cop, or a fighter per se. But he has two things going for him:

One, ghosts have a nasty habit of materializing out of nowhere and going "BOOGA!".

And two, he lives in New York City. Sudden moves, even half-perceived ones, are grounds for adrenaline dumps right away now.

The sword flashes out and up. There's no way he'll catch Preston's downstroke with the 'sharp' edge, but by the looks of things he should be able to block with some part of the weapon.

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Preston's impressed. Ray's stroke improved quickly. And blade meets blade-or at least the dull side of preston's blade as he twists to the side to avoid a sharper stroke.

"Excellent."
Preston ducks and sends another stroke at Ray' this time at his torso.

Pure sparring, pure sport.

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Ray's stroke improved because there wasn't any thought in it. It's one of the problems he's had with Jedi meditation. He's infamous for his inability to simply clear his mind by sitting. When there's a task at hand, his empty-mind improves. And when perceived survival is at stake- well, you get what you saw just now.

Fortunately, he's got a better feel for how this is supposed to work now. It's got the muscle memory of Master Qui-Gon's dueling instruction behind it, and that means he knows where the blade has to go to catch Preston's. The motion is only somewhat improved in terms of pure grace, but he's got follow-through this time, pushing back into the strike to throw his opponent's motion upward and slap at the forearm before disengaging.

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Preston's blade shudders and Preston twists off in suprise, hen his attentions shifts to intense focus and he lays in a second stroke, this one at Ray's ribs, pure instinct. When being attacked attack back. He's forgotten this is supposed to be just a practice.

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That one hits. Ray lets out a sharp oof! noise and skitters backward, a swift slip-step that leaves his feet as far apart as they were before. He brings the sword up in front of him, briefly grateful that this isn't 'sabre combat- but that thought is stifled by another one, one that has him smiling. He's starting to understand what the deal is with all those guys in the kung fu movies and the 'bring it on' crook-finger gesture they make.

Not that he does that now, of course. His right arm's currently behind him. Balance, and all that.