Central Plains

Balo stares for a moment trying to figure out when the man got those.

He shrugs and smiles, this will be fun he thinks

"Excellent."

Central Plains

Fate tosses Balo one of the weapons.

"An axe can chop trees, a spear and bow can hunt, a hammer can create. These are all weapons used to kill other men, but that is not their only use. The only purpose of a sword is to harm others. Find beauty in the fact that your weapon is made solely for the intent of taking lives. This is a privilege not to be taken for granted."

He walks clear of obstructions. "Attack me."

Central Plains

Balo chuckles and then sprints at fate with his blade held back, upon entering range he thrusts toward him with the point.

Daven's Quarry
"Good thinking. We won't make that same mistake." Terme replies. He examines the pair's clothing and equipment, deeming it unlikely to make off as anything but nobility. "We don't want to alert him that we're on his trail, so let's play coy." Terme says to him in a low tone. "And if anyone asks, we're celebrating your engagement."

Central Plains

With a flick of his wrist, Fate deflects the thrust and sends Balo's practice sword spinning away.

"Be observant and think about your attacks. Look for openings; wait for them if you must. You will never stand as a fighter with a dull mind. Retrieve your weapon."

Daven's Quarry

"Very well. We should find an inn."

Central Plains

"It's been a while since I've touched a sword."

Balo quickly retrieves his sword.

He comes back and gets into an odd stance, which is right leg lead with his blade pointed to the ground.

Daven's Quarry
"Agreed. You can take the lead." Terme says.

Central Plains

"Focus. Feed all of your emotion into your goal."

He dashes forward, going for a slash from the right.

Daven's Quarry

"Very well."

Central Plains

Balo focuses a little bit and deflects the slash and shoulder checks the man.

Daven's Quarry

Bryce wakes to a pained inhalation. His scent is reminiscent of the inside of a bottle of whiskey and his clothes torn and red.

He starts cleaning himself. He changes his clothes and washes off the booze.

Wearing full regalia, save for his cape and badge, Bryce staggers out of his room and to Serah's.
"It's me"
He states before entering. He steps over blood he assumes is his own.
"I think I owe you an expl-"
The lack of Serah on her bed deeply disturbs him. His eyes creep over his shoulder and he sees a sight he should never have had to. Bryce doesn't know how to react. He rushes to her side and kneels. Bryce's eyes don't know where to look, and his hands don't know where to go.
"Serah!"
He shouts. No response. Bryce repeats, and the silence returns. The silence is more painful than the gash on his chest or the folded ribs.

Bryce scoops Serah into his arms. She is so beautiful but so cold. Serah's fire was doused and Bryce shivers in its absence. Bryce wishes so badly that she would wake up. That she would look at herself and him and tell him to put her down, and to never do that again without her permission. That then he would sit and she would rest, and they would talk once again. He intended to tell her that he was attacked the inn across town and that he couldn't stay any longer.

But none of that would ever happen. Instead Bryce slowly walks to Serah's bed while the blood on her stomach pours onto his stomach.

Bryce lays her on the bed and puts a pillow behind her head. He walks around her bed to her right side and takes her hand. Bryce interlaces his fingers with hers as he pleas for her to wake.
"Serah this isn't funny. Open your eyes, Serah. I know you're a light sleeper. Come on, you've got your satisfaction enough."
He deadpans with an accent of frustration.

After a few moments, he reaches for her. Bryce wipes a strand of her dirty golden hair from her face. The softest material he's ever felt. He puts his hand on her cold, pale cheek. It lowers to her neck. Bryce forces his unsteady jaw into an underbite. He looks at the ceiling as two of his fingers press against Serah's neck. He waits. His heartbeat races as hers continues to rest. He waits some more. Some cynical chuckles escape Bryce as he knows he's waited too long. He releases his hand from hers and it hangs from the edge of the bed.

Bryce pulls Serah's sheet over her body, and after some hesitation, over her face. He paces the room, trying to explain to himself how and why this happened. He runs a hand through his short brown hair and grips a fistful at the top of his head. His eyes are blank and they stare at the wall that separated him from Serah. The answers come easily.

How?
It was him.

Why?
Also him.

He should have been stronger. If Serah can cut her wound wider and deeper with a her knife he could have bandaged himself. He is weak and Serah is- was, rather, strong. He is twine and she was rope.
He didn't have to go in her room. Maybe he could have talked to the captain. But he wanted to see her, to warm his cold self by her fire.
"Pain. Lots of pain."
He hopes that hers was over quickly. His has only begun.
His voice isn't breaking as much as it is already broken.

Bryce drops into the chair he would talk to Serah in. He slouches with his hand over his eyes. He musters as much composure left in his arrogant ass heart and shouts:

"Captain!"