You're Going to be a Pain (Request to Join; Duke & Duchess - E)

Bentley tugged at his bandages, loosening and tightening them again. "We're going to have to get a general feel for each other soon. I don't much like the idea of clubbing myself with a weight because I shirked on practice."

"I can shift it back or retract it," Marc said, laughing a bit, though he shifted the weight and spun it lazily as if to respond. "To the training grounds then?"

Bentley grinned, tugging the straps of his bag up. "Let's go kick some ass," he yelled, flushing again when he remembered they were still just outside the office.

Marc offered a smirk and a light chuckle, shaking his head as he returned his arm to normal. "You know they've heard worse, right?" Even still, he nodded towards the front courtyard, as it was easier to navigate the academy grounds than the interior itself.

"I know they have," Bentley admitted, his face reddening. "I know for a fact they've heard worse from me." He caught himself before an explanation was needed, opting to begin their walk towards the training grounds.

A briw raised as he walked, following along. "Have they?"

Bentley shrugged, eyes following his stuttered footsteps as they walked. "It seems like there is something to do every day," he said simply. "From the outside in, it probably seems like I'm crazy. I certainly feel crazy. But what is life if I live it in the gray? I like living with a little...flair." He grinned, shaking his hair out of his eyes again. "It's a good excuse, anyways."

A chuckle followed as he walked along, shaking his head; he had, afterall, already dubbed the meister "crackpot." Still, it seemed like this was something that the man wanted to keep locked within an embaressed secret and this, at least, Marc could allow him.

"I'll admit, I don't know much as to what the training grounds encompass," Bentley said with a near-audible shrug to his tone. "I have a good idea of where I'm at as a meister, but it obviously isn't a simple weapon/wielder relationship."

"If you can think of it," Marc said, stepping through the gate that marked off the area. "You can find it, here." Archery targets lined the far treeline to their left, with boot camp style obstacle courses encompassing a large chunk of the right side a trail ran around the circumference of the entire field, even behind the targets, acting as a sort of student-made track for those who apparently wished to try their hand at dodging as well as cardio. Those were what stood out the most, aside from the giant pole by the obstacle course that was almost reminiscent of that scene from Mulan.

Bentley mulled over the options, eyes scanning the training grounds. "My pragmatic side sa-yes, I have a pragmatic side, you ass! My pragmatic side says we should do something related to resonance training and weapons wielding...but my masochism wants to see if I can run the track without coming out of it as a pin cushion."

"I do not see how these two sides coexist." The weapon admitted, raising a brow, before smirking a bit, holding a hand out. "Why not both?"

Bentley offered a crooked grin in return. "You know, my mother always said it's not safe to run with knives. I can only imagine what she'd have said about a kusarigama."

Marc offered him a shrug, shifting, allowing the chain to fall into his new meister's hand. A glint of heat traveled through Bentley's hand for a brief moment before settling, the red glow from the weapon transformation fading in the same instant. His image appeared in the shine of the blade, "I mean, I can dull the sharpness, but I think that would be going far too easy on you."

"Relax, allstar. I shave with blades sharper than yours." He grimaced for a moment, remembering that he had just cut himself with that exact razor this morning. "Scratch that. Let's just see what I can manage, yeah?"

Marc laughed, "I doubt it," was all he said, relaxing in the meister's hands even as he nodded towards the trail. "You can start wherever. Just be aware of the other students. Not everyone pays attention."

"Just give me a moment," Bentley said quietly, his voice lowered to a whisper. "I just need to get a feel for you, as odd as that sounds coming from me." He relaxed, letting the chain slide over his fingers as his right hand slowly turned the blade over and again, admiring the mottled shadows that shone along the blade. The metal radiated a faint heat, a warmth given by the life Marc imparted into the weapon form. More so, he allowed the sensation of resonance to wash over him in slow waves, a neural tide that was drawing him in. He shook the tingles from him, coiling the chain in his left hand. "Let's see what we can do."

Marc's image flickered like a candle before retracting from the image itself, and a sort of calm seemed to wash over him as he found himself returning and amplifying the soul energy imparted to him. A faint small could be heard in his voice when it returned, though no word escaped him outside of, "Right."

Bentley settled into his usual sprinter's stance, slinging the chain over his shoulder so as to not impede his arms. Without warning, he kicked off, eyes set intently on the trail before them. As soon as his feet hit the dirt, he slid into a lowered stance, eyes looking right towards the rows of archers lining up for their shots.

The tossing alone seemed to be enough for Marc to catch on to the intent, and he lengthened the chain, wrapping around his meister's form easily and carefully. his blade slide into one of the chains, and he let his image appear, taking in all, calculating as he did so.

Eyes scanned over the archers with meticulous caution, taking in the timing and angles of their draws. A distant twang sent Bentley sliding across the dirt as the first arrow whizzed overhead. A second shot would have caught him square in the shoulder had it not hit the target between them with a resounding thunk.

Marc's attention stretched out where Bentley's did not, a keen observation effectively notifying them of everything around them. Almost free flowing, his blade began to loosen from the chain that held it, clearly prepared to strike out should an arrow miss its mark.

The fact that Marc's awareness supplemented his own was a boon Bentley couldn't appreciate enough. Even two pairs of eyes had their limits, however, and that slight in the armor came when Bentley spotted the arrow flitting towards their path. Cursing, he wheeled to face it head on. Jesus, this better work. With a snarl, he snapped his wrist in a tight circle, whipping the sickle so quickly that the arrow appeared to deflect off of a blurred steel orb. With a faint tfft, the broken shaft fell to the dirt.

The smirk could be heard in the mere click of Marc's tongue against his ethereal teeth, a slight, proud chuckle resounding. And I'm the all-star? He asked, speaking to him through the telepathic method afforded to partners.

It was a risky move. Theoretically, it would work without a hitch. Bentley had settled back into a steady sprint, darting through an increasingly dense swarm of arrows. In terms of application, I'd give myself an A-, he intoned, glancing at a thin shimmer of blood where the arrowhead had grazed him after the initial ricochet.