Development and Practice

[Delyla]

In the center of the arena, a small female sits quietly. Hands in her lap she listens. Tiny minute vibrations in the ground tremor along her skin. Focusing carefuly, she works on figuring out the size and source. A weak wave of energy Wells inside, her brows furrow in concentration. She releases the wave, and another. Giving her the start of a picture of her surroundings.

After a time she finally moves. Standing she sighs softly, a headache forming. "Hmm. Interesting .." she says with a smile. Bouncing a few times she giggles excitedly. Wanting to practice more when her headache subsidies.

A few hours later she is back at it. Using the tiny vibrations to paint a picture of her surroundings. Using the weak waves, and slowly strengthening them. Using them to make fuzzy images of where she is. Focusing she works at it...creating through sound , pictures.

[Asher]

Asher crept along the halls and the top rows of the arena. The building gave him an ancient feeling of home, but it was long since past those times, and the modern recreation of this arena was much different in style than it was back in Rome. His coat swayed behind him, hardly making a flutter or change in the wind. He moved slowly toward the arena's center, where Delyla had been meditating. He cocked his head a little and eyes moved along the rafters.

Dressed in his work outfit and geared up for any jobs that would come along, he pulled back from his approach and instead took to silently climbing along the steel support frames, until he hung upside down directly over Delyla. With knees bent over the frames to hold him, he looped a wire-thin titanium line along the frame and propelled himself downward slowly. Within minutes, he hung several feet over Delyla's head, and watched more closely at what she was practicing.

[Delyla]

Her face one of concentration, she focuses. Expanding her mind slowly. Deep in meditation, she doesn't pick up on Asher. Standing again she moves her feet around in the mutable ends of the arena floor. Using the waves of energy the motions create she bounces the vibrations to manipulate them into images. Moving slowly she continues to hone in on the vibrations around her. Her headache returning she opens her eyes to rub them. "Mmm, a break sounds nice."

[Asher]

Asher blinked, and moved a moment, rippling within the air. He slipped a flask from his pocket, one the size of a small canteen, though not the one he would protect dearly. That particular canteen was kept hidden, kept secret and safe. But the one he handled lightly now was extended outward precisely one foot and six inches from his chest, before being dropped to the ground with a dull thud. The water inside sloshed noisily, creating enough 'static' for himself to climb back up the wire. He did so, as one would when doing sit ups, using his stomach to lure his torso back toward the wire. Once fingers had secured themselves and wrapped into the slack, he curled a boot around inside the wire to draw it up as he ascended back into the rafters.

[Delyla]

Her ears twitch, and she freezes. The subtle sound of fabric touches her ears. Raising her head she turns, sliding her feet through the sands. "Who is there?" She says, then jumps when the flask hits the ground. Ringing vibrations through the ground she walks to it, and picks it up. Deft fingers explore it, as she tilts her head up. the tension of wire, subtle even to her sensitive ears. Though it was there none the less. "Who is here?" She says, holding the flask.

[Asher]

By this time, Asher could guess how she was able to pinpoint the location of objects and people. From his back, he slipped a blade about the size of a machete from a sheath along his back, upside down for easier access. Instead of posing any sort of threat to the woman, he slung the blade and beat the flat side against an Iron beam, high above her. Even at the distance between them, she might've seen his face, and left his hood to block most of the image. He smacked the flat of the blade several times, before stopping on the eighth, only an inch from the beam. He twirled the blade, and sheathed it back into the holster without so much as a hitch. He'd been doing it for centuries, practiced, skilled, and honed. The man looked down at Delyla, and pulled a throwing knife, tapping its point down on the beam. He was messaging her in Morse Code. 'Drink. Drink. Drink. Drink. Drink.' was all he was sending.

[Delyla]

Blinking she backs up a few steps from where she had been standing. The vibrations blinding her a little. When it stops she blinks dull black eyes. The second message perplexing her a little. Thumbing the flask she bites her lip a little.. "I, do not understand.."