Ethan was blissfully unaware of the innuendo, perhaps because his mind simply didn't work that way, or perhaps because his priestly ways led him to think of other things as 'business'. He watched the two of them go with a small sigh, quelling his frustration with more layers of rationality. There was no point in not letting them go do whatever it was they wanted to do. He could find something to do in the meanwhile--Yevon knew that they would need supplies for the road ahead, and supplies meant gil. An odd job here or there, or even clearing out any local fiends could be profitable.<br/><br/>His train of thought was interrupted by Harris's comment, and he looked over at the taller woman with a vague squint. "What on earth are you talking about?" What was Chiron going to have to figure out? He gave a small shrug and adjusted the sash that held his weapon across his back, tugging it further up onto his shoulder. "Nevermind them, Harris. We should find lodging for the night. We're going to need to stay at least until morning and I don't fancy sleeping in the jungle overmuch." He turned to lead the way down the boardwalk, but glanced back at her as he went. He knew little of the blitzer, after all. Maybe she didn't know how to play nice, but he wanted some sort of measure of her regardless. "So, where do you come from? I'd guess Luca, but I know better than to assume. Tell me a bit about yourself--what do you do, why are you here, why did you volunteer to become my Guardian? Of all of us, you're the most mysterious by far."<br/><br/><hr class="bbc-hr"/><br/>The two of them left O'aka XXII behind, counting each coin out and muttering about shysters wearing lambswool. Chiron was profoundly confused by what had transpired. Amal had gone from being meek and shy and soft-spoken to authoritative and decisive in a matter of seconds. His confusion was soon replaced by excitement, however; whatever had triggered that sudden burst of confidence was the key. He was sure of it. If Amal were to undertake this journey with them, she would need to find a way to tap into that at will. He set the knowledge aside for the time being, though, and instead took the daggers from her to inspect them.<br/><br/>"Fine blades," he said approvingly, inspecting the edges and balancing each on his fingers. He spun them in his hands, the steel flashing in the sunlight as they flipped across his palms and fingers. "Interesting you should pick them. The<i>thaumatourgos</i>of my homeland, they use similar weapons. Oft they have... what is word...<i>pétres</i>, ah... stones! Yes, stones of shimmer, set into pommel. To store magicks." He handed them back to her, satisfied with her decision. He led her toward land, then turned down a short gangway onto the sandy beach. There he removed Atilla and thrust it, scabbard and all, into the sand, then began to stretch his legs and arms, bouncing from side to side as he limbered up.<br/><br/>"The first<i>dogma</i>you must know to make war; to stretch is to live!" He planted his feet wide and stretched his arms skyward, bending his back as he curled backward. He bent forward next, arms splaying wide to touch his toes, then he bounced upright and kicked the sand out of his sandals. "The stiff fighter is the dead fighter. So stretch, Amal! Each limb, make as water, yes?" He worked with her energetically, showing her how to move and flex her limbs to prepare for the exercise ahead. Little did he know that returning sweaty and flushed would only further Harris' mistaken convictions.<br/><br/>Once he had shown her how to flex, he got into the basic combat training. He showed her different ways to hold the knives, and explained that the black mages of his country preferred a half-reverse stance; one knife held normally, and the other in reverse. He had encountered fighters who held both in reverse, though, in a land he called Doma that lay far to the east. Of course, there was no need to focus on any one style, so long as she knew how to handle the knives to her comfort. He got to work teaching her how to swing and stab, how to plant her feet but not hard enough to be immovable. He made as much use of their time as he could, and at the end he plopped down into the sand, sighing deeply as he rested his hands on his folded knees.<br/><br/>"The final<i>dogma</i>is peace," he said quietly. "Peace within, and peace without. Peace for all. Peace in war and in... well, peace." He took another deep breath and looked out over the sea. "Find peace, Amal. Hold it in your heart. It is the key to all things." He slapped his knees and stood again, brushing sand off his legs. "We had best return. E'tan waits."