That does sound like the kind of thing he'd do, make everyone learn his favorite sword just in case they have a sudden specialist sword need. Sounds like the kind of thing the Necrolord Prime would do, anyway, and John doesn't really feel like untangling that right now. He eats his chicken and listens, head tipped to her, quiet and intent.
"Alright." He does not actually care whether she can use a rapier. John needs— it's hard to articulate. He does not need an expert defender, a perfect warrior, a Camilla-sharp guard dog. He needs a bulwark against the bullshit of this place. He needs an anchor. He needs the certainty of Annabel's footsteps at his side, the balm of someone else's breathing, a gap filled in. He needs what his disciples had: an agreement not to go it alone.
"Finish your lunch," he advises, and punctuates it with a forkful of chicken. "Then we'll see what you can do."
no subject
"Alright." He does not actually care whether she can use a rapier. John needs— it's hard to articulate. He does not need an expert defender, a perfect warrior, a Camilla-sharp guard dog. He needs a bulwark against the bullshit of this place. He needs an anchor. He needs the certainty of Annabel's footsteps at his side, the balm of someone else's breathing, a gap filled in. He needs what his disciples had: an agreement not to go it alone.
"Finish your lunch," he advises, and punctuates it with a forkful of chicken. "Then we'll see what you can do."