She grips tighter to his arm when the door opens. Not out of fear, but anticipation, like the first time rode a horse, the first time she discovered that a blade could make a man beautiful. She gasps in that anticipation, holding fast to him as they step out and everything changes.
The sight of the planets, the way her feet seem to grip nothing and yet she stays against him - she's disappearing.
"There's no up or down, in space. Only momentum. It's a bit like swimming, but moreso. Floating, more than flying, because you don't have to keep yourself up."
He doesn't let go, though, of her or of the handhold, letting her adjust to the view and the weightless sensation of it before anything else.
Justine, grateful and overwhelmed, rubs her face with one hand, almost like she might cry. Instead, she focuses on his words. Momentum, he says, and she suddenly sees herself drifting off into nothing.
The feeling isn't as terrifying as she feels it should be.
She rights herself with a breath and reaches out, around him, for a handhold to take herself.
"Normally, when you walk, you are pushing off the ground, but constantly being pushed back down. In null-g, you can push off from anything, and then you keep going until you get to something that stops you. The grey elements are fully stationary, but everything else will move a little if you collide with it."
He flips himself around easily, sets his feet against the side of the stairs at an odd angle, knees folded up.
"You want to orient the lines of your body to whatever you're aiming at. Shoulders, hips, legs. Then -"
He kicks out gently, soaring in a clear, straight line to the nearest grey shape, a kind of beveled menger cube the size of a large car, and grabs it before colliding face first, executing a little jackknife to bring himself sideways against it so he can look back at her.
She watches, sharp and attentive, drawing her skirt up around her waist, revealing the tight blue trousers underneath. She gathers fabric in a bunch with one hand and positions her feet like he did.
She angles herself a little, hesitates to adjust, then pushes off with a laugh, a yelp, almost forgetting to grab into the cube in her delight.
"Jedao, Jedao, that was - " She laughs again, delighted, thrilled.
She puts her feet on the cube and points to another in the distance.
"There. Go!"
And with a giggle, she pushes off again. It isn't a race...but also, in a way, it is.
He bounces off after her, although she'll still make it to the next post a little before he does - but this time he doesn't grab it, jackknifing a little so that he can kick off at a new angle with most of the momentum of the collision conserved.
She lets out a playful cry of protest, scrambling to try and follow. Predictably, the push off is sloppy and she misses the next mark entirely, her momentum carrying her to another hold a ways away.
She holds dearly to it, giggling as her feet tumble over her head in the most undignified way.
"Ah! You tease!" she laughs, righting herself and clinging desperately to her little hold. But as she pushes hair from her face, she gives him a genuine smile.
"Thank you, Jedao. This has been a wonderful experience."
"The most common mistake beginners make is pushing off too gently, and ending up drifting short of their target with nothing else to push on," he explains.
For all her wild imperfect aim, she is doing better than most dirtside-raised cadets, who had far more thorough instructions before hand.
"When falling and flying are the same, better to be fearless than cautious." And it seems that is very much her style.
"Oh, the boring sorts of things. Making mistakes I can't fix. Being lied to, being unwanted. I fear hurting people when I didn't mean to," he says honestly.
They turn, slowly, together. Jedao doesn't mind it.
"To be fair, I did not try very hard," he admits wryly. "I was tired, and - somewhat infamous, and I wasn't treated badly, overall. It was easier to stay where I was put than go on the run somewhere. I consider myself free here. I can go, if I want. But I like the work, and the people, and the place."
"I like the work and the people and the place, too," she admits.
"I am more - free here than I ever was at home. I don't want to go home after this," she admits. "When I graduate, I want to - to explore. To know everything. To learn everything. To meet people and learn how they are, how they think, how they feel."
She pulls back and gestures out to the expanse of the Enclosure. "This is what I want, Jedao. Now I have something new to learn and research and discover."
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The sight of the planets, the way her feet seem to grip nothing and yet she stays against him - she's disappearing.
"Mon dieu..."
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He doesn't let go, though, of her or of the handhold, letting her adjust to the view and the weightless sensation of it before anything else.
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The feeling isn't as terrifying as she feels it should be.
She rights herself with a breath and reaches out, around him, for a handhold to take herself.
"Show me," she says, eager rather than demanding.
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He flips himself around easily, sets his feet against the side of the stairs at an odd angle, knees folded up.
"You want to orient the lines of your body to whatever you're aiming at. Shoulders, hips, legs. Then -"
He kicks out gently, soaring in a clear, straight line to the nearest grey shape, a kind of beveled menger cube the size of a large car, and grabs it before colliding face first, executing a little jackknife to bring himself sideways against it so he can look back at her.
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She angles herself a little, hesitates to adjust, then pushes off with a laugh, a yelp, almost forgetting to grab into the cube in her delight.
"Jedao, Jedao, that was - " She laughs again, delighted, thrilled.
She puts her feet on the cube and points to another in the distance.
"There. Go!"
And with a giggle, she pushes off again. It isn't a race...but also, in a way, it is.
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She holds dearly to it, giggling as her feet tumble over her head in the most undignified way.
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"Mademoiselle, I believe you are a natural," he tells her as she tumbles.
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"Thank you, Jedao. This has been a wonderful experience."
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For all her wild imperfect aim, she is doing better than most dirtside-raised cadets, who had far more thorough instructions before hand.
"When falling and flying are the same, better to be fearless than cautious." And it seems that is very much her style.
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She pauses, pulling herself atop the hold so she can push her skirts down.
"Not knowing, I suppose. What do you fear?"
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He sounds wistful, more than anything, a gentle melancholy.
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Somber, rather than victorious. He orients himself to face her and lets go, trusting in his own inertia not to drift out of range of the post.
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She reaches out for the post, or for him, whichever she drifts closer to.
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"Ah, yes and no. I did kill him, but someone else took me prisoner after. I was...quiet, for some time. And then the Admiral offered me a place here."
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"So you weren't able to escape that time? Have you ever been free?"
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"To be fair, I did not try very hard," he admits wryly. "I was tired, and - somewhat infamous, and I wasn't treated badly, overall. It was easier to stay where I was put than go on the run somewhere. I consider myself free here. I can go, if I want. But I like the work, and the people, and the place."
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"I am more - free here than I ever was at home. I don't want to go home after this," she admits. "When I graduate, I want to - to explore. To know everything. To learn everything. To meet people and learn how they are, how they think, how they feel."
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