Teamwork -The 100-

He watched her on the practice field, the light from the night portals glittering off of her mocha skin and impossibly pale blue eyes.  He heard her words and knew that they would compliment each other well.  However, at the moment she was sparring with another and it was the height of rudeness for a Limit to interrupt another during a spar.  Even if her opponent wasn't anyone he had ever met before.

The appearance of two additional forms on the field was what vaulted him into action, whispering one of his own words to lift him over the fence and send him streaking over to the fight.  He placed his back to hers and startled them all, her included.  The swiftness with which she adapted to his presence let him know that his decision had been the right one.

The three opponents, one bipedal, two glowing quadrupeds, circled them, their movements difficult to read.  Sifir hadn't faced off against Kanid spirit-wolves before, but he assumed that they had the same weaknesses as their flesh and blood companion, the Kanid now facing him.  The Pale Limit didn't know the Kanid's identity until he spoke:

"This be legal, poppit?"

Fang, he realized, wondering if he hadn't gotten in over his head.  Ever since he had arrived in Sanctuary, the Kanid had proved himself to be a formidable hand-to-hand combat specialist.  To say he was on par with Limits who trained since their fourth year of age was high praise for anyone, but Fang was that good, if not better.

"I do not object to your calling upon your spirits," Sifir's companion pointed out.  "Surely you cannot call foul upon someone wishing to aid me."

"Take pity on a' old wolf," Fang complained, though the grin was clear in his voice.  "Two Limits against me own self?"

"From what I know you, Fang of the Coast," Sifir stated, keeping his eyes clear for an attack from either the two white and blue spirit-wolves or their Kanid master, "you're hardly helpless."

Fang burst out laughing.  "Aye, that be the truth of it," he agreed, just before darting in to lay a hand on Sifir's shoulder.  Knowing that the burlier warrior was intending to toss him, Sifir drew on his affinity and in less than a breath, had a spinning ball of air in the palm of his hand.  In a swift move, he thrust the ball into Fang's chest, thrusting the Kanid away and causing him to trip.  Sifir's companion was, meanwhile, fending off both spirit-wolves, letting one tear into her left forearm in favor of forcing the other to jump aside when a spear of ice blossomed out of solid ground.

The wolf on Winter's forearm abruptly yelped and vanished, leaving a smear of white liquid on Winter's right fist, where she held a dagger of ice.  The other backed off warily, circling until it was standing behind Fang.  The Kanid crossed his arms over his chest, fists clenched but palms out, and bowed where he sat.  "Yield," he said, laughter in his voice.  "I was winning 'till you decided t'involve yourself," he told Sifir, who offered his hand to aid the large Kanid to his feet.

"You were holding back," Winter told him, just before she stripped her shirt off and began ripping it apart for bandages.  Fang guffawed, bringing Winter's attention to where Sifir had abruptly turned his back rather than compromise her decency.  "Oh for," Sifir heard Winter mutter.  "Sifir."

The use of his first name despite the fact that she was of a lower Rank startled him enough that he turned back around, feeling the blush redden his cheeks.  She was standing with her hands on her hips, giving him quite the look from her ice-blue eyes.  "I am wearing an undershirt," she pointed out, tone cross.  "Beyond that, I bind.  There is nothing for you to see, nor anything for you to be embarrassed over."

"Propriety--" he began, only to have her throw her hands into the air and stalk away.  Fang uttered a sound Sifir could only qualify as a snicker.  He turned a sour gaze on the Kanid.  "It is as improper as it is crass," he told the Kanid.

"What," Fang wanted to know, his ears tipped forward in amusement and his plumed tail high, "for her t'be without a shirt?"

"For me to look, unabashed!" Sifir exclaimed.  "She is a woman and I a man!  It's rude, if nothing else!"

"The lass don't seem t'care," Fang countered.  "As she said, she's hardly naked."

The image of Winter naked and covered in a sheen of sweat from a hard fight sprang to Sifir's mind without any further prompting and his blush engulfed not only his face but his ears and neck as well.  Fang arched an eyebrow, his expression speculative.  "Winter," he called, "what be Sifir's Rank?"

"Commander in Charge," she called back, "First Rate.  Recently promoted."

"About damn time y'folk saw some reason an' let'cher best be where they deserve t'be," Fang muttered.  He walked over to Sifir and slung an arm around his shoulders, making the Pale Limit realize with a start that they were just about the same height.  Fang was taller than any Kanid he had ever seen.  "What'd'ya say, lass?  I be thinkin' this lad be needin' some good sullyin'."

Sifir drew back immediately but found his other side occupied by an amused Winter, who was now wearing a fresh shirt, her arm bound up with the remains of her old one.  The bandage, and the way her gray hair had been released from its harsh military style, gave her a rakish air he found he liked.  "We had best be gentle to begin with," she told the Kanid.  "Though he is hard on the battle field, Sifir seems to be entirely unfamiliar with the ways of relaxation."

"I know how to relax," Sifir protested weakly.

"You know how to wind down," Winter corrected him, twining his arm in with hers.  He couldn't help but notice that her skin was a shade lighter than his own.  He found he liked the contrast.  "But there is more to life than the battle field and the barracks.  Do not worry, commander.  We will not besmirch your precious reputation.  Where we will be going, none will recognize you."