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While her comrades secure themselves into armor, the thick steel plates shining dully, Tethys adorns herself with jewelry that glistens as if the gold radiates light. As they strap their weapons to their side, Tethys ties her sash around her waist with a twist of delicate fingers. When the others swing their blades in the air as a warm up, Tethys stretches her muscles, standing on the tips of her toes and executing graceful twirls. Her preparations, her purpose, is so different than that of her comrades’. It's almost surprising, how someone like her can step on the battlefield and feel as if that’s where she’s meant to be. To her, it's just another stage, a stage where her performance is far more important than it ever has been before.
At the command of their employer, some minor noble from Jehanna, Tethys and her fellow mercenaries arrive in the desert sands to defeat bandits that have been harassing travelers. The bandit fortress, if a cluster of decaying ruins, worn into the environment by brutal winds, can be called a fortress, stands forlorn among the dunes. The wind picks up with aggression, and soon the fortress is all but invisible under a shroud of sand. All the better, the sand should act as a cover for their attack.
Tethys stretches her back one last time, making sure to keep her muscles limber. Then her arms, then her legs, her balance perfect as she pulls one leg near over her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices a woman staring at her as she performs every exercise. Tethys only vaguely recognizes her, so she must be new. After all, there's no way she wouldn't remember that vibrant pink hair, whipping around in the air with remarkable grace, or those cold eyes of the same hue, if they had been acquainted before. When she finished her last stretch, Tethys approaches the woman with a friendly smile.
“Are you interested in my warm up routine? I could show you a few techniques if you like.”
“I’m…” The pink-haired woman’s expression remains constant, save for a thoughtful press of her lips. “... interested in something.”
“Something?” Tethys raises her eyebrows as her expression pleads for the woman to continue.
“You. Why don't you carry a sword?” The woman's thumb brushes against her own sword, as if setting an example.
The corners of Tethys’ lips twitch upwards, amused but unsurprised at the question. “I'm not here to fight, you see. I'm here to support my comrades through dance.”
Rather than respond verbally, the pink-haired woman presses her lips thinner, and Tethys senses the incredulity behind the expression.
“I can tell you don't think much of that…” Tethys pauses and waves her hand, prompting the woman to give her her name.
The gesture reaches the woman a few moments later. “... Marisa.”
“Marisa,” Tethys rolls the name slowly out, quite enjoying the sound of it. “My dance skills aren't like those of a common dancer. My dances can invigorate the body like no medicine can, with a graceful move of my hand I inspire courage like no general could.”
“Maybe so…” Marisa gives Tethys a long, expecting look.
“Tethys.”
“Tethys,” Her name spills quickly from Marisa’s lips. “But will your dances stop the opponent from driving an axe into you?”
The laugh that bursts forth from Tethys' throat sounds out of place in such a tense conversation, but she can't help but find Marisa’s cynicism entertaining. “No I suppose it won't, but that's why I depend on people like you to be my armor.”
“Armor?”
“Yes, protect me in battle, Marisa, and I'll show you just what a dancer like me can do. Is that a deal?”
The bright flash of Tethys' smile must catch Marisa off guard, as her cheeks take a pink hue akin to the color of her eyes now staring at her feet. “... Fine, just don't slow me down.”
“Of course not, I'll make you faster than ever before!”