In the echoes of the training arena, Gris rests against the far wall after a fruitful day of slaying Grimm dummies. As she lays there panting, she lays her hatchet Grizzly Cutter off to the side. She then unlatches the magical shield Razor Wind and inspects it. Gris could see all of the dents, cracks, chips, and other signs of wear the scars her defensive bulwark.
Remembers back when it had gleaming finish to it that made it pop out among all of the other weapons in the specially weapon shot that day. The its maker may have been a faunus hating prick but even she could admire the rugged handiwork. He was screaming all sorts racial slurs as she and the White Fang cleared his workshop as retribution for refusing faunus costumers. She can't recall whom it was, but someone in that raiding party suggested that should pick up shield since she was always "the reckless one" so she just picked out the first shield within the war spoils and claimed it as her own. Turned out, this one was particularly well suited for her needs, as racist dust shop owners sure loved to fight back with their own dust stock. It was always amusing to see their faces as she quite literally brush off the attacks with her mighty shield. Good thing her old friend Parri Dotts recognized the shield for what it was, otherwise Gris would find out the hard way her magical shield is, ironically terrible at protecting her from physical attacks as it was exceptionally fragile for shield.
Gris flips over the shield, looking at the thick back casing where she could slip her arm into. She never bothered to look behind it as she wasn't much of technician. It seemed like the machinery inside was meant to spin the blades really fast like a buzz-saw but Gris could never figure it out. Maybe one of these days she should? She would have to find someone good with machines help her out with it as she is pretty sure the insides could use some maintenance due to its heavy use and neglect.
Gris stands up as she stands back up from her break. She snaps Razor Wind onto her left arm. Funny how long ago it felt so much heavier but now... lighter than what she remembered. Maybe just got stronger, or maybe she just got more accustomed to it. It was so unfamiliar to her at first but it’s more like it’s a part of her arm at this point. Gris smirks, then lifts her trusty axe in her other hand and continues beating down defenseless combat dummies. The first dummy falls with a swift strike from her axe, the second dummy lands with a thud its gut is cut, and the last… the last one Gris gives a cold hard look as she raises her shield. She shifts her foot position, conjures her semblance as she the wind behind her propels her extended shield bash. As the magical shield makes contact with the dummy, Gris could hear the sound of an unexpected clang of metal striking the ground as the dummy tumbles to the floor. Gris looked down, covering her mouth as one of the razor blade in her shield fell out of place and shattered into three large metal fragments the ground. Gris counted herself lucky that it only just missed her foot.
“Oh no no no no no…” she whispers to herself, her mind trying to figure out what she could do.
“Oh…. I… I… I need to get this fix! How do get this fixed? Oh… where are one those gadgetry gadgeteer eggheads when you need them!?” exclaims a somewhat panicky Gricelda who look around for assistance her as she picks up dangerously sharp metal fragments. If nothing else, she just learned a little bit about the limits of her shield, limits that she will have to keep in mind for now on once she gets Razor Wind fixed.
[Word Count: 669/500]
Remembers back when it had gleaming finish to it that made it pop out among all of the other weapons in the specially weapon shot that day. The its maker may have been a faunus hating prick but even she could admire the rugged handiwork. He was screaming all sorts racial slurs as she and the White Fang cleared his workshop as retribution for refusing faunus costumers. She can't recall whom it was, but someone in that raiding party suggested that should pick up shield since she was always "the reckless one" so she just picked out the first shield within the war spoils and claimed it as her own. Turned out, this one was particularly well suited for her needs, as racist dust shop owners sure loved to fight back with their own dust stock. It was always amusing to see their faces as she quite literally brush off the attacks with her mighty shield. Good thing her old friend Parri Dotts recognized the shield for what it was, otherwise Gris would find out the hard way her magical shield is, ironically terrible at protecting her from physical attacks as it was exceptionally fragile for shield.
Gris flips over the shield, looking at the thick back casing where she could slip her arm into. She never bothered to look behind it as she wasn't much of technician. It seemed like the machinery inside was meant to spin the blades really fast like a buzz-saw but Gris could never figure it out. Maybe one of these days she should? She would have to find someone good with machines help her out with it as she is pretty sure the insides could use some maintenance due to its heavy use and neglect.
Gris stands up as she stands back up from her break. She snaps Razor Wind onto her left arm. Funny how long ago it felt so much heavier but now... lighter than what she remembered. Maybe just got stronger, or maybe she just got more accustomed to it. It was so unfamiliar to her at first but it’s more like it’s a part of her arm at this point. Gris smirks, then lifts her trusty axe in her other hand and continues beating down defenseless combat dummies. The first dummy falls with a swift strike from her axe, the second dummy lands with a thud its gut is cut, and the last… the last one Gris gives a cold hard look as she raises her shield. She shifts her foot position, conjures her semblance as she the wind behind her propels her extended shield bash. As the magical shield makes contact with the dummy, Gris could hear the sound of an unexpected clang of metal striking the ground as the dummy tumbles to the floor. Gris looked down, covering her mouth as one of the razor blade in her shield fell out of place and shattered into three large metal fragments the ground. Gris counted herself lucky that it only just missed her foot.
“Oh no no no no no…” she whispers to herself, her mind trying to figure out what she could do.
“Oh…. I… I… I need to get this fix! How do get this fixed? Oh… where are one those gadgetry gadgeteer eggheads when you need them!?” exclaims a somewhat panicky Gricelda who look around for assistance her as she picks up dangerously sharp metal fragments. If nothing else, she just learned a little bit about the limits of her shield, limits that she will have to keep in mind for now on once she gets Razor Wind fixed.
[Word Count: 669/500]
