Occams Razor

In a somewhat isolated clearing in the woods not far from the waterfront an occasional snap can be heard. The sound echoes with the melody of steel connecting with wood, and the gentle impact of softer materials enduring force. There in the clearing stands Malcolm Hunt clad in a sweater vest and jeans, his book bag, cane, and jacket lay nearby arranged neatly out of the way. He stands in a fencing pose his archaic rapier held in a loose form blade upward his elbow down that looks well practiced. His opponent is an unarmed scarecrow, and he lunges impaling his enemy stepping back at ready then repeating the process. He exhales deeply and his breath visibly billows in the frosty air. He changes stances: arcing his arm high blade facing his witless foe in a downward arc and again he resumes his assault. He goes through many such stances, Prima, Secunda, Terza, Quartza, and more.

Eventually he stops looks over his handiwork appraising the state of his straw nemesis's demise and lays his blade down alongside his other belongings. Sloppy, form isn't crisp, footwork sluggish, its been too long. Too many years wasting away in retirement, and only now I find such arts are needed most they have decayed.

He bends down and takes up a new weapon, the gleaming blade once carried by Vasili. He flicks a switch on the hilt and the sword hums to life with a pale cold light emitting from the razor thin metal edge. He adopts his previous form and lunges for a tree the wood screams with a hiss and steam erupts as the water in the wood fiber is evaporated. He pulls back and swings in a gentle arc cleanly removing a branch down to the smallest molecule. Amazing the quality of this weapon, I've never seen a cut so fine. Still the blade is a stranger to me, I need to learn its capabilities, learn its strengths, its breaking point before it can truly be a weapon to be relied on. He returns to dismembering the tree, slicing it into perfect puzzles pieces awaiting reassembly. When all that remains is a pile of fire wood to be and a stump he turns of the miracle sword and lays it down. I'll have to figure out a way to get the wood the Diner, maybe Flo has a small wagon or sled?

He then recovers his belongings pulling on his coat as the cold sets in now that his labor has ended and sits upon his newly fashioned seat. He lights his pipe and pulls out some very fine sandpaper, and a small smooth stone and sets to work upon his old sword, carefully and gently cleaning the edge and setting to removing imperfections and sharpening the blade.

Cassie approaches the clearing in her don't-run-me-over-orange hooded sweatshirt and black cap. She seems surprised to see someone else out and whistles appreciatively at the large amount of chopped wood.

"Oh, hello! I was just looking for a spot to have a fire... Sorry for disturbing you; shall I move on?"

Malcolm looks up rather awkwardly as if trying to think of how to explain holding a sword in the woods and seems to think better of it. And instead says with an almost sheepish smile.

"Oh hello. Uh this would actually be a pretty good spot all things told, as long as we are mindful of keeping it controlled, I just made a good impression with the Fire Marshall the other day. I have plenty of wood too if you need it."

He gestures with his whetstone invitingly towards the pile of wood from the now thoroughly diced tree.

"Do you need a hand setting it up?"

"Thanks. And don't worry; I've been having fires and camping all summer. I interviewed with the marshal myself; I'm hoping to work with Dallas as a volunteer."

::Cassie leans her baseball bat against a tree and begins to kick clear an area and stack up some of the wood like Lincoln logs::

"Malcolm right? I'm horrible with names..."

::SHe looks around as if confused for a moment and then asks incredulously::

"Did... did you chop all this with a sword?!"

She doesn't seem to think the sword is out of place on it's own, with the exception that she doesn't also see an ax around.

"Yes it is Malcolm, Cassie right? You picked quite the time to move to our humble little hamlet. I put my name down as a volunteer myself always happy to help out in the community. "

Giving the wood pile a glance

"Uh yeah but to be fair I wasn't using a regular sword"

Malcolm points at the futuristic Nanosword lying next to him.

"It generates some kind of electric charge which amplifies the edge, I'll be honest to what degree or how I couldn't fathom."

He continues to gently but firmly sand his silver rapier while talking, relieved that the person to stumble upon him in the woods has seen far stranger things in recent days.

Leslie wanders into the clearing from somewhere uphill; his hair is a more than little mussed up, and his face is a little puffy. His right hand is bleeding profusely. There are two deep gashes on his palm lying perpendicular to one another, and his swollen knuckles hardly resemble human digits.

"oh hello cassie, mal. could you point me to civilization?"

Malcolm looks at him bewildered and tensing up.
"Are you alright? What happened?!"

"Oh hey Leslie.. Uh yeah Diner's back that way----" ::and she starts to point him the way she came.::

::She drops her wood and dashes over to her bat looking around a bit anxiously at Malcolm's question::

Leslie returns a blank expression.
"I fell."
He cradles his right palm in his left hand.
Those knuckles don't look too hot, either.
"which way to civilization please."

In response to Cassie, Leslie gives a quick nod and shuffles towards that direction.
He spies a nearby rock, and the slightest hint of relief spreads across his face.
"oh, right. here. good."

He seems to have his bearings. He moves to leave the clearing.