Satisfaction had Ber smirking in turn as he watched Othello recover from his blow, even as he shook out his own hand, knuckles smarting from the hit. Despite the amount of sparring they did during training, it wasn’t often that he got the chance to simply haul off and punch someone as hard as he could. “You told me not to hold back,” He pointed out with a shrug, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “If lesson one is throwing punches, what’s the lesson two?”

"element of surprise, I mean you really gotta know when to get the drop on someone, I once got this drop on a rival of mine during a ship battle...tore his nose right off with my teeth," and element of surprise, storytelling, Othello would attempt to bitch slap Ber.

Ber hadn’t necessarily been expecting the slap exactly, but after the first punch Othello had thrown at him in the middle of the conversation, he hadn’t let his guard down entirely. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the motion of the other man’s hand through the air and began to flinch back but not fast enough to avoid the blow entirely. Head jerking to the side, he brought a hand up to soothe the sting on his cheek as he looked back at Othello. “Ow.”

"fail, if this had been a battle that would have been a short dagger in your head, blood snd brains and one dead Berengar," he made a fart noise with a thumbs down, "keep the enemy guessing your next move. You still took that like a champion brother."

Ber couldn’t argue with Othello’s assessment; his stinging cheek was proof enough of the other man’s statement. Lowering his hand, he nodded his understanding. “Thanks,” He accepted the compliment, even as he eyed Othello and braced for another surprise attack. “Keep them guessing. Got it.”

Then he returned the favor and went for the Gifted man’s legs.

"Nope!" Othello barked with laughter, the boy was a quick learner and easily his most successful apprentice by far, but he was no master of the craft, the Gifted man shifted his weight to embrace the kick with all his weight on the one leg being kicked so what Ber would make contact with was as stout as a stone column. Othello casually then placed a hand on top of Ber's head turned his butt towards the man's face and let it rip!

Giggling and cackling Othello could have been on the verge of dying from laughter but shouted, "next lesson! All things are weapons, I use to carry around a litte bag of metal ball...sixteen..seventeen little shiny metal balls no one ever saw them coming, but you don't need a gift to do fun stuff you got spit, puke, sand, gas!"

By the time Ber recognized that Othello saw his attempted surprise attack coming, it was too late. Carried forward by his momentum, he did his best to try to destabilize the Gifted man, but it was like trying to uproot a tree with his bare hands. A large palm landed on the top of his head, and he found himself facing Othello’s ass, and—

Expression collapsing into one of disgust, he did his best to free himself from the cackling Champion by reaching up and trying to dislodge his hand while stumbling back. “Okay, okay,” Ber said, though he had started seeing the entertainment in the situation himself. “I get it.” If he had managed to escape Othello’s grasp, he would stand and look at him, an exasperated smile on his face. “Stars above, Othello, what did you eat?”

Othello was still giggling and offered Ber a hand to help him up, "just a pot of beans! Come on lessons over mate!" here is where Ber would have to trust Othello, because how Othellk was acting with Ber was nothing but trust. He trusted he could himself truly around Ber, which is why he didn't mind helping the boy.

Instead of standing upright like he had wanted, Ber ended up on hands and knees, waving a hand in front of his face as he looked up at the Gifted man who explained that he had, naturally, only eaten a pot of beans. Smiling, he shook his head, though his expectation of another trap – expect the unexpected, hadn’t that been the second lesson? – had him eyeing the outstretched hand. But then, if he suspected a trap, would the existence of one truly be unexpected? Fuck it. Ber reached up and took Othello’s hand, fingers wrapping around the Gifted man’s wrist as he made to pull himself to his feet. “You’re cool,” He stated, perhaps unnecessarily. “Better than all the other old people around here.”

"That's very sweet of you Berengar, you'll probably never meet a cooler older man in your life than me," he giggled scratching his neck below the collar, "you are a wise young man Stormcrest, don't ever let anything or anyone hold you back in this life."

Ber did a very quick, but very comprehensive inventory of all the old men - or, at least, men he considered old - that he knew. The list consisted almost exclusively of officers in the military like Woodwick, Abbott, and Usher. Thom, though he was older than Ber, was not old - and besides, he was cool, too - so the soldier nodded at Othello’s claim. “Definitely won’t,” He agreed easily, before the other man’s words transformed the grin into a pleased little smile.

He was a street rat who’d made his way to becoming a soldier, not out of any lofty ideals of patriotism or dreams of glory but for survival. He didn’t have any ambitious goals that people could hold him back from, but it was always nice to hear that someone thought he could make it. Whatever making it entailed for him. “I won’t.”