As Cyril got back up, Quinn relaxed her stance. Her shoulders heaved as her breaths came in sharp gasps. He wasn't as good as Dahlia, but he was certainly pretty good. She let out a little chuckle when he and Sybil had finished speaking, and she reached up to rub her chin. "[color=ffe63d]Shot to my chin hurt, don't you worry.[/color]" She paused for a moment, choosing her words to give him advice on how he left himself open and that let her close the space she needed. But before she could say anything, they started again. She was going to fight Sybil now, she supposed.

She blinked a few times at hearing Cyril talking about the [i]terror[/i] of Camille's training again. It seemed as though it afflicted him with some primal terror. The whole thing was a little bit absurd, and she found herself muttering, "[color=ffe63d]is it really that bad?[/color]"

But shaking her head, she dismissed the thought from her mind, and squared up for Sybil to step on the mat. Though something felt kind of...odd, about the whole thing. She really seemed like she didn't want to spar. And she could see why, she hadn't started looking forward to her training sessions with Dahlia for a good long while after they'd started. But at the same time, she'd been a...[i]special[/i] case, given how she'd never really exercised in her life.

And the instant Sybil stepped out in front of her, she [i]immediately[/i] understood why. Cybil was new to piloting, but clearly not to combat. She wondered if maybe that boxing ring out on the rec center had something to do with that. But clearly, Sybil was new to both piloting, [i]and[/i] to combat. Which seemed strange to Quinn at first; in order to fight Modir you needed to fight, but she'd been deployed, and she was still here and alive. So—

—Aaaand she was running at her now, swinging a punch so wide and slow it seemed like she was trying to punch a [i]Savior,[/i] not its pilot. For that split second, Quinn wondered what she should do. Should she just do it, knock her to the ground? No, that would feel awful, for both of them. Grab the punch and start talking? No, that might be even worse. So...?

As the punch swung wide, Quinn stepped out of the way, holding her hands up in the universal 'time out' T. "[color=ffe63d]Wait wait wait, time time![/color]" She held her hands up, ready to dodge any more poorly aimed shots that came her way. "[color=ffe63d]You mind if I get a drink?[/color]" Truth be told, she [i]was[/i] feeling a little parched. She'd had a [i]weird[/i] day so far, and somewhere along the way she'd stopped drinking. And she could feel it now, in the hoarseness of her throat.

Stepping off the mat, she jogged over to her water bottle, mulling over what she was going to say as she took a long drink, savoring the sweetness of the water. Somehow it never got old.

She capped the bottle again, and a moment passed.

"[color=ffe63d]...Is your weapon ranged, Sybil?[/color]"