Sybil listened closely, relieved she wasn’t about to get flattened by the resident hero. It was strange to her, almost unimaginable, that someone like Quinnlash was once ‘[i]way worse[/i]’ than her at anything. If there was one thing Sybil had grown accustomed to in her short period of training, it was being mediocre. Mediocre test scores, mediocre phasing speed, mediocre output, and, of course, mediocre combat results. Had Quinnlash really dealt with that? Had she stepped out of a pod and seen broad disappointment among her superiors, and embarrassment among the ones who weren’t high enough rank to [i]be[/i] disappointed? 

Surely not. Not after the display she’d put on planet-side. Some things could be taught, but some things were just natural. Had to be. All day, every interview, she saw people laud the pilots that were “[i]born with it[/i]”, while the ones who weren’t, didn’t stick around long enough to get interviewed much. 

Still, Quinnlash made a good point. Learning through cruelty was pointless, and for all the grief they gave their captain, Camille had expressed similar sentiments. Sybil just hoped she would still be able to walk after training.

Briefly, she saw Quinnlash’s eye flick to Cyril. It wasn’t a particularly kind look, and he seemed a bit surprised by it. Sybil felt her fist clench reflexively. She popped her mouthguard back in, and when the invitation came to pick things up where they’d left off, she didn’t hesitate. She stepped in and swung. It wasn’t quite as wide, but still nothing like a practiced fighter. What she lacked in technique this time though, she made up for with intent.