⸢ a sharp intellect ⸥

@artofslaughter

     there is an intentional delay in how he wrests his attention from the array of spices he’s laid out before him and offers it to his companion. enough time for his thoughts to hitch on the nickname, but too scant for him to decide whether it rankles only somewhat or an unforgivable deal more than that or not at all. he’s come to welcome familiarity from the elf, no harm in a pisky’s favor, though serpico rolls the stem of a bay leaf between a thumb and forefinger, and thinks tenuous are the binds which hold he to the man his lady yet pursues. 

❛   THERE  ARE  THOSE  EYES  AGAIN  .    ❜      people  oft  accused  him  of  having  eyes  like  a  beast ,     but  serpico ’ s  gaze  was  as  sharp  as  a  blade ’ s  edge  ;  the  blonde  was  smart  enough  not  to  let  most  other ’ s  see  it ,    but  guts  had  caught  a glimpse  or  two  of  what  lay  in  the  coldness  of  his  gaze .      ❛    lookin’  for  a  REMATCH or  what ?   ❜    

     it’s crossed his mind, yes. always in moments where he’s not thinking, where raw instinct commandeers reason for impulse, and the rapier at one hip becomes too ornamental for his liking. he’s known no bloodlust until this man, but what an endless nuisance it is, the itch to fight. quite a wonder how the black swordsman seems to thrive in that frenzy; serpico doesn’t believe he’ll ever understand.

     yet the question is posed ( a morbid temptation, really, this notion of a rematch ) and serpico sheaths his keen edges, his friction, his gaze for the time being. cowardice, some might call it, but he hasn’t a death wish today. the terrain’s too clear, his thoughts too muddled.

@rapierwit    ♚.

      ‘ - Oh ! ‘ He said quickly upon bumping into another whilst returning to the ballroom, and without a thought further than noticing the goblet about to slip from their hand, he reached out to help steady it - accidentally clasping hands instead with the rather adept grip already back on the cup. Damned if he made a fool of himself on this night before the nobility or worse, made himself seem out of the ordinary! It could foil his whole plan for the Queen of Midland if one soul was to even question his innocence. And all because what, a pitiful slip up with another noble like this? His hand slowly left the other’s so as to seem natural ( though both were clearly aware it was a bumble ), a courteous smile tracing upon his cupid’s bow. ‘ My greatest apologies, Ser. I did not see you there. ’  

     well, what’s done is done --- a spot of claret dappled sweetly on his shirt, sinking swift through the quilt of his doublet already, stippling it dark. by the feel alone, he notes the stain is paltry ( a greater disaster has been avoided, thank goodness ), and perhaps if he were attending this fete by his lonesome, had he the individual birthright or esteem, he could ignore the blot for the trifling detail it is, but there’s farnese to consider. her image, her reputation. and so many shrewd eyes about.

     tonight, serpico keeps a tally of how many lashes he’s owed, and he can already imagine the climbing strokes should he return without attending to his appearance first. the thought doesn’t distract him from the warmth of a palm slipping across his knuckles, or this man’s face ( ser griffith, wasn’t it? a hero among men, this gauche? ), but it helps center him nonetheless.