❰❰ PULL ❱❱ ❰❰ CHIN ❱❱ / the triple whammy a symphony of irons & silvers clash, screeching against each other . it sings out like a rhapsody in whetstones as the blades break apart . yet another evening but to marisa, nothing felt better than a late-night sparring session and thankfully, shannan was a more than suitable partner for her practices. they’ve been at a standstill of draws and lucky outcomes but marisa wasn’t going to rest without at least two points on her side. she rushes at him & he makes for her left side, assuming that her right is the more dominant hand. unlucky guess for him. an opportunity comes to light as she tosses her sword into her left hand and parries his swing, forcing enough momentum with her movements to hopefully make up for her disadvantage in strength. she grits her teeth as she drags the sword overhead, metals clash loudly. both of their grips shake violently. “ sorry but it’s my turn. ” she growls under her breath, willing to take her chances on this swing. she lowers her sword and drops to heels with sword over her head as a precaution, her right hand balancing her stance. she goes for a sweep barely managing to hinder his balance. she quickly bounces back on her feet and grabs him, pulling against her and her blade pushed between them and raised against his neck. “ caught you. ” it comes off as hush whisper. as the adrenaline finally wears down she notices how both of their breaths running ragged & drenched in sweat, clearly exhausted from the spar. feeling her fuchsia strands sticking to her neck. she chuckles, bubbling up between her lungs. it was definitely the work out she wanted. she raises her gaze at him, letting herself play off a smirk as she taps his chin with the hilt of her sword. “ ah, i got lucky this time. but, future reference. my left side is my stronger side. ” her tone is dismissive and playful. the smirk pulls into a smile as she finally lowers her sword.
Ah, just a second longer and he might've been able to make it a draw. Yet his pride doesn't bruise easy. She caught him on the drawback, sword readied for a strike that surely would've put her away. Even so, the dissonance of their battle must end somewhere.
Just moments before, while she never crumbled nor faltered, it was clear that he controlled the pace set. Up until this point, neither party had made any daring moves, and neither party really knew the others weakness. It was a true standstill. Perhaps too much respect was given, but it was better to be respectful of frailty than to be ignorant of strength. Still, they couldn't be here all day. So, even if patience was far from exhausted, Shannan made a daring strike at his sparring partner.
It was a gamble as to whether her left or right was weaker, so he relied on his own intuition. His left was weakest, as was the case for many swordmasters. So he takes a quick step, bringing his blade back far to try and crack through this girls defense.
Well, she parried that strike incredibly well. Yet even so, she can't put the battle away yet. His blade rebounds, meeting hers with a loud 'clank,' grunting out as she began her final offense.
A rather powerful kick does disorient him, though only for a moment. Boots back on the ground, his shoulder meets her chest, and he goes for a very risky spin, which... well, neither of the shoulder nor the spinning strike was a smart idea. Holding him tight, his blade is still a good few feet from being where he wanted it, and hers is pressed right to his chin. Head tilted back, his eyes calm.
Letting his blade lower, he acknowledges his defeat. "You're quicker than I anticipated. I won't be so reckless next time." Even so, there's a grin. And her own acknowledgement leads to a dismissive handwave. "Please. You're very skilled, and clearly talented. I can see your work, and it's impressive."
Gazing up at the stars, a deep, calming breath escapes. Chest so defined, rising with each deep breath, before compressing with a slow sigh. A hushed, "Hmph," escapes a bitten lip. It'd been years since he trained Larcei like this, or since he's been trained by his father or aunt. And just like always, it was those restless sparkles high above that sought to remind them of the time.
"I've got a class tomorrow. I'd love to train more, but I'm calling it there." Gaze falling on the other, he puts his hand out, taking her sword. "I'll get these put away. Go get some rest." Taking both swords in one hand, the other comes to the back of her head, pulling Marisa in for a hug. It's oddly intimate, almost as if offering some kind of protection.
Once he pulls back, there's a sudden realization. This isn't kin, this is a fellow knight. Clearing his throat, he silently turns around and walks to do exactly as he said.
Somehow, that was more embarrassing than the loss.
