eyebrows raise, the challenge evident in her expression, and isabelle doesn’t bother curving the peal of laughter that escapes from her lips as magnus speaks. her balance on the chair is precarious at best, heeled feet planted shoulder width apart in order to even out her weight distribution. “hey, it’s not my fault someone’s a bit slow on the reaction,” she teases in reply, securing her position even more so by shifting her weight as she turns to her new brother, hands gripping her staff tightly as she does — though they agreed to a fair training session at the beginning of this, with no cheap shots and no magic involved, that was hours ago, and she wouldn’t necessarily put it past him to shove her off the chair in retaliation. it was a cheap shot to yell out her claim, she knows that well enough from max having done so to her a few hundred times, but instead of apologizing, isabelle just sticks out her tongue instead. her fingers swat at his own staff as he uses it to poke her in the chest, the pout forming on her lips already as she allows a slight huff to pass. “think you’re up for it?” she challenges easily, hair flicking over her shoulder as she props her staff up, leaning her weight against it, a picture of casualness. as though she hadn’t just been the one acting childish moments ago. “i mean, i know cats always land on their feet if they get knocked off — but do cat eyed warlocks?”
@foughtmagic from here!
