After the Hunt (Sam)

[Dymphna]

She let out a giggle to match the youthfulness of his. “This one…” She put her left index finger to the tip of his nose to urge his face up into her view again. It caused her to grin. “And just for that I’m not going to let you win our spar…”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Losing to you would be a pleasure," he admitted bashfully, wanting to look down despite her finger on his nose. "We could play strip... sparring... even if I'll start at a disadvantage..." Of course, then he had to shift his hips so as not to give her cause to sic her father and warlike relations upon him.

[Dymphna]

She giggled at his suggestion, moving to put her finger on his bottom lip before finally letting her hand fall away to rest on his hip. There was a little shake of her head. "If I was confident in my skills, sure. But I'm not. Plus it's too cold for that... I only strip in the comfort of tented walls," she whispered in his ear before giggling again.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Well," he said slowly, "let's keep warm then, shall we?" He kissed her quickly, hoping the effect would befuddle her more than it did him, and then he drew back, taking several paces back before drawing his scimitar again, opening the fan, as it were. "I'm not as good on my feet as I am on horseback," he promised her, slowly swinging the blade up over his head, the curve of it, edge up, a broken halo over his head that would deflect any downward strike. His legs spread, knees bent, and his feet were turned to point toward Dymphna. He might have looked somewhat formidable if it weren't for the smitten smile on his face. "Forms first?" he offered. That would be slow, without force, getting their muscles used to as perfect a form as they could manage in order that their bodies could find those positions instinctively in the case of a real fight.

[Dymphna]

She kissed him back, moving to give his side a playful pinch as she stepped back. Her level-headedness shined through for once, because his plan to make her mind cloudy didn’t seem to work… At least she didn’t give away if it did or not. Instead she stepped back, looking him straight in the eye, and unbuttoning the buttons on her coat to peel it off. “I know,” she said with a grin at the mention of him not being as good on his feet. She was putting on a rather good show of taking her sweet time as she folded up her coat, put down her extra sickle, and then finally pulled free the other. It was pulled out wrong, and she was quick to flip it, causing the backside blade to jump from bottom to top over her fingers – It was the one trick she was actually practiced at… One that when she was crossing the Sea of Grass, she spent all her time nervously working on. “The sickle doesn’t have forms like your weapon,” she explained calmly as she closed in the distance between them. “Not that I’ve been taught, but…” She put the blunt end of her curved blade to her shoulder, arm crossed over her chest. “The proper way to fight with a sickle is using your other hand to parry and grab. It’s an odd sort of fighting… One my clan has worked to perfect for obvious reasons. My mother was quite good. She fought with two weapons… I want to be that good.” With her sickle to her shoulder, she was quick to put her right foot forward, and her free hand moved to cross and protect her blade arm.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Hm, well... how were you taught, then?" he asked, slowly shifting from his first stance to another defensive stance that didn't look all that defensive; his scimitar was raised, both hands over his head, point high like a hawk surveying the plain. It left his whole body open, but that hawk was just waiting to stoop upon anyone who came within range. From there its weight and his muscles could lend more force to any downward strike than normal. Of course, they were just playing at blades today. "I mean, well... yes, how? I suppose we could spar at quarter speed, which is its own sort of training for the muscles. One has to discipline oneself, and it's more difficult than it seems."

[Dymphna]

“Well…” She paused, looking over his form. For a moment she was distracted by what she saw, and the blush that crept onto her cheeks gave it away as soon as she realized what she was doing. “We spar slowly… I think maybe I could just react to your forms?” She was starting to think maybe she should have spent more time learning her weapon than fussing over her herbs. Of course, that thought didn’t last very long.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"All right," he said, and there was a sudden show of revelation on his face as he realized that his body, somehow, was a distraction to her. Perhaps it should have been obvious, but the boy was oblivious. Smashing a smile to death between his lips, he stepped closer, bringing his blade down with as perfect control as he could manage at quarter speed, not giving up the tension of it for all that. It was a precise abdominal slash, the sort one used to draw first blood in a fight, or to part a length of silk on the air if one's blade were sharp enough. "Ready?" he asked as he was already moving.

[Dymphna]

She wasn’t sure she liked the knowledge that Sam knew what he did to her. The next time they sparred, she was going to make him put on a shirt… It wasn’t like she liked being distracted. But at that moment, she was noticing he was already moving. She noted the tension to him and decided maybe she was supposed to be doing that, too. With a speed to match his, she brought her sickle out from her shoulder. Her arm twisted to hook it about his blade. Of course, the size difference in their weapons messed things up if only because she was out of arms reach and couldn’t grab onto him the way she would have otherwise. It was then that she was glad she didn't agree to strip sparring. “Shouldn’t you have asked me that before you started moving?”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Like the bandits would if they were trying to rob our pavilion?" he asked, and there was a faint note of subtext there that she would likely intuit. He didn't mean it harshly; in fact, he was smiling and joking, but he had his history and she had hers. They had too many similarities. "I apologize for not being chivalrous as a Syliran knight, milady," he said, the last word coming in Common as they spoke in Syliras. She caught his blade, but the size differential and the curve of his scimitar served him well. He was able to turn out of her trap before she could disarm him, spinning like a tornado in slow motion to aim a head strike that left him a bit open below, but one couldn't disregard a head shot coming at them.