WHO: Fitcher + Wysteria + Flint & You WHAT: Catch-all WHEN: Firstfall-ish WHERE: Kirkwall and stuff. NOTES: Will update if necessary. Feel free to grab me if you want a specific starter/wildcard me, baby.
[ Bastien, in order: inclines his head at the fight while Benedict answers him, mutters I am not organizing interviews for another Ambassador in Athessa’s direction—as if that would be anywhere near his chief concern—and smiles sheepishly at Yseult’s first question before shaking his head at the second.
Then it’s over. Round one, at least, apparently. Bastien’s little smile turns wider when he sees Alexandrie wide-eyed on the stairs, and he tips his head toward her when Byerly addresses them to make sure he has a look himself. ]
Don’t try too hard. I bet against you.
[ There has been no betting. But there’s time.
In the meantime, he's holding his hand out expectantly for Athessa's apple. Share. ]
[Appearing (of course) behind Yseult, Darras reaches over her and holds out his hand for the apple, since Athessa won't be using it anymore. Dibs next from Bastien.]
I'll take your bet. I'm for the ambassador and his second.
[ By whistles and jerks his head, an invitation to Athessa to come down, because there are few things more pleasing than besmirching the dueler's code by having a little elf girl as a second. Charming. ]
Scoutmaster, kindly inform your subordinate that this is a matter which falls above her rank.
[With a scrape of the boot to clear some minor hedge-adjacent related debris from the cobblestones between them, Flint settles into his stance across from Byerly. It's a touch wider here, the line of his sword arm drifting out by some imperceptible degree. Less weight in the heels. Less square across the span of his shoulders. Hovering at the edge of forward momentum.]
[ But he doesn't seem all that bothered, really. Instead, he gives up the vamping as he observes the shift in Flint's stance. His own posture changes in turn - moving back on his heels a bit, ready to evade rather than engage. ]
I see. Did it seem they came down for this, or did it begin once they were here? [ This to Benedict, who seems the only informed member of the company, and after a click of her tongue at Bastien.
She then tips her head back to flash a smile at Darras as he appears, before turning back to the duel at Flint's call. ]
You would deny him his choice of second, Commander? That hardly seems sporting.
[Byerly's instinct is the right one. No sooner has hardly sporting been voiced than Flint strikes forward. It's a shockingly abrupt assault, his intended blow falling heavy and high despite Byerly's nearly full hand of height advantage, and designed to take full advantage of this new arrangement.
If round one had been contained, it seems Flint means to drive the length of the courtyard during this one.]
[ Hell. How can a fellow that sturdy move that fast? Even with By preparing to flee, it takes him by surprise. Which: it shouldn't; he's seen the ferocity Flint has on and off the battlefield both. But it's so damnably different from the last time that he's genuinely caught off-guard.
His parry is decidedly ungraceful. It's the downside of a sword like his: although it's light and quick, it can't really stand up to heavy assault, and so it's knocked away. By pivots, backs away, tries to put some distance between himself and Flint. ]
Twenty silver, [ Bastien says to Darras around the chunk he’s torn off of Athessa’s apple and is holding between his teeth.
Then Flint is going after Byerly in a burst, and Bastien pulls the apple piece into his mouth to chew at a leisurely pace and holds the remainder out to Athessa without looking away from the action. ]
[It's distance he's not keen to let Byerly win. That quick sword needs some room to be clever in, and allowing Byerly to find context in this will only encourage the cunning bastard to be a cunning bastard.
That light blade is knocked away; Byerly looks for room and Flint presses the attack with a callous rising slash. It's a brazenly open assault, all strength and speed and reliant on Byerly being kept off balance—on being steered to think backward rather than to examine the way through forward.]
[ If Byerly's physical prowess is at times underestimated, then perhaps in turn he does tend to underestimate how clever others are. But look at Flint. That bald head, that permanent scowl, that burly frame - even though By has seen time and again that the fellow's quick-witted, it's easy to forget. Perhaps he'll remember next time. Perhaps he won't let Flint move so quickly that he doesn't have time to consider all his options. Perhaps he'll spend more time analyzing the ground than he spends bantering with the audience.
For now, in this fight, he continues his retreat. Step by step, he moves backwards, parrying away Flint's sword but losing ground. But he does still try, lunging forward, quick blade seeking out any opening whatsoever - but not quickly enough. ]
[ Bastien plops his hand heavily on top of Athessa’s head, as if to make it stay still. But it’s only a suggestion though, and a teasing one at that. Not a demand. His fingers and wrist are loose enough that they’ll wobble right along with her head if she keeps shaking it. ]
No backing out.
[ —with a very quick glance at Darras to mark him as the target of that comment, in agreement with Yseult, while Flint herds Byerly backwards. ]
[That lunge might succeed in breaking the advance were it matched against a more similar blade or a weaker arm, or even cut successfully through Flint's open defense if it came from a place less disadvantaged. Instead, a heavy parry beats wide its line and Flint cuts in after that shoulder he'd lost in the first round.
Or would, were butchery the goal after all. The turn of the blade and the angle of his arm behind it, that coil of momentum ready to spring, are implication enough.]
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Then it’s over. Round one, at least, apparently. Bastien’s little smile turns wider when he sees Alexandrie wide-eyed on the stairs, and he tips his head toward her when Byerly addresses them to make sure he has a look himself. ]
Don’t try too hard. I bet against you.
[ There has been no betting. But there’s time.
In the meantime, he's holding his hand out expectantly for Athessa's apple. Share. ]
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[ Same shit as always, Riftwatch. ]
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Does the Lord Ambassador have an appointed Second?
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Are you volunteering?
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I'll take your bet. I'm for the ambassador and his second.
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[With a scrape of the boot to clear some minor hedge-adjacent related debris from the cobblestones between them, Flint settles into his stance across from Byerly. It's a touch wider here, the line of his sword arm drifting out by some imperceptible degree. Less weight in the heels. Less square across the span of his shoulders. Hovering at the edge of forward momentum.]
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[ By turns around with a theatrical pout. ]
Well, I wanted you, Athessa.
[ But he doesn't seem all that bothered, really. Instead, he gives up the vamping as he observes the shift in Flint's stance. His own posture changes in turn - moving back on his heels a bit, ready to evade rather than engage. ]
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She then tips her head back to flash a smile at Darras as he appears, before turning back to the duel at Flint's call. ]
You would deny him his choice of second, Commander? That hardly seems sporting.
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[He seems uneasy all of a sudden-- he's not snitching on anyone, is he? Spirits seem fairly light, all things considered.
To Athessa:]
You can fence?
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Probably.
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If round one had been contained, it seems Flint means to drive the length of the courtyard during this one.]
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His parry is decidedly ungraceful. It's the downside of a sword like his: although it's light and quick, it can't really stand up to heavy assault, and so it's knocked away. By pivots, backs away, tries to put some distance between himself and Flint. ]
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Then Flint is going after Byerly in a burst, and Bastien pulls the apple piece into his mouth to chew at a leisurely pace and holds the remainder out to Athessa without looking away from the action. ]
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That light blade is knocked away; Byerly looks for room and Flint presses the attack with a callous rising slash. It's a brazenly open assault, all strength and speed and reliant on Byerly being kept off balance—on being steered to think backward rather than to examine the way through forward.]
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For now, in this fight, he continues his retreat. Step by step, he moves backwards, parrying away Flint's sword but losing ground. But he does still try, lunging forward, quick blade seeking out any opening whatsoever - but not quickly enough. ]
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C'mon, By... Stop retreating...
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No backing out.
[ —with a very quick glance at Darras to mark him as the target of that comment, in agreement with Yseult, while Flint herds Byerly backwards. ]
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Or would, were butchery the goal after all. The turn of the blade and the angle of his arm behind it, that coil of momentum ready to spring, are implication enough.]
One-one?
[He's reasonably certain he's hilarious.]
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