Oh, darling, if I ever cross your mind
They make their way to the start of the competition – Thorn eyeing the way Damian sets out the Halovian steel as his barter for entry for the both of them. And Thorn, always so great at reading people and managing situations in that regard, flashes a crooked grin at the “barker” with an incline of his head. The knives are retrieved with a small little “thanks,” before he’s stepping away from the space to appraise just what they’ve gotten themselves into.
He spots the man, because of course he does. He’s hard to miss with all that bulk and brawn. Hearing Damien’s whisper, Thorn dips his head slightly with a hum of agreement – something that suggests that it was a task easily done. The blade is light in his hands, thumb brushing against the smooth handle as he steps aside to let Damien take the first attempt. And while he’s doing it, Thorn sidles up beside the big bulky hulk of a man with his charming grins and suave appreciation.
Not enough to be taken out of the game, but with enough flirtation and playfulness that the other competitor doesn’t give into initially – too focused on the crowd that chants his name and appreciations. But with a few murmured phrases while Damien takes his shot, Thorn doubles down. A little flare of illusion magic has the man scenting something familiar so long as Thorn’s standing near him, and it’s enough to have him glancing around for whomever the scent reminded him of.
It's still enough to get in his head after Thorn steps away, flashing Damien a smile that seems to set the vibe of the game the woodsman is playing. “Damn, huh?” Comes the tease, because he knows Damien can and often does do better than that. But now it’s his turn, and Thorn steps up with the light blade between his fingers, stilling as he aims and when he throws the knife he adds a little cushion of air magic to help the spin of the blade before it thunks into the target’s edge, too, far from the bullseye but at least not too terrible.
He'd said he was rusty, after all.
So it’s with an airy, playful smile that Thorn collects the knife and steps back with a sigh, stepping by the hulk competitor and flares another hint of that illusion magic to keep him on edge.
He spots the man, because of course he does. He’s hard to miss with all that bulk and brawn. Hearing Damien’s whisper, Thorn dips his head slightly with a hum of agreement – something that suggests that it was a task easily done. The blade is light in his hands, thumb brushing against the smooth handle as he steps aside to let Damien take the first attempt. And while he’s doing it, Thorn sidles up beside the big bulky hulk of a man with his charming grins and suave appreciation.
Not enough to be taken out of the game, but with enough flirtation and playfulness that the other competitor doesn’t give into initially – too focused on the crowd that chants his name and appreciations. But with a few murmured phrases while Damien takes his shot, Thorn doubles down. A little flare of illusion magic has the man scenting something familiar so long as Thorn’s standing near him, and it’s enough to have him glancing around for whomever the scent reminded him of.
It's still enough to get in his head after Thorn steps away, flashing Damien a smile that seems to set the vibe of the game the woodsman is playing. “Damn, huh?” Comes the tease, because he knows Damien can and often does do better than that. But now it’s his turn, and Thorn steps up with the light blade between his fingers, stilling as he aims and when he throws the knife he adds a little cushion of air magic to help the spin of the blade before it thunks into the target’s edge, too, far from the bullseye but at least not too terrible.
He'd said he was rusty, after all.
So it’s with an airy, playful smile that Thorn collects the knife and steps back with a sigh, stepping by the hulk competitor and flares another hint of that illusion magic to keep him on edge.
Hawthorn
Won't you let me know?
