Ah. He should’ve known the Queen of Torchline wanted to stab him. Who didn’t these days? Finch eyes the dagger in her hand, sees the loose grace which she holds and handles it, sees the challenging gleam in her eye. At least it doesn’t seem like she wants to stab him in particular, not harboring a personal grudge but rather issuing a challenge that just so happened to have stabbing involved in it.
Finch runs his fingers over the rope again, considering. Knives aside, it was a much more appealing offer than descending down into the Fingers and fighting to unlock a long-rusted, empty cache buried in a slick, slimy wall. It had been a while since he got to do some good, honest, old-fashioned agility work for his thievery. He glances again at the feather daggers in Flora’s hand, and again at her shit-eating grin.
“Alright, fine,” His grin grew to match her own and he started shedding his layers in preparation for the task ahead. Already traveling light, his sleek jacket goes on the ground, as well as his lockpicks, his backup set of lockpicks, his backup backup lockpicks, three daggers, a coil of rope, and after a moment’s consideration, a little pouch carrying an assortment of interesting and very lethal plants.
Unencumbered by the tools of his trade, he turns to Flora and gives a sharp nod. “Let me do it slow without your extra encouragement so I get a feel for it. Then we’ll add your motivation.” He makes his way to the start of the obstacle course and after a small, instinctual gymnast’s setting of his shoulders, he springs forward.
Finch runs his fingers over the rope again, considering. Knives aside, it was a much more appealing offer than descending down into the Fingers and fighting to unlock a long-rusted, empty cache buried in a slick, slimy wall. It had been a while since he got to do some good, honest, old-fashioned agility work for his thievery. He glances again at the feather daggers in Flora’s hand, and again at her shit-eating grin.
“Alright, fine,” His grin grew to match her own and he started shedding his layers in preparation for the task ahead. Already traveling light, his sleek jacket goes on the ground, as well as his lockpicks, his backup set of lockpicks, his backup backup lockpicks, three daggers, a coil of rope, and after a moment’s consideration, a little pouch carrying an assortment of interesting and very lethal plants.
Unencumbered by the tools of his trade, he turns to Flora and gives a sharp nod. “Let me do it slow without your extra encouragement so I get a feel for it. Then we’ll add your motivation.” He makes his way to the start of the obstacle course and after a small, instinctual gymnast’s setting of his shoulders, he springs forward.
