Cera
you save everyone
but who saves you?
The wariness is justifiable, though definitely a different greeting than he'd received at his last spare with Are. Still, there was little Cera could not mend with the warmth of his smile, and in time the man melts and presents his hand to shake. Cera steps forward confidently to accept it, shaking firmly without his kindly expression ever faltering. An impish grin twists at his lips at the idea of more to this particular battle. He is certainly at a disadvantage with his singular talent, but he'd been outmatched against Are and still come out victorious. Cera had being an underdog down to an art.
"Whatever you're willing to use," he confirms instead, glad he feels battle-ready and well-rested if he's going to be subjecting his body to magical hell. It wouldn't be the first time, and certainly not the last. Cera had never really learned how not to jump into fights feet-first, blind and foolhardy. He blamed his upbringing, truly.
"Nice to meet you Loren, I'm Cera," he says instead as their palms depart, smile growing at the prospect of friendship. It mattered little to him how it was struck, during battle or booze or some other variety of embarrassment. He was quite the collector of people.
Loren paces backwards, and Cera slides his bo from the simple strap holding it to his back, spinning it idly a few times to remind himself of its reach and weight. The gesture to commence is signaled, and with a sudden fierce change to his expression he lunges forward, dragging the end of the bo through the snow and flinging as much of it as he can at Loren in hopes of blinding him. Useful things learned living in the desert, eh? As the range of the bo ends, he reverses the motion to hopefully bring down the topmost part of it down towards Loren's left shoulder. Disabling it in any way would only prove fortuitous for the rest of their spar.
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