”He likes to talk, doesn’t he?” she says, eyes glancing to the unicorn as she says it as if she’s being conspiratorial. Probably the unicorn doesn’t understand her, and of course she’s not actually trying to hide it from Deimos. It’s simply her way of being, bordering on the ridiculous. Life was too short and too cold (or too hot, at the moment) or too insert-whatever-you-want here to be perfectly serious. She’d already died once and though she wasn’t some sentimental sap about having a new lease on life or whatever (her heart stopped for a few beats, it’s not as if she’d been dead for long), she wasn’t going to waste what she did have either.
She takes a few steps closer to him, circling, watching the way he moves (or doesn’t) with her. She has about zero advantages in this fight, but she’s used to those odds, and the fight isn’t necessarily about winning. It’s about the fight, about the game, about letting some primal part of their minds be unleashed so that the rest of them can simply be. Another step to her left. “Grounder?” she asks, another educated guess. He wasn’t from Halo, or she’d have most likely known him, and he didn’t exactly look like a fae from the Greatwood. “I’m from Halo myself.”
Another step. She tests the weight of the scythe in her hands, holding it at angle with the blade above her head to the right. “What’s been happening here? Halo has been a bubble, after all. Information has only recently begun to trickle in, making its way past their supposed King and down to the peasants who made up the country. Finally to the people who mattered.
She will not strike as he answers, though whether he answers before or after is up to him. This is not a distraction tactic, but it is a game. Step. Question. Answer. Strike. Step. Question. Answer.
Strike.
She launches forward, bringing the scythe down toward his right shoulder, aiming behind him as if she might pull forward and hook the scythe through his back and right shoulder. It was a useful blade that way. The shaft stays largely across her torso, blocking an assault directly to her front as best she can. Her sides and legs are open targets though, and she keeps her body at an angle, attempting to keep her more vulnerable spots out of reach.
She takes a few steps closer to him, circling, watching the way he moves (or doesn’t) with her. She has about zero advantages in this fight, but she’s used to those odds, and the fight isn’t necessarily about winning. It’s about the fight, about the game, about letting some primal part of their minds be unleashed so that the rest of them can simply be. Another step to her left. “Grounder?” she asks, another educated guess. He wasn’t from Halo, or she’d have most likely known him, and he didn’t exactly look like a fae from the Greatwood. “I’m from Halo myself.”
Another step. She tests the weight of the scythe in her hands, holding it at angle with the blade above her head to the right. “What’s been happening here? Halo has been a bubble, after all. Information has only recently begun to trickle in, making its way past their supposed King and down to the peasants who made up the country. Finally to the people who mattered.
She will not strike as he answers, though whether he answers before or after is up to him. This is not a distraction tactic, but it is a game. Step. Question. Answer. Strike. Step. Question. Answer.
Strike.
She launches forward, bringing the scythe down toward his right shoulder, aiming behind him as if she might pull forward and hook the scythe through his back and right shoulder. It was a useful blade that way. The shaft stays largely across her torso, blocking an assault directly to her front as best she can. Her sides and legs are open targets though, and she keeps her body at an angle, attempting to keep her more vulnerable spots out of reach.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
