Ianto
"I'd rather not let one get close enough to need the help of the gods," Ianto remarks with a lopsided smile, though the tension in the air between them is such that one might cut it with a knife. He snorts at the remarks about his hands, clenching and unclenching them into fists that, whilst not exactly the clumsy beginner's sort, have not seen much action by way of fighting. "I think having something between myself and them might be a good place to start."
Risking a glance at Remi's face, he raises coppery brows as if to ask whether the other man wants to fight with weapons or not. But, assuming the alchemist doesn't see it, Ianto goes rooting around in the undergrowth and eventually emerges with a sturdy looking stick that might, with enough time and care, make a half decent quarterstaff. "There," he announces proudly. "Come at me. I've always said I'd have to beat you off with a stick."
There's a grin twitching at the corners of his mouth now, Ianto clearing his throat and looking away again. "Sorry," he murmurs.
Risking a glance at Remi's face, he raises coppery brows as if to ask whether the other man wants to fight with weapons or not. But, assuming the alchemist doesn't see it, Ianto goes rooting around in the undergrowth and eventually emerges with a sturdy looking stick that might, with enough time and care, make a half decent quarterstaff. "There," he announces proudly. "Come at me. I've always said I'd have to beat you off with a stick."
There's a grin twitching at the corners of his mouth now, Ianto clearing his throat and looking away again. "Sorry," he murmurs.
