LOREN
Apparently honesty had been the right policy: the baker had no interest in talking through whatever issue it was that was on her mind that the summoner’s subconscious had somehow picked up on. And as the Launceleyn had already stated, he wasn’t in a talkative mood. Not now, maybe not ever. He nodded in response to her statement, not feeling the need to acknowledge it with anything more than that. He’d heard her, and he understood. They had at least that much in common.
However, Amalia’s second suggestion was quite an interesting one.
Loren seized her up. Honestly, he had absolutely no idea what to make of her. She was muscular, and graceful, but she was also a baker, so he didn’t know what, if any, combat training she had. Still, as with any unknown opponent, he would assume she was highly skilled until proven otherwise. At that point, it occurred to him that there had never been a question of whether or not he would accept; his blood was already singing in anticipation, and he could feel his magic uncoiling. It had been too long since he'd properly stretched his mind or his muscles in the way he'd been trained his whole life.
While he might not like the legacy his ancestors had left him, he also couldn't deny it entirely. Whatever else they were, the Launceleyns were fighters. He just had to strive to make sure he was fighting for the right causes.
Nodding again, this time with a bit more enthusiasm, he stepped a good distance away from her. "I'm not much of a drinker, but a spar sounds good." If he won, he wouldn't need much from her, and if she won, well, he'd gladly pay back at least some of the debt he knew he still owed her. While he waited for her to be ready, he glanced around at their surroundings. His most powerful spells and attacks had an unfortunate habit of causing property damage, as the baker should remember full well. Actually, now that he thought about it, they should probably set some ground rules. At least they didn't have any weapons to worry about. ”Unarmed, or anything goes?” He’d likely be at a severe disadvantage if he was forced to rely entirely on his physical skills, but he’d do it. Anything to burn off the fire now kindling in his veins.
Regardless of her response, he gestured for her to make the first move, settling into a defensive crouch, eyes watching her chest for any sign of movement. This wasn't going to be fun.
But it was going to be good.
However, Amalia’s second suggestion was quite an interesting one.
Loren seized her up. Honestly, he had absolutely no idea what to make of her. She was muscular, and graceful, but she was also a baker, so he didn’t know what, if any, combat training she had. Still, as with any unknown opponent, he would assume she was highly skilled until proven otherwise. At that point, it occurred to him that there had never been a question of whether or not he would accept; his blood was already singing in anticipation, and he could feel his magic uncoiling. It had been too long since he'd properly stretched his mind or his muscles in the way he'd been trained his whole life.
While he might not like the legacy his ancestors had left him, he also couldn't deny it entirely. Whatever else they were, the Launceleyns were fighters. He just had to strive to make sure he was fighting for the right causes.
Nodding again, this time with a bit more enthusiasm, he stepped a good distance away from her. "I'm not much of a drinker, but a spar sounds good." If he won, he wouldn't need much from her, and if she won, well, he'd gladly pay back at least some of the debt he knew he still owed her. While he waited for her to be ready, he glanced around at their surroundings. His most powerful spells and attacks had an unfortunate habit of causing property damage, as the baker should remember full well. Actually, now that he thought about it, they should probably set some ground rules. At least they didn't have any weapons to worry about. ”Unarmed, or anything goes?” He’d likely be at a severe disadvantage if he was forced to rely entirely on his physical skills, but he’d do it. Anything to burn off the fire now kindling in his veins.
Regardless of her response, he gestured for her to make the first move, settling into a defensive crouch, eyes watching her chest for any sign of movement. This wasn't going to be fun.
But it was going to be good.
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
