[ Her fingers are slick with his blood, as she steps away from him. Releasing the blade into his hold. His keeping. His.
His blood now, though, she promises, that's hers. Her fingers come up, as she steps from him. Wipes her thumb against her jaw in a streak that's absent as she moves to sit on the edge of his bed. Arranges herself and her skirts neatly, as much at home in such things as she is promised violence. Lets them settle over her feet, sweeps them about herself as she gathers up her hair to settle it long over her shoulder. If she had her way, she'd stand with him. But she needs to save her strength, for now.
Settles herself settled the way she likes, and then she turns her gaze on him. This time is less teasing at his painted face and decadent clothes, lack of comfort for them. This time, it's more bluntly critical. Raking over him and then raising her fingers to direct his gaze forward. Tone commanding - and more than that. It's fully expectant he will do nothing less than what she says.
He is strong - well she learned that the rough way, but his posture was fine as was. Didn't seem to favour any injuries that she could see thus far. ]
Move your blade to your prominent hand. Then move that side's foot back. This is your starting position. Test the blade in your hand from there. A sword is made to kill, and it wants to do so. Fear that, respect that. Ease it, swing it, learn its weight and its balance. Learn how it settles in your palm. Tell me your observations are, as you do so.
[ Another gesture as if to say - go on then, you have her permission to speak and move again for a time. ]
no subject
His blood now, though, she promises, that's hers. Her fingers come up, as she steps from him. Wipes her thumb against her jaw in a streak that's absent as she moves to sit on the edge of his bed. Arranges herself and her skirts neatly, as much at home in such things as she is promised violence. Lets them settle over her feet, sweeps them about herself as she gathers up her hair to settle it long over her shoulder. If she had her way, she'd stand with him. But she needs to save her strength, for now.
Settles herself settled the way she likes, and then she turns her gaze on him. This time is less teasing at his painted face and decadent clothes, lack of comfort for them. This time, it's more bluntly critical. Raking over him and then raising her fingers to direct his gaze forward. Tone commanding - and more than that. It's fully expectant he will do nothing less than what she says.
He is strong - well she learned that the rough way, but his posture was fine as was. Didn't seem to favour any injuries that she could see thus far. ]
Move your blade to your prominent hand. Then move that side's foot back. This is your starting position. Test the blade in your hand from there. A sword is made to kill, and it wants to do so. Fear that, respect that. Ease it, swing it, learn its weight and its balance. Learn how it settles in your palm. Tell me your observations are, as you do so.
[ Another gesture as if to say - go on then, you have her permission to speak and move again for a time. ]