And a bit overkill, though he supposes it only reflects just how irritated she is, and how against the idea of sporting even the smallest injury at his hand might be — still, using daemonic power against him is not exactly what he expected, even if he does catch that flash of darkness in her eyes before he is hit by it. And it’s strange, because it’s technically his own energy, this awful stuff. Yet it pushes him back regardless, the force practically flinging him across the stage, so that he has to fall to his knees and slam his blade into the platform itself so that he doesn’t go tumbling away.
It doesn’t hurt, of course. But it’s decidedly a little jarring, and the crowd reacts accordingly. Incessant booing, absolutely hating the display, continuing to call for retribution. Ardyn pulls himself to his feet again, unsticking his sword from the wooden flooring. He looks at her from where he stands, grin askance and eyes flashing with amusement and vague surprise.]
Why make it more difficult than need be? You’ll pay for that.
[That was loud enough to project, so that the audience might hear it even over their roaring. But Ardyn gives no warning before he closes that distance between them, fast and agile for a man his size, his sword glinting. He swings downward, diagonally, to cross against her own “weapon”. Only then does he speak where only she can hear.]
Fancy yourself a daemon, too? Why fight back so hard when you need only sport a shallow wound and then fall to the ground?
no subject
And a bit overkill, though he supposes it only reflects just how irritated she is, and how against the idea of sporting even the smallest injury at his hand might be — still, using daemonic power against him is not exactly what he expected, even if he does catch that flash of darkness in her eyes before he is hit by it. And it’s strange, because it’s technically his own energy, this awful stuff. Yet it pushes him back regardless, the force practically flinging him across the stage, so that he has to fall to his knees and slam his blade into the platform itself so that he doesn’t go tumbling away.
It doesn’t hurt, of course. But it’s decidedly a little jarring, and the crowd reacts accordingly. Incessant booing, absolutely hating the display, continuing to call for retribution. Ardyn pulls himself to his feet again, unsticking his sword from the wooden flooring. He looks at her from where he stands, grin askance and eyes flashing with amusement and vague surprise.]
Why make it more difficult than need be? You’ll pay for that.
[That was loud enough to project, so that the audience might hear it even over their roaring. But Ardyn gives no warning before he closes that distance between them, fast and agile for a man his size, his sword glinting. He swings downward, diagonally, to cross against her own “weapon”. Only then does he speak where only she can hear.]
Fancy yourself a daemon, too? Why fight back so hard when you need only sport a shallow wound and then fall to the ground?
[rosalind]