[ Surely I will earn more of your praise this day—the words are a vow, a promise of pain, and with their sweet sound, blood floods his limbs with a heat grander than that of mere exertion. Lucius' ears flick back—not pinned in a posture of anger, but angled instead with the thirst of a hunter. As Eridanus' stance shifts, weight rebalanced and muscles tensed in the barest fraction of a second, Lucius' tongue licks over his teeth with bestial hunger.
The strikes is, in its way, beautiful: well-rendered and swift, glittering opal and silver alike a liquid blur of motion. Still, no amount of graceful splendor can hide just how ostentatious Eridanus' attempt is; rather than aim for a beginner's target, the tip of that sabre grasps for his heart.
This time, Lucius doesn't reflect the blow. Rather, he spins aside from it, a laugh on his lips as nimble feet pull him far enough that his lover may meet his grinning eyes. ]
I commend the arrogance, [ Lucius taunts, the same as he would any other opponent, and in his hands, he rotates his own sabre easily within his grip. ] Sadly, you have work enough cut out for you just aiming for an arm or a cheek.
[ Abruptly, his weight shifts on the balls of his face. The idle spin of the blades in his hands quickens, and in the blink of an eye, his palms close around their hilts in a new grip entirely. It's a stance Eridanus should recognize immediately—given that it's the very same as his own, Lucius having entertained him more than long enough to present a flawless copy.
The sword stroke that carries him forward is flawless as well. The native sword style Eridanus has presented to him is intended for bodies far more lithe than he had possessed as an Astartes, just the same as Eldar's had been—but it suits just perfectly for the form he wears now, he finds, his shape as a manticore as sleek and nimble as any he could ask for. In a cruel blend of malice and flirtation, his lips pull wide. ]
Perhaps start with an eye!
[ Naturally, that is the intention behind this demonstration, the falchion held in Lucius' off-hand primed to deflect any attempted riposte as that lightning-quick strike draws him near. ]
no subject
The strikes is, in its way, beautiful: well-rendered and swift, glittering opal and silver alike a liquid blur of motion. Still, no amount of graceful splendor can hide just how ostentatious Eridanus' attempt is; rather than aim for a beginner's target, the tip of that sabre grasps for his heart.
This time, Lucius doesn't reflect the blow. Rather, he spins aside from it, a laugh on his lips as nimble feet pull him far enough that his lover may meet his grinning eyes. ]
I commend the arrogance, [ Lucius taunts, the same as he would any other opponent, and in his hands, he rotates his own sabre easily within his grip. ] Sadly, you have work enough cut out for you just aiming for an arm or a cheek.
[ Abruptly, his weight shifts on the balls of his face. The idle spin of the blades in his hands quickens, and in the blink of an eye, his palms close around their hilts in a new grip entirely. It's a stance Eridanus should recognize immediately—given that it's the very same as his own, Lucius having entertained him more than long enough to present a flawless copy.
The sword stroke that carries him forward is flawless as well. The native sword style Eridanus has presented to him is intended for bodies far more lithe than he had possessed as an Astartes, just the same as Eldar's had been—but it suits just perfectly for the form he wears now, he finds, his shape as a manticore as sleek and nimble as any he could ask for. In a cruel blend of malice and flirtation, his lips pull wide. ]
Perhaps start with an eye!
[ Naturally, that is the intention behind this demonstration, the falchion held in Lucius' off-hand primed to deflect any attempted riposte as that lightning-quick strike draws him near. ]