I turned to face him and looked at the point of his sword with the casual disdain people would typically reserve for a telemarketer or one of those people who pass out pamphlets at the mall. All the same I found myself grinning internally at him. He had a lot of spunk, for someone I had been close to killing twice already, and his buddy was doing nothing to encourage him to keep him out of it. That meant a non-interference match that, if I was lucky, would involve a good amount of kicking him around and rolling him on the floor. Something itched at the corner of my mouth, making it twitch involuntarily in something that was definitely not a smile. My hand played with the hilt of the throwing knives as a watched him, and I felt a genuine smile at my lips.

"A duel, huh?" I muttered, stepping over to one of the armory walls. My grip slipped into a slim rapier and pulled it off the rack, scabbard and all. "Alright. No rules."

By the time I turned, my left hand had already flicked one of the throwing knives at him, quick as you please. Most of the time, it would be useless for anything short of a distraction. Your average human being cannot even comprehend how difficult it is to just toss knives and wound someone with it, not even taking account having a good enough aim to hit something that would maim or kill. Your average human being cannot wield a longsword one-handed, run a five minute mile, or slay dragons, either. When I throw a knife, it is damn well going to wound someone ninety-nine percent of the time, maim someone eighty percent of the time, and kill at least fifty percent of the time. That is because, plain and simple, I have practice. I have killed with them before.

"Go," I said, belatedly, already walking forward with a casual disregard for proper fencing steps or even appropriate form. I had taken lessons on the art before, and had a few times I had used it in a ... practical application circumstance ... but I had never gone to the lengths to look stupid and girly while I did either. Most people needed those kinds of fall-backs. I just didn't.

My arms are long. At six foot five, I am not a short guy, and I am not a small guy either. My reach was probably about a fourth again what Zorlo had, and in fencing that makes enough of a difference that I could take advantage of it. I stepped into range first, I could attack first, and if I was smart about it I could keep him out of range. Essentially, I could take him down without ever getting touched by cold steel. The blade whistled cutely as I thrust forward in a rusty, functional lunge towards my target. If nothing else, I could at least start by playing with his insipid little wimp swords.

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[Graphics by Me.]

[The signature links to Aleksandr Sokoll.]
["I believe in sleeping." ~ Bruce Lee]