12-02-2009, 08:49 AM
He sighed haughtily, adjusted his hat that had fallen askew from his quick movements. The faux Frenchman gave an appraising look towards the spikes that had erupted where he had previously been standing, and flicked his sword out as if to casually shatter them. The blade hit on the flat side of the sword, which did splinter the spikes, but it sent a painful vibration through the weapon and into his hands. Pierre winced in pain, and tried to play it off by lightly tossing his sword to his other hand.
“It pains me to say such hurtful things. As penance, I shall fight you left-handed!” he announced grandly. “Shall we continue this dance, ma chère, or will you relinquish your doubts of the passion that awaits you?”
Sage merely raised her claws, one of them now dripping with trickling crimson liquid. His eyes momentarily fixated on the bloodstained ice weapon, and Pierre made a little gagging sound, his head lurching momentarily before he quickly righted it once more. His face, once rosy in color, paled to mixture of white and green.
“Are…a-are you okay?” Sage asked.
“I…am…wonderful. How could I not be, with such a magnificent specimen such as yourself standing before me?” he managed slowly. He forcibly looked away from the bloody claw, swallowing audibly. “Please, dearest Sage, must we continue this fight? Must we resort to such methods?”
“I…I told you b-before! I h-have to win!” Sage replied, firmly keeping her stance.
“Allow me to melt the ice, and we both win, no?” Pierre grinned. “With you by my side, why, I could make you so happy, you would never feel the frosty touch of winter again.”
He dragged the fingers of his free hand dramatically over his face, and closed them into a fist, allowing his eyes to close in synchronized fashion. The swordsman suddenly jerked his head to the side, as if pained by Sage’s inability to acquiesce to his powers of romanticism. Sage, however, wasn’t stupid; she knew better than to fall for the pompous buffoonery.
“Alas, my heart weeps for you,” Pierre declared, his bottom lip quivering in an exaggerated fashion. Then, he quickly resumed his poor, incorrect fighting stance. “But I shall show you the path! We shall be together in the end!”
He charged, brandishing his sword valiantly. Sage raised her claw to counter, and a few more thick drops of blood spilled from the wintry tip. Pierre halted in his tracks upon seeing the dribbling fluids, his face going even paler. He raised an index finger, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, as if he were trying to speak. Finally, his eyes rolled into the backs of his head and he fainted with an effeminate sigh, crumpling to the dirt below.
Sage’s eyes narrowed, wary of any tricks he might pull. Cautiously, the girl inched to his fallen figure and prodded him with a toe. He was completely out cold.
“It pains me to say such hurtful things. As penance, I shall fight you left-handed!” he announced grandly. “Shall we continue this dance, ma chère, or will you relinquish your doubts of the passion that awaits you?”
Sage merely raised her claws, one of them now dripping with trickling crimson liquid. His eyes momentarily fixated on the bloodstained ice weapon, and Pierre made a little gagging sound, his head lurching momentarily before he quickly righted it once more. His face, once rosy in color, paled to mixture of white and green.
“Are…a-are you okay?” Sage asked.
“I…am…wonderful. How could I not be, with such a magnificent specimen such as yourself standing before me?” he managed slowly. He forcibly looked away from the bloody claw, swallowing audibly. “Please, dearest Sage, must we continue this fight? Must we resort to such methods?”
“I…I told you b-before! I h-have to win!” Sage replied, firmly keeping her stance.
“Allow me to melt the ice, and we both win, no?” Pierre grinned. “With you by my side, why, I could make you so happy, you would never feel the frosty touch of winter again.”
He dragged the fingers of his free hand dramatically over his face, and closed them into a fist, allowing his eyes to close in synchronized fashion. The swordsman suddenly jerked his head to the side, as if pained by Sage’s inability to acquiesce to his powers of romanticism. Sage, however, wasn’t stupid; she knew better than to fall for the pompous buffoonery.
“Alas, my heart weeps for you,” Pierre declared, his bottom lip quivering in an exaggerated fashion. Then, he quickly resumed his poor, incorrect fighting stance. “But I shall show you the path! We shall be together in the end!”
He charged, brandishing his sword valiantly. Sage raised her claw to counter, and a few more thick drops of blood spilled from the wintry tip. Pierre halted in his tracks upon seeing the dribbling fluids, his face going even paler. He raised an index finger, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, as if he were trying to speak. Finally, his eyes rolled into the backs of his head and he fainted with an effeminate sigh, crumpling to the dirt below.
Sage’s eyes narrowed, wary of any tricks he might pull. Cautiously, the girl inched to his fallen figure and prodded him with a toe. He was completely out cold.
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