[ Wangji strikes another one of what Fei imagines is many regal poses in his arsenal, and Fei watches him, her focus shifting between his sword and the expression on his unfathomable face. He extends his regrets and there's a part of her that exists in the borderlands between girlish and warlike that almost wants to outright giggle in response.
He has indulged her, he continues to yield to her wants, to find a way to move with her even as she works in every trick she knows to make it difficult to keep up. Because of this, she indulges him in turn, conveying pleasantries that she might have not bothered to share otherwise. ]
You may still.
[ The side of her hand runs up the spine of her sheathed sword, and while the mutes the song of the metal Fei can feel the energy drummed up by the movement, and it sets Youhuang into motion. He's not fit to counter with the prideful way he brandishes his weapon and it's an easy opening to seize on, bringing her sword down to meet with his, bolstered by the hand at its back. ]
( A broader, heartier sword might have delivered the parry, even at short distance. Where there is strength of the arm, width rescues even the slow. Bichen is not so forgiving — nimble, serpentine, fast-striking. When he fails her with a treacle-step, she has nothing to give him. The sword does not fail the swordsman.
This, catching the strike on his flank when he's too dull-witted to retreat in time entirely, sends shivers of ache to his ribs, his spine. Off-centres him, and he slips in a broad circle to the right, shifting to send Bichen down, first to target her lower back, then her legs — whichever space the blade might find unattended.
Sword work, so often, is in the hedging of wagers, in luck brokering chance. Skill benefits strategy, not a dirty brawl amid linen lines. )
Your husband knows you fight like this?
( ...from what Wangji has glimpsed of Xie Yun, her husband's dubious appetite for war may well have driven her to the sword. )
[ He catches her thigh and sends her gliding back, the toe of one shoe dragging against the grit of the courtyard floor, arms spread like a hovering bird of prey. There's safety in distance, and when she comes to a halt and readies herself again, it's with a yard between them. Enough space to shake her head, eyes narrowing sharply at the question. ]
You fail to best me so you turn to tattling?
[ Tisk tisk.
She'll have a bruise later from where he caught her, but now isn't the time to dwell on trivial things like that. Instead, she makes one more rush, aware of her own weariness as well as his. Still, it would never do to give him less. They have come so far, each fanning the other's flames, their shadows twisting against the stone walls of the orphanage, making them look more like they're dancing. ]
( By now, they're old lions, barely fanged, paws leathery and battered, claws skidding. He glides back, Bichen raised at the last moment, brought forward, then diagonally down, less to forcibly disarm her than to signal the last parry.
After, he pulls back, drifts a few steps farther to inject distance, and ends with the charcoal-smudged sketch of a half-bow, Bichen still bare and in hand. In the heat of the quieting, cooling moment, some do not understand peace has abruptly been implemented. Should momentum drive her forward, he is at least armed to fend. )
You find me overly verbose.
( This, while breath ripples, ebbs and tides and stabilises in his worn lungs. Few have assailed him with that accusation. Farther out, linens sway each way, begging Wangji's attention to gently right them on the line. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He has indulged her, he continues to yield to her wants, to find a way to move with her even as she works in every trick she knows to make it difficult to keep up. Because of this, she indulges him in turn, conveying pleasantries that she might have not bothered to share otherwise. ]
You may still.
[ The side of her hand runs up the spine of her sheathed sword, and while the mutes the song of the metal Fei can feel the energy drummed up by the movement, and it sets Youhuang into motion. He's not fit to counter with the prideful way he brandishes his weapon and it's an easy opening to seize on, bringing her sword down to meet with his, bolstered by the hand at its back. ]
no subject
( A broader, heartier sword might have delivered the parry, even at short distance. Where there is strength of the arm, width rescues even the slow. Bichen is not so forgiving — nimble, serpentine, fast-striking. When he fails her with a treacle-step, she has nothing to give him. The sword does not fail the swordsman.
This, catching the strike on his flank when he's too dull-witted to retreat in time entirely, sends shivers of ache to his ribs, his spine. Off-centres him, and he slips in a broad circle to the right, shifting to send Bichen down, first to target her lower back, then her legs — whichever space the blade might find unattended.
Sword work, so often, is in the hedging of wagers, in luck brokering chance. Skill benefits strategy, not a dirty brawl amid linen lines. )
Your husband knows you fight like this?
( ...from what Wangji has glimpsed of Xie Yun, her husband's dubious appetite for war may well have driven her to the sword. )
no subject
You fail to best me so you turn to tattling?
[ Tisk tisk.
She'll have a bruise later from where he caught her, but now isn't the time to dwell on trivial things like that. Instead, she makes one more rush, aware of her own weariness as well as his. Still, it would never do to give him less. They have come so far, each fanning the other's flames, their shadows twisting against the stone walls of the orphanage, making them look more like they're dancing. ]
no subject
( By now, they're old lions, barely fanged, paws leathery and battered, claws skidding. He glides back, Bichen raised at the last moment, brought forward, then diagonally down, less to forcibly disarm her than to signal the last parry.
After, he pulls back, drifts a few steps farther to inject distance, and ends with the charcoal-smudged sketch of a half-bow, Bichen still bare and in hand. In the heat of the quieting, cooling moment, some do not understand peace has abruptly been implemented. Should momentum drive her forward, he is at least armed to fend. )
You find me overly verbose.
( This, while breath ripples, ebbs and tides and stabilises in his worn lungs. Few have assailed him with that accusation. Farther out, linens sway each way, begging Wangji's attention to gently right them on the line. )