Fight Scene

Egill

She studied the man closer, watching, waiting for any sign of an advance, but there was none. He simply stared at her, not speaking. Not moving. Entranced by her. Or rather, whatever she just did with her ability. She tried recalling all her lessons with McRoss, seated in silence broken only by questions and lectures. Yet nothing came to mind that could explain what she had just done. The closest thing she could think of was a fighting strategy, where one person uses their ability to corner another. Like with how a water type- or nymph as McRoss liked to call them, after the fantastical creatures- could corner and extinguish a flame's ability by putting out the fire and containing it. Or, a builder- someone who can create new objects out of the surrounding environment- could be pushed to their limits by one of the rare destabilizers- someone who can 'blow up' things by destabilizing its inner workings- who blows up the things they create before it can hurt them. But water can't control fire.
"Það eru margar undur í höfuðkúpu," (A.N: there sre so many wonders in a cow's head- an icelandic phrase of wonder) the man said at last, his voice a whisper. "There's a secret fifth option." His hands shook back and forth at his sides as he looked her up and down, as if he could see the inner workings of her ability as clear as her frayed jumper if he paid close enough attention. He gently stalked forward, closing the distance between them that Demille could have sworn was larger than it now felt. The voice in her head was telling her to run, to leave, to escape and hide, but she refused to move. She crossed her arms over her chest to hide her shaking hands, careful not to apply too much pressure on her burn wound. Thoughts bounced around in her skull like pigeons in a cage, and she focused on the sound of the man's footsteps as a distraction.
Clack
What if I've mutated?
Clack
Can I get out of this?
Clack
What does this mean?
Clack
The man stood before her now, seeming to tower over her like a wolf observing its prey. His eyes darted all around, taking in every pore of her face. She returned the favor, taking the chance to memorize his features if she needed to describe him later. His nose sloped downward at a slight angle and his eyes were deeply set into his face, creating shadows that were lit up by the intensity of his bright green eyes. She noted that there were splashes of brown near their pupils. Slight frown lines were set above his brow, slightly visible under the dark curls falling over his forehead. His small, triangle shaped ruby earrings glinted, reflecting the flames not far off in the distance. The man made eye contact for the second time and Demille's eyes snapped back to him in response.
"Egill Sigurðsson." He said, placing his hands on his hips.
"What?"
"My name."
Demille crossed her arms. "I don't want your name."
"Too bad, you know it now."
"Then I'll just turn you in to the authorities, Egill."
He shrugged lazily. "I've been running from them for years, they know my name."
"I know what you look like."
"So do they. You'd think that would be obvious if they already knew my name."
"Well maybe you're just bluffing."
"And maybe you're stalling."
"Maybe I am!"
"Then maybe I am too."
She rolled her eyes and cocked her hip to the side, putting on a show. "You aren't very good at this whole conversation thing."
"Well you know, it's rude not to tell someone your name when they say theirs."
"Oh no, my manners! How ever will you forgive me?"
Egill glared at her, clearly annoyed, but she stood her ground. Her hands were still shaking, brain still spinning, and arm still aching, but she feigned complete control. Steeled herself behind a mask she was all too familiar with. She repeated the man's name in her head until she couldn't forget it, uncertain if he was bluffing about being on the run. Though, he could have given me an alias. But why? Why did he attack this place? Why is he acting differently? Why is he so calm? Why is he so strong? And why does he want to know my name?