"That I scorn to change my state with Kings"
Morgan wakes far before the other nobles, perhaps by habit rather than actual intention. Inevitably, we come with her to the main courtyard.
"... thought I might enjoy the peace and quiet." She mutters to herself, drawing her blade. "Before they ruin it for me."
She immediately attempts to get Javier to spar with her, when he mistakenly brings up that he learned the same weapon and fighting style. (I don't really keep up with all the complexities of dueling, but from seeing Javier I know he favors working without a dagger.)
"It's five in the morning, dearest." He responds in turn, poisonously, to her pleas.
The effect of intimidation is ruined when he yawns and attempts to hide from her piercing glare by hiding half his face behind a mug of coffee.
"Lucy could, instead." Nick says, biting back a grin. Asshole.
"Oh. Gods. I don't really— well, on occasion, but, you know... I'm not really that kind of fighter." I blurt out, too quickly.
Morgan smiles.
"Why not?"
What kind of question is that? No one's ever asked... for fuck's sake, it's a simple enough statement.
"Guess I'm just too much of a brute. Don't need any of that fancy shit to bash heads in." I respond, sharply. She raises an eyebrow at me, as if expecting more. Fuck's sake. "... and, to be honest, I don't like the idea of it being so easy to... kill somebody. Just like that."
"Y'know, that's a paradoxical line of thinking. I know you're smart enough to recognize that it's dumb to limit yourself, especially on such faulty reasoning. You're too shit at fighting to use a weapon, but you're also somehow 'too strong' for it? Let's test that theory. Javier would lend you his sword, surely."
I stand there, stupidly, for too long. Watching her. I don't know why the issue feels raw, when pressed, because it's not. It's always been simple.
Javier unsheathes his sword and tosses it to me. I catch it.
"There we go," Morgan practically purrs. "Your stance is nice. You must be a natural."
She tilts her head at me, and something in her eyes is telling me that she's thinking about all the micro-adjustments she would make to my stance, regardless of her complements. I wish she would just fix it herself— come over here, and put her hands on my hips, and...
Gods. What am I thinking? I feel my face burning, and turn away.
"Well? Are you going to make a move, or just stand there with your sword in your hand?" I remark, blandly.
Nick snickers, at that.
"I was going to let you go first, since you're so inexperienced." Morgan snipes back, falling into a guarded stance with ease.
It's like she was born to hold that sword in her hands— I find the look of it just as fascinating as the woman that wields it. Is that seriously an obsidian blade? I work in a professional fighting ring, with a private armory, and even WE lack one of those.
I feint left, not expecting her to fall for it. She doesn't. (I'm delighted.) I pull back at the last second, slipping easily into a second stance to guard against an incoming slash.
