It's Hard to Breathe

Challenges

At her house, Gisela was rapidly getting ready for Fintan's arrival. She loaded a crystal tray with custard bursts and butterblasts, then set it on her desk.  

Pausing at the floor-length mirror, she smoothed her silky black shirt that landed above the knee, and adjusted her onyx scythe pendant that hung below the neckline of her gray shirt. Her black low-top converses revealed red, orange, and yellow flame-patterned socks. Her hair was down, a blond waterfall that almost reached her waist. Two  medium braids were woven through her hair on the right side of her scalp.

As she walked down the stairs, the doorbell rang, graceful chimes that danced lingeringly through the air. 

She opened the door to find Fintan holding a rolled up scroll. He eyed her up and down, the whistled.

"You finally let your hair down." He noticed.

"For me?"

Gisela rolled her eyes as she shut her front door.

"I don't do everything for you, Pyren. You're not the center of my universe." 

"I thought you enjoyed my visits." He replied.

"I endure and survive them. Barely." Gisela stated as they walked up the stairs.

"That hurts, Gisela." Fintan whined, clutching his heart.

"Stop being so melodramatic." Gisela snapped, opening her door.

Fintan immediately went for the tray, about to snatch a butterblast when the tray was jerked out of his reach. He spun around in shock.

Gisela stood at the opposite corner of the room, the tray balanced on her hip. She was wearing a coy smile on her face.

Fintan lunged for the tray, but missed, and almost toppled over.

Gisela smirked at him from another corner of her room.

Fintan snarled, then changed his mind, and meekly sidled up to her.

"Okay, you win. May I have a butterblast now?" He asked.

"Fine." Gisela said, and gave him one.  He wolfed it down, and asked for another.

"Geez, do you get fed at your house?" Gisela inquired once he had eaten through half of the tray.

"Yes. My dad's cooking is awful, and yours is awesome." He answered around a custard burst.

"I'll go get you the recipe." She said, and walked out the door toward the kitchen.

Fintan sat on the edge of her bed, and looked around. Not much. He curiously opened her nightstand drawer, and a wall rotated around to reveal a training arena, complete with all kinds of weaponry. Fintan wandered in with awe.

Gisela returned with both recipes, only to find Fintan testing out a shamkniv in her arena. She smirked, then walked up, and tapped him on the shoulder.

He spun around, about to decapitate her with the shamkniv.

Gisela blocked his blow with a nearby moon blade.

"Oh, it's just you." He said, not showing any signs of remorse or fear, which only angered Gisela more. She reluctantly handed him the recipes, which he pocketed.

"What were you thinking? I leave you alone in my room for two bloody minutes, and you somehow find my arena? Not to mention you go in it, against my wishes, then pick up the very shamkniv that I polished last night, and dirty it up? What is the matter with you?" She demanded, her anger blowing quickly to the top.

"Nothing." Fintan said sullenly, causing Gisela to give a cold laugh that showed she found nothing funny.

"Then go put back my shamkniv, and sit yourself on the floor by my desk." She said-ordered.

"What happens if I refuse?" Fintan questioned slyly.

"Then I make you do it." Gisela stated, adjusting her grip on the moon blade.

Fintan raised his shamkniv.

"Bring it on, Gisela." He said smugly.

And then Gisela leaped.