[hider=Some Music to Accompany]
[url]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=up0t2ZDfX7E[/url]
[/hider]


A familiar friend, and foe.
Each stroke and thrust,
all too well known.
Predictable in fury,
and they both knew the outcome.

Blade being drawn, and a body moving forward. Within the darkness another rose, as they faded with Adam in the backdrop of this scene. Calmly, without a suggestion of surprise was the teacup set on the table, and then the table kicked forward as Bedivere slid back in his chair across the marble floors. With such a slash was the wood so easily parted, designer decorum, but not quite a solid construct, kids these days have no sense of art being immortal, but perhaps fleeting. No such canvas could withhold the beauty of art, or so they say, although Bedivere painted several lovely portraits in the past, all in red. Flashing Mithias a grin in return, saying nothing quite yet as he rose up from his seat, unfolding himself and dusted off his shoulders. His inconspicuous umbrella hanging by its hook between the crook of where is left arm met forarm, as he adjusted his cuffs unreasonably dodging the attacks sent his way in an almost comedic contrast. Wherein Mithias was, a sight to behold as his fury was laid down, Bedivere was the foiling jester who wove his way through the atrium with a quick step every bit faster than Mithias' blades.  Defensive footwork, not quite a retreat, but certainly enough to make Mithias look foolish in attempting to strike that which he could not touch, merely inches away but for an inch Mithias would beg Bedivere for that last inch. And this brought a curiosity to Bedivere's face which had not appeared in the last decade: A Smile.

"Concierge, I request some music to accompany me in demonstrating the error in my brother's judgment whilst we engage in our duel. Verdi's Requiem: Dies Irae should be fitting per this situation." The poor concierge just gave Bedivere a confused look, pitiful indeed but not enough to make Bedivere consider retracting his demand. "Did I not make my request clear? Do hurry, before I draw my own bow and be my own minstrel and your screams as I cut your body apart, my tune." At which, the man quickly decided to find such a piece on an popular music and video uploading website online and proceed to feed the music into the hotel lobby. "Perfect."

But enough of this. While he enjoyed watching Mithias attempt with all his heart to kill him, a response so human in nature perhaps to seek the vengeance long withheld, it was almost disappointing all the same that Mithias was indeed acting too human. One of the weaknesses humans had, their frail concept of eternity, attributed to their own mortality, ten years was but a week in the centuries to come. All this concern over the time lost? Certainly not, a vampire as old as he should understand that those who bear the gift would not crumble like the fragile humans beneath them. Now then, it was time to get serious and remind Mithias who it was between them which held the sword. A seeping darkness flowed as the forte of the hidden blade was exposed, barely an inch, but enough to deal with parrying the emotionally-attached attacks. Kept barely open from its umbrella scabbard, Caliburn the Darkest Blade unsheathed to counter the twin blades of Mithias.  Casting off the swordstrokes with a dispelling parry, a strong force to glance off the twins to the sides as Bedivere's began his counter assault, moving forward to meet Mithias' dancing blades. Parting the pair of edges like the seas one to each side to keep his advance steady as they came in from his sides. Horizontal met vertical, and vertical met horizontal, the first blade blocked by the second, manipulated in its path by the third. It was not the number of swords one carried, but how effective one was at using them. To which in a sense, using the leverage he had with one of Mithas' weapon allowed him to defer the second blade with the first. A tap with the tip of the umbrella against the flat of the blade, enough to disrupt the path and jerk the tip to just miss: Beautiful.

And he finished it, the show was to be over when Bedivere determined Mithias had given the spectators enough of a show. With an flick of his wrist, taking the angle upon the fulcrum did the elder disarm the younger, the first blade flying from its cradle into a vase of flowers serving as a centerpiece which shattered as the result. Fragile, as Bedivere noted earlier. The second was retained but now brought down upon Bedivere as the old knight stepped to the side and took the boy's wrist by the hook of his umbrella-blade's handle. The sudden tug pulled Mithias back, by his arm, all the way down as Bedivere impaled the marble floor with his ancient blade, cracking the solid rock itself as the swiftness of his actions fueled by the void of darkness gave it a strobe-light effect.

"Into stone, Caliburn I sheathe." Bedivere rose as Mithias fell, tethered by his wrist with a mere umbrella hook. Enough of a moment to give pause and find the tip of a familiar umbrella touching Mithias' chest. A wooden=tipped umbrella, capped in pointed metal, effectively a stake. Though it met something hard, not flesh nor bone as it lightly applied pressure upon the boy. "I see you still keep the silver Crucifix I gave you. Ten years, at your side." Kept close to the heart, Bedivere had never left him. He chuckled as he reached to pull the sword out from the stone, and sheathe his blade back into its umbrella disguise. "Good to see you again brother."