Is he confident?

Fu fu fu fu~

Oh, he’s confident alright. 

Imagine being a Golden Fawn who didn’t prepare for the SWORD! DANCE! Of the Serigalamu! Couldn’t be him. Such is his power. Not all of those training sessions with Keli and Seli were about dancing. Well. Unarmed dancing, that is.

(And! Did you know? That the Serigalamu have a secret technique where they gobble up all your scent and stress in one greedy huff? Did you further know of the secret spot on your thigh that can be squeezed to get allllllllllllllllllll that energy out of you? Stiff and speechless, fluttering and floaty, tail flicking uselessly against Olesya’s tummy?

Because he sure didn’t!

Anyway it’s magical and it’s real and it works a charm because when he finally remembered to breathe out his limbs felt like wet noodles. Wet, rejuvenated noodles.)

Olesya sets him down to draw her blade, and their hearts flash as one. Knife and sword. Black and neon. Sharp and empty. 

Let the SWORD! DANCE! Begin!

************************************************

Hrm.

Hrmmmmm.

Clash, step, blades screech and part.

Hrm.

Well.

This dance doesn’t have as much sword as he thought it would.

It does have a lot, to be clear. Quite a lot of sword in this dance. Oleysya’s gone through, what, two dozen opponents? And at least eight partners. Sometimes at the same time, sometimes switching sides freely. There’s a dancey queue forming. Oh yes, plenty of sword in this dance. Just. Not over here.

Clang, sweep, [i]the claw that traces lightning from cheek to ear[/i]

It makes sense. When he thinks about it. What, would [i]he[/i] fancy crossing blades with that many huntresses? There’s still people waiting for their turn with the Golden Fawn, he can’t leave this dance on a stretcher. 

And Olesya is Olesya. She’s got his back. He can’t get much further than block, swing, whiff, [i]the heart-stopping moment when the hunter’s eyes peer into your hiding spot[/i] before she pounces. She gives him time to catch his breath. She gives him space to compose himself. 

He wasn’t doing [i]that[/i] bad.

The thought barrels headlong into a tightly-woven net of gracious sensibility. It struggles. It strains. It pulls on [i]you’re being ridiculous[/i] and [i]why are you so upset[/i] and [i]it’s your own fault for being so silly all the time, what was she supposed to think?[/i] It pulls. It pulls. The tighter the bindings, the harder it pulls, and neither side is willing to break.

But. It pulls. It pulls the Golden Fawn a little further away from his protector. It pulls his attention inward, it pulls his brow down, it pulls his lips to the very edge of a pout. It pulls his blade through the air in graceful, sweeping arcs, taking the steps with ease.

It pulls him into the best sort of prey. The kind that can only put up a fun, fruitless fight.

[Rolling to Entice: 5 + 6 - 1 = 10]