[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]

[@Crimson Paladin]

A half-shrug and a raised brow, both common language regardless of tongue for the unspoken sentiment that a given response was "fair enough". He listened quietly for a time, as Fleuri and the old swordsman spoke of their order's unrequested hangar-on, of living by way of the sword right down to the marrow of one's bones. The singular pursuit of perfection, in so many words— Gerard remained silent, but he doubted it was quite so rare as the foreigner intimated. What was true was that she stood among few equals in how much ground she had achieved along that path. Quite evidently, the lot of them still had more catching up to do.

But when the horn called them forth in thundering tones of brass and war, the need for argumentation of any point ceased. As Takashima had already acknowledged— words were an unclear, muddied message in this field.

[color=goldenrod]"Well, it looks like we'll have ample time to keep talking soon enough. Takashima, Fleuri." [/color]

A wolfish grin graced his features as he looked back over his shoulder, hand all but burning to free his blade from its' scabbard. Farewells first. He could hear the steel sings, indulge in a few strokes, roll out the shoulders— all on the way down the hill. 

[color=goldenrod]"Fair winds and gold rays to both of you. I'll be seeing you on the other end of the bracket. Reap greedily until we meet there."[/color]

And there, his case could be made.

Off to the grounds.

His Day had arrived, a long time coming.