Minerva Fairchild - The Lion's Fang
Damian's explanation to why he despised her so viciously did little to recompense Minerva's distaste to the fact that he did such. Instead, silently she only lofted one slender eyebrow as calculating eyes of sapphire continued to look down upon him from where she stood. An ominous silence hang there then for a series of painstakingly slow moments while Minerva calculatingly decided precisely what to say next, only to be suddenly interrupted by the voices of two others.
First was the peculiar girl, Amaya Vanlsis; and then then a second who announced her name to be Fleo Plector. To both, Minerva would gently bow her head and actually offer a kind, softened smile that departed greatly from her usually icy complexion.
"Miss Vanlsis, and Miss Plector it is then, it is a pleasure to meet both of you. Welcome to Phoenix Wing. We can chat in a few moments, as that is all this spar will require." Inexorably, her gaze returned to the corner of her eye, where it fell back upon Damian. "It seems the only two that shall dance is you and I, shall we abandon these halls for a few moments and escape to the outdoors?"
With her constantly steely expression, she turned and walked away from the three towards the distant exit. Once she turned however, her expression turned from one that was cold to one that was darkly bitter. If there was anything that she despised in this world above all, it was the haste of judgment that others seemed to constantly possess. Here was this boy, who did not truly know her nor her past and before she even stood a chance meet him, she was inherently met with disgust simply because of her station.
A bloodline that she had been born into through no fault of her own. He spoke of war, he spoke of bloodshed and the cruelty and apathy of those with noble blood so ignorantly. It took every ounce of her being to maintain her composure, the composure that prevented the fangs of her words coming to bear in cruel procession.
Pressing her fingertips against the grain of the wooden door, the hinges smoothly gave way to the warmth of sunlight in the mid morning. Rigidly turning right and walking some distance from the front door as to prevent collateral damage against the guild hall, Minerva stood and waited for Damian to emerge. Once he did, her fingertips rose to rest casually upon the hilt of her father's blade so aptly named Durendal.
"You may begin whenever you wish," She stated softly as Merchants travelling on the road quickly scattered and the crowds faded. A battle between two Magi was not a crossfire that anyone would wish to caught up in. Minerva however, showed only little care for such a thought as her fingertips slid about Durendal to slowly slide the wonderfully crafted piece of steel from its sheath. She rose the blade then so that the flat kissed her nose as she nobly saluted the boy. Here in this stance as her hair took to the wind, everything else about Minerva seemed completely statuesque as she whispered the last words before the conflict began. "Strike when ready. Let me see what one of your hatred against someone who has done nothing to you can accomplish."
