misplacedxheroics:
There was no intention for disrespect, in fact, Seifer held Ravus with the highest admiration deserving but when the two were alone, so often did Seifer drop formalities when he had a sword in hand. Especially now– his intention was to encourage. There would be no coddling, today.
“Some Lords, yes. Some high and mighty Lords have devoted Knights who fetch and fawn and dote on ‘em hand and foot.” Quick feet touched around Ravus, purposefully playing on his weaknesses, focusing on getting his Lordship to use the new arm to his advantage.
“But I’m not just any devoted Knight, now am I?” Their blades sing, and the two dance. “And you’re not just a Lord, now are you?” Another biting jab, a sharp clash. “We’re something more, aren’t we–” Seifer knows he’s going to get elbowed in the face if he keeps this up… yet he must – “King Ravus.”
If Seifer had been any Knight, surely Ravus would have had him thrown from the highest tower of the keep but no. Once, long ago, the displaced royal had been Ravus’ equal.
Ah! There it was – the Knight’s failed attack sent his practice sword clattering to the ground. Immediately hands lifted, surrendering the round to his better. “There you are. Glad you could finally join us, Lord Ravus…” A smile proudly displaying Seifer’s success spread wide and open on his face as he knelt down to retrieve his sword, raising it again. “Good form, but you can do better.”
“The very notion of you waiting on anyone is despicable,” Ravus murmurs, nose wrinkled. “I will, however, settle for your devotion.” The last word is punctuated by a jab of the blade. Perhaps a mite too sharp. He’s becoming unsettled, ruffled by words Seifer wields with an accuracy as deadly as a blade. Knows precisely where to strike, doesn’t he? Ravus grits his teeth. He thinks a muscle in his cheek twitches, and he’s aware Seifer is probably familiar with the movement: a sign of restraint, of rising temper. “--Do you think my head so empty that I need be reminded of our goals?” he hisses, only to... pause. Contemplate. Catch a swing of Seifer’s blade with his own and use his aching new ‘arm’ to shove it away. “...Or do you, perhaps, require a reminder that your Lord remains ardent in his aims?” A quirk of a brow. “Maybe you were concerned I’d crumble. Leave you all alone with our task? Hm?” --Ah. Seifer’s blade’s knocked from his grip. A purr of satisfaction steals through Ravus. He did that. He is far from powerless. Not the scorched shell of a man he could have become. He rises from the ashes. “I can always do better,” he huffs, as if spectacularly unimpressed by the conceded round. “As can you. Honestly, Seifer. Again.” And again, as many times as his knight will help him regain himself.
