❰❰ PIN + THREAT ❱❱ sender pins receiver during a fight/training and holds a weapon up to them as a threat !!
morgan jerks their foot into a kick that slams against owain's knee, the curve of the space behind his knee gains a print of their sole when it presses hard down. it had been a impulsive instinct to kick out when owain had turned his back— an instinct that proves accurate when the pressure and sudden strike brings owain to a stagger.
perfect. gloved hands press against the ground as morgan kicks off the dirt and pushes themselves back to their feet. the hilt of their sword— struck out of their hand in earlier moments of the spar— finds comfort in their grip as they push forward. few strides bring them to owain's back and, with a hand grabbing his shoulder, they slip their leg in between his and pull backwards. the fall is... funny, to be honest. morgan grunts when his back makes contact with the ground first but it is enough time to use owain's unsteadiness against him.
one leg swings over owain's waist and morgan hoists themselves up above owain. to be pinned meant the battle of theatrics and prose ends, so morgan's fingers curl around one of owain's wrist as the other presses the wooden sword's blade against his chest.
" how about that? a new move added to the arsenal of your eternal rival! " morgan says, a triumphant grin pulling at their lips at the idea. then after a pause, they raise the sword and fall into a fit of laughter. delighted, of course. always. a true joy when it came to following owain's scripts of impulse and imagination. " s-sorry— hehe, does anything hurt? i didn't move too fast right? "
— morgan to owain )
Let the games begin.
Owain, taken by the storm that is Morgan, falls to their attack. He pronounces a loud "BANG!" on his way down, smiling and laughing as they spar. He always loved practicing with Morgan--finding their out-of-the-box thinking a delight in combat. Far too long had he dealt with hoards of mindless risen, boasting strength five times greater than wit.
"URAH! Don't think you've defeated me yet, rival!" He cries, but the battle is pretty obviously lost. Morgan pulls him into a bind, and there you have it: Owain is stuck. He tries to budge, tries to slip his way out to stand and carry on, but the simple fact is that he can't. They had gotten the jump on him. After giving it a solid try, he drops his resistance and allows another laugh.
"You've done well. It is moments like these that I am proud to call you my Justice Cabal nemesis. After all, if our duels were always one- sided, then what we have could hardly be considered a rivalry!"
He watches the other gloat and enjoy their victory, and his smile turns sheepish. Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. If it were him in that position, he'd be doing something much more over-the-top, so Owain can hardly think of a complaint. Besides, it's best to allow his friend to revel in triumph whenever they can. As conflicts spiral and life becomes harder for the Shepherds, a little boost in morale can go a long way.
"But, a suggestion if I may: name thine ultimate technique. You may have won on this day, but like a phoenix rising from the ashes I will stand to challenge you again! By giving a move a name, you imbue it with a soul, thus boosting its power level."
Joy then recedes from his face, as Dark enters a state of deep thought. He no longer looks to Morgan's face, instead casting his gaze up at the sky. His lips, too, see some change, and purse to appear perplexed. "Hmm..." he muses, struggling to move his hand up to his chin, "Since it consisted of a tackling-kick, try something like Hot-Footed Justice, or Black Fang Takedown!--Oh, how about Kick o' Hurt? Wait, no--Firesweep Fury!"
"Gah, you get the idea! Just make sure it sounds really cool!"
