Fawkes lifted his right hand and looked at it. The skin was red, irritated. He had been handling swords and axes all day long, the leather and metal rubbing at him and the sweat his hands produced. He shook his head with a smirk. "It's really not that bad." Still, he moved his hand a little, approaching Gareth's hands to show them off to him. "Really, Gareth, thhis is not even the worse it has looked. And besides, just a few more fights and I'll get the gold and the chance to make that bloody knight kiss my ass." He opened and closed his hand into a fist, repeating the action a few times until it looked as if he had no pain there. He could almost ignore the feeling, but it did come back in the intervals, when he had to relax and his body grew a bit cold again.
"Did you see the face of Sir Rodrigue? That man did not stand a chance. These nobles, man. They come here and they think it's all nice and sweet. It's the bloody arena, isn't it?" He shook his head, flinching finally from a sting on the palm of his left hand, like the skin was about to break there.