He’s always ready to make a fool of himself. There’s little he enjoys more than being purposefully bad at something. Once upon a time, there had been few things he’d had to learn to do again, some things that didn’t come back when he did. Being ignorant brings Mollymauk comfort; when his body remembers things that his brain doesn’t is when he starts to worry.
Even so, he’s been practicing this for months now. Once he thought he’d enjoy the attention of being on center stage ( he’d practically begged Gustav for this night ). This was a terrible moment to be seized by stagefright.
The dual swords seem to float in the air for a moment, and he’s dazzled by the reflection of the lights for a moment. Far too late does he remember where his hands should be. Blindly he reaches out --
pulls back. His hands are bleeding.
The clattering of the blades on the wooden stage precedes the crowd’s gasps by milliseconds. In the silence that follows Mollymauk meets the gaze of a curious woman in the crowd. There’s nothing else to do really, while he’s clutching his hand, other than to laugh.
Butterfingers, right?
( 1 + 0 = 1. Critical failure! )
@sereniora asked for a performance check!
