[ Ah. Home sweet. The sweat, messy, faintly blood tinged scent of a fighting area. Filthy, nasty, never quite clean, no matter even here, how they tried to scrub it off.
She swings herself underneath the ropes, and she grabs his hand, hauling herself up.
Takes a second, because they weren't out for blood, or even display, just a good old-fashioned bare-fist scuffle. She yanks off the scrap metal armor from her arms, and the bracer off her knee. Didn't need to catch him by mistake and tear him a new one.
Then shifts to face him, and it's subtle. That difference in someone who has lived her life on the edge of her knife. Where her weight thoughtlessly balances on the balls of her feet, her shoulders setting in close but back. Loose, somehow, even with the tenseness. ]
no subject
She swings herself underneath the ropes, and she grabs his hand, hauling herself up.
Takes a second, because they weren't out for blood, or even display, just a good old-fashioned bare-fist scuffle. She yanks off the scrap metal armor from her arms, and the bracer off her knee. Didn't need to catch him by mistake and tear him a new one.
Then shifts to face him, and it's subtle. That difference in someone who has lived her life on the edge of her knife. Where her weight thoughtlessly balances on the balls of her feet, her shoulders setting in close but back. Loose, somehow, even with the tenseness. ]
Ready.