supposing i had courage

[thethingsidoforlove]

Who: Jaime Lannister and Irene Adler
What: The Woman and the Knight meet at the Arena.
Where: The Arena
When: Misdi
Warnings: Violence under cut, more TBA probably!

This is starting to become normal, Jaime reflects. This dance, and his partners. This one is rather big, but not impossible, a rocky hide and massive horns that curve inwards like a bull, face conforming to the shapes of one but certainly there's intelligence in its eyes, too. It has a sword as rough as a farmer's tool, and held like an axe, making Jaime's not insubstantial longsword look as delicate as a lady's ornamental dagger, but he does know better. Some of those betting might not.

But there were opponants like this at home, really. Human ones, granted, but big and slow and arrogant, the barely legitimate sons of minor lords, about as noble as a sack of bricks. They moved in vaguely the same way. And they tired easily.

Jaime is getting tired too, which has to do with his armor, the kind he always wears. Medieval steel plating, a skirt of scale mail, shining silver over leather. He's foregone the helmet as a distraction, deciding that if his head was aimed for, there is little that mask can do against this one's blows, and he'll take the ability to see and hear with better clarity to avoid such a thing. He gets called a few things in the Arena; 'the knight' is particularly unoriginal, as is 'Sir Jaime'. 'Tinman' was rather good, usually what he gets when he loses. He is not the only sword wielding, armor wearing human to enter these grounds, but he is one of the more persistent, and embraces the character given.

The fight is a lengthy one, but finally, there's an opening, and his sword comes up beneath the brute's armpit, finding less craggy flesh. There's a river of red blood that streaks along his sword and down the monster's side, and though it snarls in agony, it switches sword hands. But one last clash of steel sends it staggering to a knee, and Jaime squares the end of his sword against the thing's throat, the temptation to dispatch it making his fingers lock around the hilt.

But the fight is ended like that, and rather than he called a murderer, again, Jaime withdraws.

He clears the space for the next fight, and this was certainly his last one today. There is a dent in his breastplate that appears to pain him, considering the line his mouth is making, and off to the side, his sword is set aside, fingers reaching for the buckles of leather and metal.