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.

Comments

[thedominatrix]

Irene isn't here to gamble. Maybe it would be a little more normal if she were- but she's just here to watch the show.

She looks out of place but doesn't act it, and every last high fashion touch serves to make the way she vies for a good view and holds her ground against the people who want her spot that little bit more unsettling. She comes here often, and quite a lot of people give her a wide berth after what happened to the man who took her bag the first time she came. Not that anyone has any way of linking that to her, and he's probably recovered by now, but people do love a rumour, which works out just fine in her opinion.

And she's very careful to carry the same bag, mysteriously recovered, whenever she comes here.

The glint of eager interest (bloodthirst?) in her eyes is almost frightening, and she doesn't miss a detail of the fight between Jaime and his opponent. It's a good match, though it's not the best she's seen, and she isn't particularly fascinated until she sees Jaime's fingers tighten on his sword when the bull-like xenian comes crashing to his knees, as if he hasn't already won.

Which is exciting, really. Especially because she can hear the mutters of annoyance around her as people lament their losses; the bull had been the favourite.

She considers the remaining schedule for the day- hers and the Arena's- and decides that there is nothing she can't miss for the sake of conversation. Anyway, Irene is, as ever, a spectator rather than a fighter when it comes to this sort of fight; she's much stronger than she looks and capable of using surprise to her advantage, as well as an assortment of weapons, but when it comes down to it physical fights are other peoples' domain. This means that having friends who can physically hurt people is of vital importance to her.

(See also: the truth of what happened to the man who took her bag).

She keeps her balance neatly despite the terrain under her heels, slipping through the crowds with polite, excuse me, coming throughs which people tend to obey before their minds catch up with their feet and they wonder why.

"You just lost quite a few people quite a lot of money," she says as she draws close, voice clear and carrying, laced with amusement. She rather sounds like she's congratulating him. And she hasn't lost that slightly unsettling glint in her eye, either.

Sometimes, she doesn't come for the fight at all; she comes to see people cry out in frustration when they put their last shekels on the wrong combatant- or shriek with joy when they choose better.