That second meaning is caught in the tone at Tyrion's first remark, an adolescent wrinkle developed at Jaime's nose before it smooths again, mouth in a thin, smirking line. His intent will be focused squarely ahead, but people rarely go completely silent when watching these little tournaments. "Well, you're a peculiar man, so I wouldn't be shocked to know you have peculiar tastes. But spare me any lizard-skinned bastard nephews and nieces, especially on my generousity--"

His words break off there at a drawn-in hiss when the biting blades find the opponant's face, hands coming together not in a clap, but to shape palm against palm in a sort of restless gesture that feels over the roughness of his own hands. Usually before his own game battles.