She blinks. Stares — a moment only, but thrown for it, all the same —
"To spar?" Wren smoothes her face back into a mask of polite neutrality, adjusts the strap of a gauntlet. "Ah,"
She’s tempted. It's a rare opportunity to train against someone with whom she shares both size and a center of mass. Rather more common are challenges by the cocky, unarmored, and mildly insane. Wren would accord the latter to Diana and make some polite excuse, were it not for the mark of her hand.
A Rifter. Of course. They're all mad,
"Perhaps with blunted edges," Calmly. A short gesture to her own armor. "And a moment — if you'll grant — to level the odds."
Quicker to have off with it, than to try and piece together a set to fit her partner. It's not that she completely underestimates the woman: Diana's musculature, her manner, they both speak to an evident experience.
It's just that. Like. Who the fuck swordfights with bare skin?
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"To spar?" Wren smoothes her face back into a mask of polite neutrality, adjusts the strap of a gauntlet. "Ah,"
She’s tempted. It's a rare opportunity to train against someone with whom she shares both size and a center of mass. Rather more common are challenges by the cocky, unarmored, and mildly insane. Wren would accord the latter to Diana and make some polite excuse, were it not for the mark of her hand.
A Rifter. Of course. They're all mad,
"Perhaps with blunted edges," Calmly. A short gesture to her own armor. "And a moment — if you'll grant — to level the odds."
Quicker to have off with it, than to try and piece together a set to fit her partner. It's not that she completely underestimates the woman: Diana's musculature, her manner, they both speak to an evident experience.
It's just that. Like. Who the fuck swordfights with bare skin?