Experience has given him the sense to not ask what Hesri's deal with fire was, but some part of him remains inescapably curious.
"Sure. That makes it more interesting." He agrees easily in response to the terms, though Nerine gets a doubtful glance from him on whether or not it'd be fair. None of these were real fighting lessons, he reminds himself. It was just a game.
Although Hesri had some height on him, when they sit at the table and lock hands, he finds his palm and fingers wrapping around hers more extensively than expected at first glance. The ointment underneath her bandages felt slippery, making the grip a bit odd when the prolonged hand-holding was already a little awkward. The calluses roughening the texture of his palms weren't going to help much between the oil and the rain.
When he looks up, the first thing he notes up close is that her eyes seem almost as orange as the flames that had licked her skin. There was something mysterious about her. And then the count begins.
He pays close attention to their hands. The time limit leaves his own hovering easily at the center for a few seconds while waiting for the seconds to tick down. Around four or five is when some proper torque is put in ( a thing he mentions between one of the rounds - if she tilts her wrist a certain way, she could make more use of her leverage ).
And although the test of strength was uneven, Guts' sense of time apparently ran on the short side. Impatient. Hot-blooded, even if he was being careful. The first non-victory aggravated the next, leading to one slipped delay when Hesri got the better wrist position just long enough for the ten seconds to lapse. Was he actually going to lose this one? Stupid! They switch hands and go one more.
"That was ten." he shoots Nerine an aggravated look, feeling like he was being goaded on purpose. "Did you learn to count where you learned to fight?"
no subject
"Sure. That makes it more interesting." He agrees easily in response to the terms, though Nerine gets a doubtful glance from him on whether or not it'd be fair. None of these were real fighting lessons, he reminds himself. It was just a game.
Although Hesri had some height on him, when they sit at the table and lock hands, he finds his palm and fingers wrapping around hers more extensively than expected at first glance. The ointment underneath her bandages felt slippery, making the grip a bit odd when the prolonged hand-holding was already a little awkward. The calluses roughening the texture of his palms weren't going to help much between the oil and the rain.
When he looks up, the first thing he notes up close is that her eyes seem almost as orange as the flames that had licked her skin. There was something mysterious about her. And then the count begins.
He pays close attention to their hands. The time limit leaves his own hovering easily at the center for a few seconds while waiting for the seconds to tick down. Around four or five is when some proper torque is put in ( a thing he mentions between one of the rounds - if she tilts her wrist a certain way, she could make more use of her leverage ).
And although the test of strength was uneven, Guts' sense of time apparently ran on the short side. Impatient. Hot-blooded, even if he was being careful. The first non-victory aggravated the next, leading to one slipped delay when Hesri got the better wrist position just long enough for the ten seconds to lapse. Was he actually going to lose this one? Stupid! They switch hands and go one more.
"That was ten." he shoots Nerine an aggravated look, feeling like he was being goaded on purpose. "Did you learn to count where you learned to fight?"