Prize Fighters (Private)

Rook enjoyed the Forge at night after it was closed. It was a place with a degree of freedom for the chesspiece, because when he stepped into the Cage with another Summer, it was a dance that required poise and control - but that allowed the Board's blazing pressure to be released.

He often sparred with Anya - the ferocious Dragon's punches were a good match, and a good reminder that he couldn't fling his guard down and barrel into every opponent.

And it was a beautiful reminder why they were the Summer Court. Not because they were the 'best fighters' or some ridiculous, sensationalist stereotype, but because these fights were a dance of control and defiance. If he fought as a chesspiece, and Anya fought as a dragon, only one of them would leave the ring alive.

But they would, and the worst damage they'd suffer would be defensive bruising. Nothing to write home about.

The Metalflesh hung his jacket over a barstool, and then delicately folded his tie with a great deal of consideration.

He also intended to keep a promise he'd made a little while ago to a Fairest Dancer. After all, Rook didn't give his word lightly.

The Winter Fairest made her way through the warmth of the summer night to the Forge. It's funny considering the first night she was here, she hated it. She really wasn't all about fighting or the drinking. And she was really annoyed when some crazy person assumed she didn't drink because of her figure. The Fairest Dancer may do her part in maintaining herself, but the evening was soured by an assumption.

It was weird seeing the Forge without the buzz of people and crowd. L'aire still didn't know much about the Freehold and it's inhabitants. Hell, she'd been told this place was Spartan 's and seen him announce. She knew that at least, and enough that he was a serious man and at least cared for his Court.

The Winter had been at the studio she worked at earlier that evening. Even after the last of the clientele left, she still stayed to move about the large room freely. Like a bird newly released from a cage. But tonight she was there by special invite from Rook to watch a different type of fancy footwork. That and she had to see to believe that the Metalflesh was as good in a fight as he was with dancing...and piano playing. L'aire had arrived in some typical dance wear that was casual and comfortable, hardly too flashy thankfully as she slipped her way from the studio by bus to the Forge that night.

As she became reaquainted with the venue, flashes of the night Apocolytpica came to her mind from talking to Warren Locke and Lou . She still can't believe she slipped like she did. Sometimes she was of a mind to 'dont' talk just look pretty'.

She meandered over to the hot metal of Summer as she saw Rook near the bar. Her body swayed to a song in her head as she walked. "Hey there Rook. How've you been?" Her voice was lilt and her expression said she was in a good mood.

Anya strolled into The Forge, as she had done countless time in the last few months, with the relaxed and confident air of a woman knew her place perfectly well. The Forge was incredibly familiar to her by: whether she was coming to party, to work or, as in this case, train. The last time Rook and she had done the latter it had not gone over so well. The Draconic still fancied sometimes, that she could feel his torn flesh against her talons, the scent of his blood filling her nostrils.

It was disconcerting.

Better then, that such thoughts did not currently full her mind.

Anya closed the door to the Forge behind her, and quickly scanned the large space before allowing her scrutinising gaze to rest of Rook and L'aire. The latter she had only seen in passing, and she raised a taloned hand in greeting to the woman. To the Metalflesh, her smile was far more familiar.

"Rook. L'aire."

Rook smiled at the corner of his mouth, and raised one rigid hand towards L'aire. Anya got a warmer, more affectionate look, but that was natural. Anya slept in his bed almost every night. His feelings for her were... complicated, and hard to express verbally, but they were evident in the way his face softened when he looked at her.

"I've been doing well enough, thanks. Nice to see you, L'aire. I don't know if you've met Anya Wyrmblood, the Summer Court's Iron Adjutant?"he gestured towards the dangerous, enticing dragon. "She'll be sparring with me tonight."

He reflexively bit down on his tongue before he could add what else he might be doing tonight.

He was learning to be even quicker than usual at that. Anya provoked some slips. His expression made it obvious that he was holding something back, but he couldn't help that. Honesty could be painful.

The other Draconic. L’aire had seen them kissing during the Coronation of Summer after Spartan’s small but powerful speech. They could have just been close friends, or something more. For now, it was not really her business to ask… but there was a guilty pang inside of her. This stemmed from when she asked Rook previously what his status was, only so she didn’t get herself in trouble.. again. Please don’t be Italy all over again.

L’aire had seen the prestine Draconic around the Freehold, but not quite met the beautiful purply scaled woman. The Fairest Dancer shook her head. “Well, we kinda passed by each other at a market thing. It was so busy and all hurried. I think the cat was a little impatient too.” She grinned walked toward the Draconic and held out her hand. [COLOR="#56A0D3] “Good to meet you Anya.” [/COLOR] God I hope she doesn’t snap me like a twig or tear me to pieces. It wasn’t hard to miss those talons.

“Forgive me, but I’m unfamiliar with Iron Adjutant.” Her violet eyes looked up to the woman as she asked in a tone that suggested she wanted to know. She was in Summer’s place and her mantle wasn’t strong. She felt like she wanted to melt with the heat of the two Summers in the room. “Come to think of it, I don’t know what Red Victor may be either.” The Winter Fairest said with a cool breath that may have only made it past her lips before the blazing heat of the Fairest Draconic was about her.

“Oh, the two of you will be sparing.” Her expression was impressed. “I’ve been looking forward to this since Rook asked if I wanted to see feet dance in another way.” L’aire had undertones of humor through her words.

Out of his office walks the Hoplite. He is shirtless in a pair of red and black basketball shorts. His hair is wet and he has a towel in his off hand. The Summer Sovereign is barefoot as he leans against the mezzanine rail looking down at his Motley mates and the Violet eyed Fairest he had seen around.

Spartan holds a bottle of water in his left hand. He is content with watching the situation as it evolves currently.

As she sauntered closer to the two, Anya gave L'aire the same critical scrutiny that she had given to countless other Lost over the last few months. While it was not necessarily intended to make a person feel discomfited, it was not generally a pleasant experience either. Fortunately it lasted for only a few seconds. In all likelihood, it helped in her estimation that Rook had already made his own observations that the dancer was not in the Freehold to be a nuisance, or commit some idiotic act of supreme idiocy.

And if someone got the nod from Rook, they were probably alright.

"That cat made me want to purchase one of my own," Anya admitted dryly. "But I don't think anyone at The Four Seasons would thank me for it. Particularly if it spoke."

Personally, Anya thought that would be delightful but it would be a shame to freak out the normal guests.

To the the statement that hinted at a question, Anya gave a faint smile. It was a query she should probably get used to. "The Iron Adjutant is the mouthpiece of the King of Summer and stands at his right hand-," the Fairest gestured once to Spartan, as he materialised above them on the mezzanine. "Additionally, I oversee the daily running of the Court."

Rook looked up and raised one rigid hand in silent greeting to Spartan, just to let him know that he'd been noticed. After all, it was his club, his place. And they were in a Motley together. Bonds like that required acknowledgement, even if he sometimes had to concentrate to remember why.

He gave that trademark, small smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Yes... I don't think they'd appreciate the cat hair. Or the talking," the Metalflesh said pleasantly, before nodding as Anya explained her title.

"The Red Victor is the emblem and champion of the Summer Court," he added. "It's a position of great responsibility. I'm supposed to provide a role model. Call it King Spartan's vote of confidence in me." Which was exactly what he strove to do. He paused, and carefully removed his sunglasses, exposing the shuttered irises and the broken mask.

"Shall we get started, Anya?"

L’aire was a little perplexed by the cat hair comment, considering there were those that were part beasts and who knew if they shed. But oh well.

“The cat seemed a little sassy too. Colorful of course, but could pose a problem.” She softly chuckled.

“Oh I see Anya. That’s a very trusted position then.” She wasn’t asking this time. She could guess by the announcement that the Draconic posted that her graceful wording went probably beyond that. A King or Sovereign wouldn't just throw anyone a title for something like that.

“Well from what I’ve observed so far Rook, I think that was a wise decision of Spartan.” L’aire’s violet eyes looked up to the Mezzanine to Spartan and offered a small nod of respect. Though there was a look to wonder if he’d come down and talk, or just stand up there and hover. She wasn't of his court though, so she could see could assume he wouldn't bother.

With a few quick whirls on her heels, the Fairest Dancer pulled over a barstool. She smirked as she thought back to Warren Locke ’s suggestion of standing on it next time she had to speak to he or the pearly Dragonic again.

“Alrighty, I’m ready to watch.” The Winter Fairest said with a grin and a soft shrug of her shoulders as she perched on the stool.

To Rook, Anya nodded immediately and strode toward the Cage. She was becoming used to people watching sparring sessions as part of a larger audience, and so it was with a certain amount of confidence that Anya prepared to fight Rook with their audience of two. She assumed L'aire was curious about different fighting forms, and perhaps intended to try and pick up tips to protect herself - and she sincerely hoped that this attempt at training would go better than one of the previous times Anya had tried to help someone.

"Ready?" she nodded to the Metalflesh, and dropped back into a fighting stance. Her fingers curved flat against her palms, the talons carefully angled away.

  Initiative 12

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2012-09-01 14:11:44		Anya Wyrmblood rolls 1 die for initiative		4