<span style="color: #FFBF40"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;">House of Delecroix</span><br/><span style="font-size: 130%; line-height: 116%;">Castle Devona</span><br/><br/><a class="postlink" href="http://i1343.photobucket.com/albums/o793/Galvin_Fugazi/16aaa03c-d70c-49d0-833d-aa82d7697d9f_zpsf037c19c.jpg">[ img ]</a><br/><br/><span style="color: #FFBF40"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;">Sir Abel M. Delecroix</span></span></div></span><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #0040FF"><span style="font-style: italic"><br/>“That doesn't count, I expected you to fight like a knight, not like some dirty mugger on the street. But ok, I understand now, that everything is allowed. Better prepare yourself, Sire...” </span></span></span><br/><br/>Martine seemed rather annoyed at her loss and Abel cocked a brow. He had never imagined her as a sore loser, but perhaps it was just her pride that had been wounded. Martine had fought even harder the next round and Abel decided to take her seriously. He had been meeting her step for step, blow for blow, and it was easy to see how frustrated she was becoming.<br/><br/>Just as he was about to take in the winning blow when Martine lost her footing, she had escaped him and threw sand into his eyes. He had been surprised by that move, though he supposed he should have expected it consider how upset Martine had gotten at his "mugger" tricks.<span style="color: #0040FF"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"Two - one, old man. Don't ever think that a pretty young girl can't play dirty..." </span></span></span>she said haughtily, nicking his throat. He was still sputtering and coughing, but inwardly he was glad she fought dirty.<br/><br/>Laughter filled the air along with some applause,<span style="font-style: italic"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #80BF00"> "Isn't that the one, who challenged you, Tristan? Looks like you really would have some opponent in her..." </span></span></span>said one guard. Abel's vision cleared just in time to see Martine playfully wink, dropping her sword from his throat, and stepping back. Ah, another round, but hopefully the last. Abel found himself becoming rather aroused by Martine's fighting and he wasn't sure he could fully concentrate on fighting much longer. She would definitely win the future rounds at this rate.<br/><br/>The two took their position and Abel moved first. Again, Martine met him blow for blow quite impressively and he realized that he needed to knock the sword from her hand. She was rather quick and had tried to throw sand again, but he had managed to avoid it. It took a while, but he finally was able to grab her wrist (though not without a rather strong blow from her elbow to his stomach) knocking the sword from her hand, and whirling her around. In the process he dropped his own sword, deciding it best to grab both her arms and forcing them across her chest, her back against his chest. She tried to head butt him, but he managed to avoid that maneuver, but just barely. He took his knee and brought it forward behind her own just enough to make her buckle forward in a kneeling position.<br/><span style="color: #FFBF00"><span style="font-weight: bold"><br/>"Two-two now, my love. Just for the record, though, I prefer that you fight dirty. It leaves me feeling secure about your safety. But I must say now, I do not think I can fight much longer--,"</span></span>he stated, then came down next to her ear to whisper where none could hear,<span style="color: #FFBF00"><span style="font-weight: bold">"...I am so old after all, and as I am so old, I'm a bit depraved and can only imagine the fieriness you would bring to bed. You make me lusty, Martine, and I think that's a bit dangerous in its own way."</span></span>