<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/><br/>Once Abel had unhorsed, he went up to the stands, handing his helmet to Martine. He had won the match because of her, after all.<span style="color: #8080FF"><span style="font-style: italic">"Abel is your shoulder alright..I hope it's not causing you much pain..." </span></span>his sister said to him. He turned to her with soft eyes,<span style="color: #FFBF40">"No worries, Iris. Just a bruise, I promise." </span>She worried about him just as much as he worried about her and he gave a sweaty kiss to her cheek knowing that she would make a face at it. He rolled his shoulders some to ease the bruising ache, then pulled out a hankerchief from his armor to wipe the sweat off his brow. He was still a bit sweaty from the joust and the hot sun was finally giving relief as it went to bed. The sky was a pinkish, orange, with purple comnig from the top as the impending night came upon them.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFBF40">"Lady Martine, I do hope that my win was sufficient, clumsy as it was," </span>Abel said with a teasing lilt in his voice. Secretly he worried if she was impressed or not. With her brother and father always winning jousts, it seemed to him that it could be very likely she wasn't impressed with the display at all. That idea alone made his palms sweat. He wanted so desperately to make her happy and proud, even though she hadn't an idea that they would be married yet---or at least he assumed she hadn't the idea yet.