mission log

[latkje]

Date & Time: Last week, outside of the space-time continuum.
Location: The chivalrous future.
Characters: Anne (

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<b>Date & Time:</b> Last week, outside of the space-time continuum.
<b>Location:</b> The chivalrous future.
<b>Characters:</b> Anne (<user="enscorceler">) & Nash (<lj user="latkje">)
<b>Summary:</b> Anne needs to win a sword duel to win Nash's honor and freedom, because something on their mission went wrong. (And it was <s>probably</s> his fault.)
<b>Warnings:</b> N/A

It was easy enough for Nash to slip his cell, especially with the lady Boelyn providing an able distraction. Getting his weapons back was another wrinkle altogether— and Nash wasn't in the habit of carrying his swords around, anyway.

All of this is to explain why he is standing on the roof of his prison cell holding a large stick as though it were a rapier.

It is high dark, now, the ramparts of the fortress high enough to hide a person, torchlight writing shadows over everything. Anne has probably had an easier time of finding a sword than Nash has.

Comments

[ensorceler]

Under such suspicion, Anne has been on a short leash herself simply by her association with the "accused". It was only a miracle that she had not been caught with him, though her own charms and distractions could not get him out of such a tight predicament.

They could, however, provide enough distraction for him to get himself out of it. It was a wonder he didn't just escape so that they could flee back, accepting the mission as a failure. But he did not want failure, and neither did she.

That's why she's here with him in the dead of night, a long stick wielded just like his own. It wasn't as if they would provide her with an extra weapon before the actual duel, and she doesn't need them to know that her knowledge of such battle is bare minimum. The training provided by the Initiative could only move so quickly, when her focus was on her other skills. But now everything depended on this skill, the skill of a man, and it leaves her throat dry as she wields stick in one hand, and her personal poignard in the other.

There are no rules against such things, after all. The two are meant to go together. Perhaps she was meant for this after all.

"How am I meant to read tells when it is this dark?"

The nearest she comes to complaining.