ᴀsᴍᴏᴅᴇᴜs, ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ ᴏғ ʟᴜsᴛ. (ex_whoring777) wrote in monstermatch, @ 2016-02-19 21:42:00 |
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Sword fighting was a thing Blair often did not get the chance to do, not near as often as he'd have liked, anyroad. He'd selected his claymore, of course, and had a dirk on his side and a Lochaber axe set aside. Just in case. He'd come plenty prepared, but he'd waited until the last of the early afternoon crowd had dissipated before he'd pulled out any of it.
He'd foregone the skates in favor of a pair of sturdy hiking boots. He'd also foregone the kilt in favor of not scarring Miss Sparksalot for life, should he slip in a rather less than fortuitous way and expose himself. Although he had fought in his kilt on ice before.
Then again, that had been on a frozen lake, and he'd fallen straight through the ice into the frigid water beneath. Not an experience he wanted to repeat (save that it had put him firmly in the care of a rather attractive and very warm lady whose husband happened to be very far away at the time).
But back to the present. He stood, tip of the claymore resting on the ice. It was fifty-five inches long, to Blair's seventy-one inches of height, and tended to make him look quite a bit smaller than he really was.
He'd given strict orders to the staff to let the lady in, give her skates if she required, but not to fuss her if she'd just worn shoes. They'd just run the zamboni over when they were done anyway. So he watched the far door, and when he saw her enter, he gave a booming cry of, "Afternoon to ye! Hope you've come ready for a proper fight."