He positively beamed at her assertion, nodding as if he fully believed and understood the threat. In truth he did not know, yet, precisely what to make of his still-nameless opponent. Were he a bigger person, someone more mature or less egotistical, he might have taken this precise moment to step back and recognize the foolishness of this thinly veiled ritual. Whatever purpose it might serve seemed obscured by the equally unsavory options of beating up a girl or being beaten up by one. But these were things Samuel, in his enthusiasm, did not take into account. So once she'd retrieved her gloves, he merely rose from his seat, giving his knuckles a loud crack of his own, and gestured for her to follow.
"Back here, then," he said, leading her to a clear space at the back of the room. The foam mats were stacked four deep here, dark stains marring their deep blue surfaces, marking it off as the makeshift ring the gym's patrons had once hastily erected. He paused at the edge of the mats, pulling on a battered pair of training gloves from the gym's communal shelves. "Hopefully this is good enough to suit you, princess. This won't take long, anyway, so if it's not up to your standard at least you won't have to deal with it but for a while."