Terribly rude, terribly amusing, and thank Maker for fast reflexes, for Fenris jerks back swiftly, releasing Astarion's hand in favor of dodging that blade. Ah, fast but not fast enough; he can feel the pain a moment later, the faintest sting that says Astarion had caught him just a little. Chuckling, he darts back, putting a solid few feet between them.
The dagger's handle bites pleasantly into his palm as Fenris shifts his weight, crouching a little, trying to remember everything he'd ever been taught. Stay low, keep yourself small, stay light on your feet— it's all so different than swordwork, far more about weaving and dodging than it is a steady, straightforward attack. Fenris keeps moving, intent on forcing Astarion to circle— not just to keep them both from growing idle, but because it gives him slightly more time to try and find a weak point.
And all the while, he can feel his blood sing. Heart hammering and his senses shifted into high alert, his eyes dragging up and down Astarion's form.]
Come on.
[It's goading he fully expects not to work. Fenris keeps moving (which is really quite a feat in the dark while intoxicated; if Astarion notices him stumbling once or twice, no he didn't), trying to decide if it would be easier to go for broke or keep trying for tactics.]
Or are you only good at sneak attacks? Shall I turn my back?
[A beat, and he spreads his hands, a mocking shrug.]
Go on, Astarion. Show me all that you've learned.
[Because the second Astarion comes for him, he's going to go transparent, thank you very much, and aim for a swift slice at whatever bit of Astarion he can reach.]
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Terribly rude, terribly amusing, and thank Maker for fast reflexes, for Fenris jerks back swiftly, releasing Astarion's hand in favor of dodging that blade. Ah, fast but not fast enough; he can feel the pain a moment later, the faintest sting that says Astarion had caught him just a little. Chuckling, he darts back, putting a solid few feet between them.
The dagger's handle bites pleasantly into his palm as Fenris shifts his weight, crouching a little, trying to remember everything he'd ever been taught. Stay low, keep yourself small, stay light on your feet— it's all so different than swordwork, far more about weaving and dodging than it is a steady, straightforward attack. Fenris keeps moving, intent on forcing Astarion to circle— not just to keep them both from growing idle, but because it gives him slightly more time to try and find a weak point.
And all the while, he can feel his blood sing. Heart hammering and his senses shifted into high alert, his eyes dragging up and down Astarion's form.]
Come on.
[It's goading he fully expects not to work. Fenris keeps moving (which is really quite a feat in the dark while intoxicated; if Astarion notices him stumbling once or twice, no he didn't), trying to decide if it would be easier to go for broke or keep trying for tactics.]
Or are you only good at sneak attacks? Shall I turn my back?
[A beat, and he spreads his hands, a mocking shrug.]
Go on, Astarion. Show me all that you've learned.
[Because the second Astarion comes for him, he's going to go transparent, thank you very much, and aim for a swift slice at whatever bit of Astarion he can reach.]