"As you wish, Young Mistress."

Eclair offers a smile to the skies, with their little tuft of hair peeking through a windowsill and a sweet yet naughty child's eyes gazing eagerly upon a contest they were lucky enough not to have missed under the auspices of 'bedtime'. Well then, for the gift of belief she had only a show to offer. Best make it count.

Broom-as-Lance Style: low crouch, favoring right leg. Hands above bristles and at tip of handle, sweeping instrument held at angle covering body, tip pointed toward floor. Tense musculature, shift weight. Launch. Step forward, lead with hip, thrust. Target - center of adversary face.

It is hardly deadly to be hit in the face with a broom. It is not even particularly painful, even with a good stiff model like this one. The bristles spread open as a welcoming and particularly dry octopus might, and take her face without cutting, scratching, or otherwise marring anything. A trained opponent would not so much as flinch. 

Fun Thellamie Fact: precious few warriors anywhere in the land can claim to be properly trained. They will [i]say[/i] they are, but shove a broom in their face, block their vision in a tangle of woven straw, and see how they react. Mostly, like this woman. Yelp: piercing. Stance: broken. Whiff punish initiated. Rather appropriately, Yukisworld scholars refer to the following technique as a 'Dust'.

Eclair slides underneath the handle of her broom and leans so far back she has to take one hand off to plant it on the ground. Her foot snaps up, once again aiming for the breastplate where their respective armors would allow for the highest transfer of energy. This time she pushes hard enough to knock air (and the rest of that yelp) from her Paladin companion of the evening, driving her up off the ground and toward the sky, though not more than several steps' worth. She leaps up after, remastering her grip on her cleaning tool.

Tap. Handle touches neck. Dizzy opponent, delay recovering. Kick, twist, minor secondary gain of altitude. Juggle initiated. Come around from spin, tap tap tap. Strike under armpit, at armor joint in elbow, and final blow delivered directly to that rather comely butt. Lean in, shoulder check, reverse momentum toward street. 

Hand on adversary face, hold tight but non-damaging. Release. Last moment, whirl with broom, hook underneath knees. Pull before connection with ground, shifting center of gravity. Drop on back, establish Mount. Shaft of broom pressed into neck, lean close overtop of it, allow breath to wash over now slightly blushing face. Smile.

"It is really no concern of mine whether you think well of me, or ill. I am not insulted. My investigation is paramount, my promises and oaths a secondary consideration. Our little [i]tête a tête[/i] is neither."

Eclair leans closer, allowing her apron to slide across the Paladin's body until the metals underneath their respective coverings keen in that specific way that only kissing armor can. She uses the extra tension in her arms to spring up off the ground, somersaulting back over the feet of her opponent and landing daintily on hers. 

"To that end I am warning you one final time. I will not be discussing my actions with Civil nor with any other brand of leadership, neither by the end of your heartblade nor your trembling maiden's fingertips. I [i]am[/i] fulfilling an obligation to clean Vessenmer Dyes and prepare it for the workday following its reopening at the end of these festivities. Continue pursuing actions that significantly delay my goals and not only will I send you back to your patron empty handed, I shall also be returning you naked and with unignorably bruised thighs. And that is if you are lucky, even. Are you?"