[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]

An eyebrow rose, as hidden from view beneath his visor as the nonplussed expression he imagined on the pale waif's face, moments before her silent contemplation had been broken when one of the smaller, weaker interlopers of the hunt had broken ranks and charged him ahead of schedule. That weapon she had pulled free from her sternum, like a hand out of a glove... evidently, it was ample sharp, no matter how oddly constructed at first glance.

[color=goldenrod]"As you wish, then,"[/color] he spoke, eyeing the two halves of the slain figure for a mere moment before stepping through the middle, his boots stained with the drying red. His strides were even in tempo and measure, nothing sudden, nothing shifty. Brazen, almost. As he closed the gap between them, he let his idle thoughts fall away one by one, the voids in their wake clear, open, ready to house focus. Her abilities were still mysterious— he would note and use every clue he could before they could be brought to bear against them. Chiefly, the speed of her slice had been enough that it had at least [i]looked[/i] like she may have cut the wretch in two from afar— and storing the blade within herself as she had, and its bonelike appearance... those also left room for the idea that it was some grotesque manipulation of the body at play, as well. That would possibly mean alterations to the length or rigidity of her blade or her body itself.

His sword rose, slowly, in a mirror of her posture once they were but the length of their armaments away from one another. He nodded, seeming to believe a wordless, expressionless understanding reached between them.

In all cases, minimizing the distance between he and her would help mitigate those advantages such qualities would give her over him at distance. It was earnest pageantry, sure, but not always impractical in being so polite. Two sides to everything— where his battles against mundane men had seen him fall to a hot fury so often... against the supernatural, mystical things he always seemed to encounter beneath moonlight (in one way or another), frosty reason was every bit as dominant.

[color=goldenrod]"En garde."[/color]

He tapped the flat of his sword's point against hers, before pulling it away into [i]ochs[/i], as mayhem began to rain down around them.