Anti-OTP: Ilmarinen/Phedre

[smithofwainola]

Ordinarily, Ilmarinen feels no need to be ostentatious with his swordplay. He wields a broadsword with tremendous competence and unflagging strength; to show off with it would simply be unsportsmanlike. Today, though, he is on the grounds of the Mansion, testing the heft of a new blade that he has forged--a bastard sword, light hand-and-a-half

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[phedre_25]

Phedre will be walking about, maybe off to the lake, where she forgot a book, but she will stop to watch him, almost hypnotized.

This is also reminiscent of home, the men practicing the fight, battling the air in the wait of realer opponents. She won't make noise, but her eyes will trace his shape, admiring the grace and the strength of a man, her friend, whom she is starting to know and care for.

[smithofwainola]

Eventually, when he has learned the easy weight of the blade to his satisfaction, he will sheathe it and lean against a tree, wiping his brow. Not quite catching sight of her yet; he has to catch his breath first.

[phedre_25]

"A beautiful sight, you were, my friend," she murmurs, softly. Her smile is tender, a little bit mischievous - he is indeed quite a sight.

[smithofwainola]

He looks up at her, shoulders still pressed against the tree, smile broad and open for her. "Less so than you are now, Phedre."