[Open!]
Characters: Watson, Eridan, their seconds, and audience.
Location: The park
Rating: Eridan potty mouth. :c
Time: October 16, Morning, directly after training.
Description: Watson and Eridan are going to have a DUEL.
Watson wasn't entirely certain of this new caper he had gotten himself into. Watson would say that he was a very peaceable man by nature, a state of being brought about not only by being a physician of not inconsiderable skill, but also by being Holmes' fellow lodger. Sure he had a temper, but it had mellowed extremely through the years. And yet here he was, rushing headlong into a duel -- of the obsolete style, for shame -- with a very young gentleman (Watson could no longer, without harming his own pride, call Eridan a child or variations thereof) over what amounted to nothing. Sandry had defended herself well, after all.
Perhaps it was the magic in him, he thought vaguely, before dismissing the thought from his head. He would know if he was already being sullied, would he not? Besides, that was neither here not there. As far as Watson was aware, this would be a duel with weapons, though he had not yet cleared with Eridan what would mark a victory.
He had, in a moment of foresight, borrowed some fencing sabers from the Watch (after embarrassingly asking Roy Mustang, his patient, of all things), and he had these on the ground at his feet, even as he finished measuring out the area for the duel.
"There, that should do," he muttered, relieving himself of his coat and frock coat, until he was down to his waist coat.
[ooc: feel free to do action or prose, audience can start new threads at the bottom, etc etc. Commentaries are also okey.]
Location: The park
Rating: Eridan potty mouth. :c
Time: October 16, Morning, directly after training.
Description: Watson and Eridan are going to have a DUEL.
Watson wasn't entirely certain of this new caper he had gotten himself into. Watson would say that he was a very peaceable man by nature, a state of being brought about not only by being a physician of not inconsiderable skill, but also by being Holmes' fellow lodger. Sure he had a temper, but it had mellowed extremely through the years. And yet here he was, rushing headlong into a duel -- of the obsolete style, for shame -- with a very young gentleman (Watson could no longer, without harming his own pride, call Eridan a child or variations thereof) over what amounted to nothing. Sandry had defended herself well, after all.
Perhaps it was the magic in him, he thought vaguely, before dismissing the thought from his head. He would know if he was already being sullied, would he not? Besides, that was neither here not there. As far as Watson was aware, this would be a duel with weapons, though he had not yet cleared with Eridan what would mark a victory.
He had, in a moment of foresight, borrowed some fencing sabers from the Watch (after embarrassingly asking Roy Mustang, his patient, of all things), and he had these on the ground at his feet, even as he finished measuring out the area for the duel.
"There, that should do," he muttered, relieving himself of his coat and frock coat, until he was down to his waist coat.
[ooc: feel free to do action or prose, audience can start new threads at the bottom, etc etc. Commentaries are also okey.]