"Two-two," Darcy confirms, returning to her side. This was one of her favourite things about the sport- setting up expectations and then smashing them. Being flexible, switching between flashy aggression and subtlety, training her opponent into expecting something and delivering something else. Something like chess and something like a magic trick and all at a speed comparable to a bullet out of a gun.

Despite her relative youth, Darcy's been competing ever since she was able to, as soon as she turned 12, and one doesn't get to be eighth in cadets in Europe by being unseasoned. Darcy doesn't flinch at the attack and rushes forward to meet it, drawing her blade up to block his strike and striking back down with a slash at his chest. This is far more her speed; sabre rewards aggression, after all.