Perhaps Ashamin had overestimated her strength. She was, after all, a thief and not a fighter. As his body made contact with hers--his chest striking and her figure seeming to fall away from his own--he considered that he might be the problem, too. Well, problem wasn't really the term, but... what was he supposed to call it?

He was improving, that was really all that could be said on the matter. He was growing more skilled, filling out his awkward frame with muscles and scars and beginning to show his worth more and more each time he stepped forward in a spar. Ashamin felt his jaw tugged towards the shimmering of her chain and away from her flesh--was thankful when it was all he snapped down on. If he really was so strong that he could throw her back upon impact, then perhaps such contact with her skin could have done more damage than he had expected.

The haruspex searched for her eyes. There was something endless about them, something that he wanted to find and calm himself in. They were a blue that reminded him of Tiamat's soft coat, a blue that reminded him of the endless sea in which he'd died. It had only been a dream, maybe, but now as he saw her eyes flash with determination he was reminded of the power of that color. Her orbs were hypnotic in a way that captured Ashamin's focus, lulled him into quiet and slowed his motion. He should have been thinking about what it meant that he had pulled her head lower, about how she might take such a position as useful and use it against him, but instead he was caught in the blue.

Blue like the sea, blue like the end... blue.

He only came to clear consciousness again when he felt Rexanna's delicate form press against his. At first the collision was gentle and warm like a soft kiss. His return to reality was easy, and were it not for the sudden throbbing of a bruise where the brow above her horn had shoved against his chest he perhaps would have let himself fade into some sort of distant sleep of the mind.

But no, with her strike came pain and a shaking, inevitable, incomprehensible rage. Ashamin clamped his teeth down on empty air as the hurt spread softly through the muscle. It wouldn't be enough to hinder his movement greatly, but the strength that Rexanna carried in her hindquarters and the haruspex's anticipation of her next maneuver did temporarily grant her what she wanted: room.

Swiftly Ashamin turned away from the rapture of her gaze and pulled his figure to the left, avoiding her teeth entirely. His own eyes--dark pits of tar--looked towards her with no evidence of emotion. It was there, though, to be sure; doubt hobbled him, concern for Rexanna unexpectedly tripped him up. He had not parted his jaw since first clamping it down in pain. Now he let those teeth grind and his tongue smack against them inside his mouth. He would force himself to keep them closed, lest he make the same mistake that he had with Erebos and unleash the force his mask could curse him with without thinking.

The paint's tail was in fickle and constant movement, writhing at his back like some creature with its mouth clamped on poison that twisted violently to set itself free. Without much thought the haruspex rushed forward, charging towards his own left and aiming to position himself parallel to Rexanna's unprotected right side, facing away from her. The adorned white snake at his back followed haphazardly, whipping, sparking, and curling dangerously close to her jugular. It was clear that Rexanna wanted room--with the speed her legs surely granted her and the slight disadvantage of her height, Ashamin could understand why. But he could not quell his competitive side, so aroused by the glinting of her gold and blue. The colors could return him only to Zahra's blood that had just narrowly saved him from death, the death that in hindsight he thought he may have wanted.

So who was she now to taunt him with such bold shades, like a matador before the bull? He snorted and lashed his tail once more, throwing it upon the wet ground as he attempted to thrust his left against the thief's opposite side. He would not give her the distance she needed to win.

It wasn't because Ashamin wanted to triumph, no. It was that he couldn't handle the shame of losing to an agent like her--one of royalty, of shadow, of erotic strife, and one, at last, of death.

""