It’s the most beautiful morning yet out on the mossy field - at least, for fencing. It is a clouded day with perfect overcast. The fall of light is dispersed and faded, not harsh enough to blind anyone in any direction. Instead it falls gently upon the dark-green moss in rays of silver gray, shimmering on shoals of opaque pollen and glittering in drifting morning mists.
The tall, fiery fox stands elegantly in the middle as a vivid, lean apparition around whom the bated fogs part. Of course, you’re not doing so bad either in your classy thin outfit, drifting through it like a crimson spirit.
"Draw your weapon.“ Raphael smirks and points his weapon’s scabbard at you, presenting the hilt. Suspicious, you ask him if sparring shouldn’t involve two swords, but the fox curls up one side of his lips and wags the hilt at you one more time. You draw it before he changes his mind, pull it from Raphael’s hold and use footwork to drift away from him. You roll the blade around as a warning, playfully swishing it like a snake rattling its tail. You’re no longer inexperienced with it and struggle to understand how Raphael plans on getting it back from you. The tall and stately man stands by motionless and gracious, however, with a proud smirk and an unworried brow. He steps forward, challenging you, sash and tail flying in the wind. "Your move, mademoiselle. Sadly, few battles in this world are won by exquisite expositioning alone.“