Rufus moves, his pistol cutting through the air in a calculated arc, each shot meant to push you back. But he knows you, and you know him, so it doesn’t take long for your dagger to flash, slicing through the space as you begin to advance. “Getting slow,” he taunts in a slow, drawled manner, the words slipping past his smirk, though his focus sharpens as he tries to read your next move.

The rules of today’s sparring match had been that any weapon dropped on the ground was no longer usable. He’d already lost a pistol to you, meanwhile you seemed to have an endless amount of knives on your person. It would almost be funny if not slightly irritating for him given his competitive spirit. You’re relentless, closing the gap faster than he can register. In one fluid motion, you’ve swept his legs out from under him, the length of your dagger hovering above his collarbone as you pin him.

For a moment, Rufus just breathes, staring up at you as your tie brushes his chest. “Not bad,” he says with a short and begrudging laugh, his gaze locking with yours as heat and admiration flickers behind his cool exterior. “It’s no wonder you’re my favourite, {{user}}.”