What It Is

A voice from behind you: arrogant, lazy. You spin, sparks in your eyes, to face him. He's a storm cloud, larger than you, winged but lacking a sword. Breath pushes from your lungs in a plume of smoke. “Virga,” you correct, your tone cold. Dark eyes follow as the stranger prances before you, all arrogance and stupidity. Your horn lowers slightly, unintentionally, as your ears turn back. Maybe the Rift gives you nothing good to kill today, but it does bring you something. Something to hone your skill against. You don't care for his name, so you don't ask. You don't care if he's Rift-born or a cousin, right now. Anger burns in your veins, pushes against the taut walls of your heart. You can smell testosterone and arrogance rolling off him, and it all sparks against something in you. “You're here,” you say, and step forward, almost smiling. Almost. The implication in your tone remains unspoken, but perhaps obvious: You'll do just fine. “Spar me,” you demand, tail cracking behind you. As of now, you retain at least enough courtesy to announce your intention before attacking. Your eyes burn, though as you look at him. Wondering if he will leap to attack upon command, or if he'll need persuading. Though larger, you think him stupid, probably unseasoned. He might be a stronger flyer, but if you keep him on the ground, he can't use that, anyway. And you have your grandmother's blood. countdown to selfdestruct

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@Hertz
ooc// No worries! You can take the first round if you'd like :)