Closed Boys' Night! PV Pericles Dralt

@Finnegan Connor

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	In contrast to Finn's chaotic corner, Pericles' sleeping space looked like the camp of a traveling explorer. Most of his things stayed tidily in his chest, as if ready to move on at any moment, and what was arranged around his bed was placed with practical deliberation. He had called dibs on a few books from their tent library, which were currently stacked by his pillow for easy reading. The space overhead was becoming progressively clogged with dense black webbing where his spider had started a nest. In that moment, he stood in the open walkway, foils clanging between himself and @Rebecca Lark. "The masks are dumb." "The masks are smart," he corrected, fighting petulence with patience. "They're safety precautions to stop us from, what did you call it? Twinning." He pointedly prodded his prosthetic eye, despite the grossness of the act, imagining that was all the justification she'd need. "And the foil isn't even sharp, how am I supposed to defeat my rivals with this?" At times Bex's friendship allowed Pericles to feel like the big brother he never got to be. Other times, when her energy was high and his low, he felt like a divorced single father of four. Leave it to the Youths to ask for instruction then complain throughout it. "They don't allow real swords at Summer camp. Besides, we're only starting off with foils until your balance is better." Hopefully she would be more pliable to instruction with the promise of actual blades in her future. "And your stance. Point your foot to the left. Your other left. No, the same side as before, but-" "Go do boy stuff somewhere else!" Was @Aly Salinger tired of listening to their practice? Peri couldn't imagine why anyone would be. He gave her a long stare, trying to tell if it was a joke, only to discover she was absolutely kicking them out. Looking reproachful, Peri protested "But it's cold." He wasn't a little boy anymore. His angular face lacked the softness that once paired well with his fake pouts, making him look endearing. Now the tall bird blatantly looked like a fraud when he pretended to be wounded. Pericles would have agreed with Finn's assessment: while he identified masculinely, he was surely enough in touch with his feminine side to get a free pass on eviction from Girl's Night, right? Right? He looked to @Evelynn Decipio, wordlessly demanding to know if she endorsed this, but couldn't catch her eyes behind her book, conveniently absorbed as she was. He looked to his alumni duelling partner @Dealla Prince for her unconditional support, prompting "Dee?" As Aly ushered him outside, he cast a mournful glance over to Becca, conveying through eye contact alone that he would have taken her along if he thought he could win an argument against Aly. Alack: they would have traded places in a heartbeat, but neither of them were getting what they wanted. He didn't have time to snag a jacket before being driven out into the cold, dark, lonely night. ( ) Peri answered Finn's sigh and shrug with a miserable frown then a shake of his head; there was nothing to be done for it, said the look. They were forsaken. "I have decided I don't like girls. You?" "They aren't so terrible, once you get used to them...." He hesitated, glancing back with a flick of an aspen wand and a barked "Accio jacket", wrenching the loaner from wherever Aly had left it. His breath fogged from his nose as he sighed, slipping it on. "....occasional antics aside. Her timing was terrible. I was finally getting something to stick with Becca, I think." Pericles' first instinct was to take to the sky. He glanced starward, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it came up, deciding against leaving the third-year alone. Hogwarts' camps were typically safer than, say, its dances. But students were still subject to being conscripted into illegal fight clubs or attacked by cursed slugs. He trailed along, lingering just out of swinging distance from that stick. "It's best we stick together, I think. Any ideas?"
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🅵 I N N E G A Nxx🅲 O N N O R
xxxGRYFFINDOR THIRD YEAR SUMMER CAMP '24

Boys' night! August 1st 2024

xx

Finnegan's eyes crinkled to distrusting slits, much prefering a simple 'yes' or 'no' to the actual answer he received. Typical. Peri's non-answer was unsuprising considering the boy's measured, thoughtful demeanour, but that didn't make it any less annoying. Finnegan sighed inwardly. If only life could be as straightforward as he wanted it to be — girls mean, boys good, simple as. "Girls are weird." He stabbed a few holes in the snow with his stick before he cared to explain. "Why do they have so many clothes? Did you see how many Winnie brought? Where does she keep them all? Not to mention the pillows, you ever notice how many pillows they have? Why do they need that many? Why do they always travel in packs? Why do they take so long in the bathroom? Do they have meetings in there?" He fired a questioning look at Pericles, "I hate it when they gossip or worse, when they giggle. Makers me think I'm wearing something inside out or got mismatched socks on or something..." He threw an accusing glare toward the tent at that particular remark, but there wasn't much to be done about it now. "I reckon they're talking about us right now. Well, you at any rate, I don't know if you know but half the school's been fawning over you ever since you got... since your eye..." He stopped himself there before he could blunder himself deeper into the hole he'd been digging. "Nevermind," he added, sounding apologetic. It wasn't right to secretly wish he could swap places with the older boy, to have acted a hero and have something to show for it. It seemed a right lot better than having to keep secrets, pretend like everything was fine while consuming bottle after bottle of disgusting purple potion every night just to get some shut-eye. The sky overhead darkened by the minute and within the hour the last remnants of daylight would be swallowed up by the encroaching night. The camp was quiet, save for the muffled chattering emerging from the tent they had just been evicted from. With a huff, he returned his attention to the stick in the ground, pulling it loose and sticking it back a few times before drumming it lightly against his leg. "Ideas? Several. None of them good." He scuffed his foot in the snow again, drawing a line that curved into a spiral, then looked up at Peri with a half-smirk, the kind that only appeared when mischief was brewing. "We could always crash the girl's night. Pull the pegs, collapse the fort, run for safety." He paused, letting the suggestion hang in the air for a moment, knowing full well it was a terrible idea but relishing the thought of the girl's outraged faces if they actually went through with it. Ah, I wish... "Or," the smile broadened dangerously now. "I could race you to the stadium roof, right there." Using the stick he pointed up toward the bleachers, then smirked at Pericles. "And then you can teach me what you were trying to teach Bex. We're supposed to be doing boy stuff after all. Unless you're too scared, of course."

xx

Mentioned: @Pericles Dralt, @Winnie Harper, @Rebecca Lark

@Finnegan Connor

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	In the realm of black and white, Pericles was an even shade of gray. He was one of those dreadful logician types, often devil's advocating, erring on the side of what could be as opposed to what was. But when Finn adamantly declared "Girls are weird," his impromptu companion smiled wryly, nodding as he disclosed "On that, we agree." The one-eyed eagle wasn't exactly exempt from the status of weird, but even he had recently concluded that the fairer sex was more a mystery than he'd originally believed. Point in case: just as he drew breath to answer Finn's first question, a myriad more followed, leaving him wide-eyed and staring. His forehead scrunched, mouth soundlessly shaping a repetition of Pillows? He hadn't wondered over those sort of things before, but they were admittedly baffling. Pericles was astonished by the realization that he had only theories and no actual answers. "I... have no idea," he confessed, following Finn's suspicious stare towards the tent. A trace of the Gryffindor's righteous outrage rubbed off on him, manifesting as a renewed pout. What were they up to that required the exclusion of boys? His gaze snapped back when Finn implied it was so that they could talk about him, scoffing "Me?" to the intonation of What did I do? "I don't know if you know but half the school's been fawning over you ever since you got..." a taken aback blink, a sinking expression, "since your eye...." All too quickly, the gleam of passive amusement in his eye went dim, traded for the tired look of someone haunted by their own errors. If fawning entailed stares and whispers in the halls, he could go without it. Peri was almost positive he'd heard someone snicker the word "pirate" behind him at breakfast, not that the sword fighting lessons helped on that front. The patch was no mark of heroism, but a cruel consolation prize for his hubris, a hard-earned lesson against carelessness in the face of danger. He unwittingly glanced at the Gryffindor's stomach, wondering if the scar had fully mended.... A contrite "Nevermind" brought him back to the present, where he was currently dissociating at Finn with a glum, faraway frown. Peri looked away, making a merciful attempt to change the topic with a prompt for Boys' Night activities. "Ideas? Several. None of them good." "I could go for a bad idea." "We could always crash the girl's night...." "Maybe not that bad of an idea. The odds of survival aren't grand at five against two." "Or, I could race you to the stadium roof, right there." Pericles' eye followed the point of Finn's improvised sword, lidded and lightless, as if the prospect of sprinting around in the cold didn't appeal to him at all. Then that charged instigation left his lips. Unless you're too scared. It was an ageless goad, used by one boy to ensnare another from time immemorial, practically guaranteed to get results. This time was no exception. Peri slowly turned towards him with a squint and growing smirk, looking more his age as he quietly snarked "You want to race me?" The boy who'd jogged laps by the Great Lake since his prefect days? The same who ran with Eve almost every morning at camp? Had this kid ever tried to outrace a puma? He didn't think so. Pulling his hands from his pockets, Pericles joined Finnegan's side, saying "Alright. Bring your stick. I'll meet you at the top." He played along at first, making a show of stretching one leg, then the other. "On my count. Ready? One...." He braced a boot behind him, digging its toe into the snow. "Two...." He crouched, arms braced and freckled face intensely focused. "Three." There was a whirl of movement, not from Peri taking off, but of a rapid transfiguration. Clothing and features faded into feathers, a hooked beak and curved talons. What launched in place of the Ravenclaw was a literal eagle. Beating the air with slate wings, it loosed trilling chirps that sounded an awful lot like monotone cackling. It even seemed to taunt its opponent with vulturous circles, but really, the upperclassman was trying to keep an eye on his climb. What would the girls say if Finn broke an arm under Peri's watch- let alone five minutes after they'd been booted from the tent?
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🅵 I N N E G A Nxx🅲 O N N O R
xxxGRYFFINDOR THIRD YEAR SUMMER CAMP '24

Boys' night! August 1st 2024

xx

Snow's not great for running, but as far as bad ideas go, running through snow isn’t even up there. I’ve had far worse ideas, like when—before I got to Hogwarts—I’d started a petition to ban homework from my school. It went well, until people added their own ideas and we wound up demanding a chocolate-milk fountain in the schoolyard, a recess extension of two hours, and all tests being open-book. See, the teacher figured since I spent so much time collecting signatures, I’d have the time for extra assignments. I've sworn off petitions since. So, compared to that, racing Pericles doesn’t seem that bad. “You've got leg,” my football coach (Mr. Wallace) likes to say, which used to confuse me, ‘cause I got two. Later, I figured what he meant is that I can run up and down the pitch fast. Forwards1 got to have pace, and I've been playing frages2, but Pericles doesn't know any of that. "You want to race me?" I’m not sure which part of that is more insulting; that he’s being chesty and thinks he’s too good for me or that I’m too bad for him. Now my face is all scrunched up and there’s heat in my voice. “You don’t have to sound so insulted about it. Why don't you come up with something then?” He won’t, of course, because he hasn’t got any ideas. The stick makes a low whooshing noise before I hit the ground with it to emphasize my point. If he wins, I think to myself, it'll be because he’s taller. You see, Pericles has got long, skinny legs, like a stork or a black-winged stilt, so racing him is a challenge at any rate, snow or no snow. Maybe I should thwap him with my stick, hit the hollow of his knees and cripple him before he can go off, but that'd be cheating. Not that anyone minds. It don't matter if it's June's mum or if it's Quidditch, loads of people cheat. My sister says "it's not cheating" and calls it “winning without the pain.” With that attitude she’s going to end up in Slytherin and we’ll have to disown her. To my surprise, Pericles agrees to the race. In fact, he seems well keen on it. But why’s the stick so important? I s’pose it’s fair though, he’s got a very large and heavy brain to lug around after all. “One.. two… three!” I haven’t got a chance to think much about it before I lunge forward. Then I find out why the boy is smirking so much. A rush of air and the sound of beating wings soars past and all I can see through the flurry of snow is a big blur of feathers and strong, stocky legs with sharp talons. Not a stork and definitely not a stilt either. I look up slack-jawed, my legs already freezing up, the race is lost before it has even begun. “Hey!” I call out, without thinking about what I was going to say after, so I say “hey!” again, perhaps hoping I’ll startle Pericles back and even the odds. “That’s not fair!” But what can I do about it? He’s circling up high. If he was a lame bird I could probably snipe him with a snowball, I’ve got decent aim, but I’m not keen on what might happen after. I don’t rightly know what changing into an eagle does to someone and I'm not eager to find out if it changed his appetite. The harrowing, cackling, mocking noises he makes give me all the more reason to leg it. Shhhunk, shhhunk, shhhunk, shhhunk Like clockwork, my scuffed sneakers stab into the snow, crunching it underfoot and sending loose particles flying from my heels. I’m racing towards the stands, my legs pumping like pistons and soon a tinge of soreness seeps in at the edges. Somewhere in the back my head, I can hear Mr. Wallace barking at me between puffs of an off-brand cigarette, shaking all three of his chins. "You run like a bloody fat fanny, put your knees up!" There are only two things about Mr. Wallace that are in good health. First is his shouting voice, and second is his pot-belly, which has been steadily expanding since he stumbled into his forties. Still, he's done more to expand my vocabulary than my English teacher ever did. You haven't truly lived until he's called you "an insipid agglomeration of misfiring synapses" or "a supine ectoplasm on wheels with the strength of a damp sponge jelly." I've reached the stands now and am clambering over them to reach the aisle. The first is just up the stairs, but it gets trickier after that. There's an open, metal stairway to the second level that makes loud clanging and creaking noises, then another one to the third. The stairs tire me more than the snow did and by the time I reach the uppermost level, I'm panting. The final stretch involves clambering up the large skybox, then taking a jump toward the jutting, overhanging stadium roof and pulling myself up, which is easier said then done if you're out of breath and carrying a stick. Shaking from exertion, I test my footing on the aluminum roof and look down at the enchanted, snow-covered pitch below. The tents look almost comically small from up here and dotted between them ant-like figures move back-and-forth tending to their small needs. I wasn't too sure if going up the stands was allowed, but going up the roof got to be illegal. Pericles is doing it too though, even if he's cheating. Regardless of if he remains a bird or changes back into a fetching teen, I greet him with the same, cross expression. "I suppose you couldn't have changed into a chicken, because you're already too much like one." I rest the stick onto my shoulder like a make-believe greatsword. "I guess you figured that this was the only way you could win so," now it's my time to smirk, "I'll accept your surrender now." I bring the stick forward, pointing it straight toward him, "Please kneel."

xx

Mentioned: @Pericles Dralt, @June Selwyn

Sincerest apologies that you have to suffer through my phase of changing between third/second/first-person writing.

@Finnegan Connor

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	“Why don't you come up with something then?” was the retort. Pericles had held up his hands, that trademark glimmer of I know something you don't in his eye, insisting "No, no. Racing is fine." Only one of them would be stuck slogging through the snow, though. As the eagle launched into the crisp night air, it drowned out accusations of unfairness with singsong chittering. The animagus was guiltless. He flew with the left side of his head turned towards the ground, soaking in the electrifying range of colors only an eagle's vision could discern. Blue moonlight clashed with the golden glow of the lanterns Finn dashed under, an array of hues dancing through ice fractals. From his vantage, the Ravenclaw could still see every freckle, every errant strand of hair, the glisten of exertion forming on the boy's brow. With any luck, a good run would burn up some of that energy. Merlin knew he had more of it than Pericles. A concerning creak of metal jarred him from the spectacle. The eagle coasted close by as Finn leapt from skybox to roof, suffering a brief surge of worry, only to trill an indecipherable congratulation when he stuck the landing. One last overhead circle- perhaps a victory lap- was cut short when the Gryff called him, of all things, a chicken. The raptor grunted an unhappy squawk, swooping low and resuming the form of a wizard. A blur of colors and shapes and Pericles landed with a thump of boots. "That's a bit harsh," he drawled, tossing in a halfhearted pout for good measure. Avian mannerisms appeared more obvious now: the way he paused to preen his hair, then turned his head to fix Finn with one silver eye. As the third-year went on to say he wouldn't have won otherwise, the sixth-year opted for the maddening stance older people took to appease angry kids: falsified agreement. "Oh yes, you're right. You would have had me trumped." That sly smile lingered just out of sight. It flickered at demands of surrender. There was value in play, or at least, Pericles had read as much in some psyche book somewhere. It had been in short supply during his own upbringing. His father's idea of it often involved sending the aspiring auror child through increasingly strenuous obstacle courses, or busying him with puzzles. Peri had delighted in it all, but then, he hadn't exactly fathomed what "normal" kids got up to. Analyzing Finn with a pensive frown, he wagered running, climbing, and swinging sticks around with others his age might not have been so terrible. "But you never said it was a footrace. My wings carried me here just as well as your legs." He rolled a shoulder theatrically, gripping it with the opposite hand to emphasize just how hard he'd flown. "Why don't we call it a draw?" Closing the gap with an outstretched arm, he added "I'll need that stick, please."
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(All good, experiment away!)

🅵 I N N E G A Nxx🅲 O N N O R
xxxGRYFFINDOR THIRD YEAR SUMMER CAMP '24

Boys' night! August 1st 2024

xx

Finnegan stood on the cold, angled roof and leaned on the stick he'd carried. His breath came in visible, ragged puffs while he tried to steady himself. His legs ached from the climb, but he wasn't about to show Pericles any weakness and forced himself to straighten up. The teenager, who had just landed on the roof, shifted from an eagle back into a boy with frustrating ease. Pericles' carefree attitude fanned the flames. He watched as the older boy preened himself, fixing his hair with those odd, staccato, bird-like movements. Never mind that smug, stupid smirk. Finnegan's glower deepened as Pericles spoke with a faux-agreement that bordered on condescension. "Oh yes, you're right. You would have had me trumped." His fingers tightened around the stick. Pericles was playing along, but that didn’t make it any better. He wanted to win on his own terms, not be handed a consolation prize. It felt like an older sibling’s way of placating a younger one. He could know. He'd pulled the same trick on his younger sister often enough. "You're taller," he shot back, his voice hot with indignation. "You've got longer legs, and I should've gotten a head start, the whole thing was rigged! And that's before you decided to cheat and-" He swung the stick in the air a few times for emphasis. "I would've gotten my broom if I'd known you'd be flying..." He still might've won, a quiet voice in the back of his head whispered. All things considered, it was better to lose on foot than to be beaten on a broom. After the never-ending streak of Quidditch defeats, he didn't think his pride could stomach being beaten in the air. Finnegan huffed out a breath and glanced around. The camp stretched out beneath him. The tents looked so small, like toys in a snow globe. If he squinted, he could just make out a few figures moving between the tents, tiny, ant-like in the distance. Yet he wasn’t sure if being up here, so high above everything and everyone else, made him feel powerful or small. Maybe a bit of both. A gust of wind played with his hair and chilled the sweat on his skin. When Pericles approached, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why do you need the stick anyway?" He twirled it in his hand before holding it out, hesitating for a moment. "You’re not gonna hit me with it, are you? Because if you do, I've got to warn you, I know the Slug-vomiting spell and I'm not afraid to use it." Yet the very fact that he loosened his grip enough for the Ravenclaw to take the stick spoke volumes. He wasn't all that concerned about whatever Pericles had in mind, though he struggled to guess what it could be. Maybe he'll perch on it, he thought bemusedly, though he could barely hide a widening grin from showing on his face.

xx

@Finnegan Connor

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	Finn's outrage pelted Peri like boiling droplets fizzling out on cold stone. The Ravenclaw had little concept of competition, particularly when there were no stakes. Perhaps even that tied into being an only child. For most of his life, his only competitor had been himself in the race of self-improvement. He remembered his distant cousins on Mamo Tama's side: a household of two girls and three boys, all under one roof, all at or under his age when he visited at ten. The siblings seemed to exist in a constant state of chaos, muscling for toys, grabbing fistfuls of snacks when they were served, leaving passive Pear with crumbs and empty hands. Eventually hitting peak overwhelm, a frustrated boy began whingeing to his grandma. "I don't know why they're so angry with each other. They don't share, and they talk too loud. It's rude." Tamasa had the temperance to be patient with him, smoothing his hair as she'd said, "Their way isn't wrong, lamb; it's only different. You've never needed to vie for playthings, or for a fair portion, or for the attention of your mother and father. For them, it is simply survival. They must be resilient always." As Peri reinforced the gap between himself and that swinging stick, holding up both palms as if calming a wild thing, he wagered Finn had someone to wrestle with. That he thought Peri meant to hit him only affirmed it. That veneer of tranquility wavered with concern, forehead furrowing for a taken-aback look. "What? No, of course not." Only, once the stick was safely in his grasp, Peri murmured "Not yet, anyway." He took two steps back, gripped it firmly with both hands, and brought it down hard over a knee. The thin branch snapped at the center with a spray of splinters. Peri tossed the two pieces to the ground between them, then drew an ivory wand with one fluid motion. Any protest, outcry, or question would be warded off with a waved hand and a reassuring bid to "Trust the process." What he intended required concentration, so the young warlock would block out the rest. His mind's eye manifested his intent: to divide his willpower, split a spell, shape two halves into equal measure. "Engorgio." Twin ice-blue lights leapt from his wand and struck the twigs, which swelled in size and length until they made for passable wooden swords. Smiling in satisfaction, Pear plucked them up, offering out the second stick as though it was an olive branch. "You asked me to teach you."He nodded up the slanted roof, proposing "Why don't you take the higher ground, since I've got 'longer legs'?" Really, he just wanted to be the one nearest the roof's edge without coming across as babying the boy, since only one of the two could sprout wings at a moments' notice. Wings had eliminated his fear of heights, but their precarious stage was nothing to scoff at. Up here the stars seemed somehow brighter, the air cooler, wind creeping and moaning through empty bleachers to the tune of wordless warnings.
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🅵 I N N E G A Nxx🅲 O N N O R
xxxGRYFFINDOR THIRD YEAR SUMMER CAMP '24

Boys' night! August 1st 2024

xx

In silence, Finnegan watched as Pericles worked to make swords for them both. The Ravenclaw had proven to be everything Rebecca had made him out to be: polite, precise, studious, knowledgeable, and abov all: trustworthy. Someone of that calibre of character would not diminish himself with a deceitful attack, and so Finnegan remained still when the boy drew his aspen wand, knowing no magic would be set against him. Fashioned from the finest deadwood, enlarged by an impressive display of dual magic, here now was a chance for Finnegan Connor to prove his mettle. When his make-belief blade was handed to him, Finnegan accepted it with reverance, testing his grip on the hilt before holding it up and out, letting his eyes creep along its edge. "Excalibur," he muttered to himself and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Naming your broom was dumb and girlish, but naming your sword? Now that was a serious matter. Following the teenager's instructions, Finnegan trudged up the slight incline, crushing the thin dusting of sleet with his boots. Once he had reached the middle of the soft slope, he turned back around to face Pericles who stood twenty feet behind him. "Any final words-" he said in his best impression of a valiant King Arthur, "fiend? Something nice for your tombstone?" Undoubtedly there were rules to this fencing game, one of which had to be that no duel should take place in snowy conditions, 300ft above the ground. But who had time for rules and posture and proper form when there was a score to be settled? With one game already lost, Finnegan was determined not to lose again and to that end, he wasted no time to wait for further instruction. He leapt forward and struck the first blow. THWACK! Wood met wood. The reverberation raced down the blade, down the hilt, down the length of his arm and up his spine. Expecting a swift counter, he leapt back, only to thrust the dull tip toward the teenager's ribs, proding and probing, searching for a weakness in the tight, disciplined defense that Pericles maintained. "You know what?" he grinned cheekily, "I think I'll actually try to win this time, how's that?" With a little luck, the teenager would get worked up, spend all that effort fighting an uphill battle and exert himself. At least, that was the plan. Permission granted to @Pericles Dralt to godmod Finn in any future post during this thread for the purposes of this duel.

xx

@Finnegan Connor

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	Satisfaction erred towards pride as Finnegan appraised his improvised "sword". This was far from a formal lesson, but it felt like a fitting start, one windswept duel high above the campgrounds. "Boy stuff" indeed. Whatever experience the ladies of Circinus had heartlessly excluded them from, it likely wasn't as cinematic as this. He totally wasn't still bitter over the eviction. "Any final words- fiend? Something nice for your tombstone?" Pericles snickered despite himself, a light sound that sparked a glint in his eye. He spun his stick with a flourish, drawling in a low-effort attempt at sounding villainous: "Strike true, little Arthur." Finnegan's fight pattern wasn't so dissimilar from his female doppelganger. Both he and Bex started out with a reliance on strength, tapping into those seemingly boundless wells of energy younger years enjoyed. The offense was fast, and fierce, forcing even Pericles to put forth a genuine effort into not getting hit. He had recently developed a habit of duelling with his head turned slightly to the right, compensating for his monocular vision. That first blow was blocked with the same vertical movement used when casting a Protego. The jab towards his ribs was deflected with a sweeping swing, artfully sending it to the side. His method was one of defense, reliant on agility, meaning to tire out aggressive opponents before lashing back with reserved energy. He even had the gall to lecture over the raucous clatter, carrying on in that calm, matter-of-fact air. "Swordsmanship is less an art of strength than it is based in balance. Fencing is a valuable practice for any caster: it helps us hone our aim and dexterity. Learn to move with a sword and you'll dance with a wand." "I think I'll actually try to win this time, how's that?" There it was again- the same sly, snarky smirk Pericles had worn when Finn challenged him to a race. Either he was haughty, or he had some other trick up his sleeve. His mellow voice oozed with infuriating impassivity. "The point is to train, not to win. But you're welcome to try." As if to drive this point home, a hard hook and yank wrenched Finn's Excalibur away, sending it clattering along the roof. Peri pointed after it with the end of his stick in wordless command.
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