(Forgive me as I do not actually speak French. No offense is meant by any of the dialogue or accent.)

He watched from a safe distance as the avian leveled her bow-staff against her current foe, the likes of which also used a staff. They sparred within a ring, training for the up coming tournament, only a few weeks off now it was crunch time for most competitors. Her opponent took the first lunge, pushing off their back foot, extending fully, trying to catch the avian off guard with an early strike. The blue avian moved like water, in no hurry beyond her own desire and whim. A slight to the right, sweeping her back leg away from the strike, "Aha! Vicieux!" She replied whilst spinning away, turning herself perpendicular to where she was standing before while returning to the same stance.

Only a brief pause, as if to pose and a quick puff of air directed up toward the feather-hair that hung just within the line of sight she needed free to properly gauge her next move. Her opponent, in the mean time, landed and turn, drawing the staff up above him, aiming to drop it down upon her. She in turn slides her back hand up her staff and turns it horizontal, raising it into the air and stepping forward, their staves colliding. She turns into it, dropping her arms as she faces her back to him and pushes off with the spinning momentum, slamming her solid back into his chest and sending him stumbling back. She then leans back, arching herself and bringing her staff parallel with herself once more, thrusting it toward him and pegging the end of it to his chest. From there she snaps the tip up, popping his chin and clacking his teeth together audibly and then swinging her leg not being used to balance herself around, twisting herself to face him properly once more, while also swinging the staff into the arm on the back swing. As she does this the staff swings with her spinning momentum and whistles through the air, her front arm swinging up as well to brace for the incoming vibrations of cracking against the opponent's face.

Instead however she stops it an inch from contact, this was a spar after all, not someone fighting for their life. Her opponent stared almost awe struck upon her, a smug, confident, smile upon her beak, letting the notion that she had won sink in. She pulls back, stamping her staff into the ground, huffing a bit of air up toward the feather-hair again, it simply falling right back into place, "Bonne longeron, monsieur. Good practice, yes?" She said, bowing her head ever so slightly with respect. A French woman besting the likes of a native Japanese warrior was not something that sat well with most practitioners of the art, never the less, her opponent bowed his head, a bit of a flush upon his face, and walked off the mat respectfully.

Now the next in line watches the avian almost sway hypnotically like some kind of leaf coaxing the wind to brush upon it in specific ways to flutter beautifully to the ground, she making her way toward the bench where a tea pot and cup of tea sat. She picks up the cup, lifting it to her beak and sipping politely, turning to take a brief rest upon the bench crossing one toned leg over the other while resting the staff upright as she sips her tea. It was obvious her next challenger was waiting, there was no question but she puts on a look of surprise regardless as her eyes open, having closed to enjoy her tea, "You are Challenger, non?" An almost irritated and insulted nod followed from the new challenger, "Magnifique!" She said, taking another sip, setting the cup down, starting toward the training mat...


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