It was cold and foggy out, but that was normal for the city in winter, and the practice yard was full, despite the weather, the sparring field churned to mud, and the voices of the trainees chanting the cadence with their instructor through calisthenics and runs.

Harper had come in early for her run to warm up. It gave her a few more minutes with Luca before duty called him away again; he hadn't planned on staying at the New Haven lodge long at all this morning. She was stretching and walking her cool-down, watching as one of the small cadres of recruits finished up in the yard.

Seamus and Alain crossed the yard side by side, the Baron nodding (and trying not to smirk) at the joke the knight muttered in his ear. But they parted as soon as they drew close to Harper, Seamus throwing a curious look back over his shoulder as Alain entered the rough muddied circle that would serve as the 'ring.'

"Dr. Bertand," he said as he stretched out his arms.

"Baron DeMuer," she replied, forcing a sunshiny smile. If he wanted to be formal, she could be as well. "You think you're up to this?" Her eyes ticked up and down with a touch of diplomatic concern. "You look a little out of shape."

"Is that your professional assessment?" He made a fist, extending it into the middle of the ring for her to tap and start the match. "I think you've gone soft, Annie-Love. Last chance to step out."

She grinned, straightening and shaking out her arms. "I haven't taken any training breaks, Baron." She brought her fist around for the tap, stepping forward to do so...and bringing the cupped palm of her other hand to the side of his face to pop his ear before dancing back.

Yeah. It was still on.

Alain gasped through his teeth at the strike, but it was more grin than grimace - he danced after her, and what looked like an arm raised for a block went to her middle to roughly throw her off balance into the mud.

"The Newbretons taught you a thing or two. Newbretons, though - not les Americains."

She knew she was going down when he hit. The mud was a little icy, and slick as clay this morning. Rather than fight it, she went with it, tucking her shoulder in for the roll and bringing her legs around to tangle him up. "I've paid for what I've learned, I'd like to think."

They were starting to gather a little crowd of onlookers.

He went down onto his back in the mud and righted himself with a sweep of his legs, right into launching a series of left and right hooks at her core, a fast and relentless barrage. "C'mon, keep up!" he grunted.

"Whoa?whoa." One of the leading knight candidates had stepped forward to the edge of the ring as the 'proctor,' but Alain ignored him, continuing to focus only on Annie-Love.

It was about to get ugly.

She brought her arms in to protect her stomach, letting him in closer. She pulled her head back and in again to crack against his skull with a THWACK that echoed in the training yard.

React was what he'd always been taught for disorienting blows - such as a head-butt. He slapped her ear the same way she'd started the match, and when she finally came back into focus, cut a grin across at her. "I thought you were supposed to be angry."

The self-appointed proctor threw up his arms and stepped back again. No way was he getting in the middle of that.

She was going to have a hell of a goose egg. Her forehead was already an angry red with a little white core. The proctor was a smart man because Harper spat back, "I'm furious," with a grin before she brought her fist in palm up at his groin, opening her fingers to rake back on the recoil.

Their crowd of onlookers was getting larger. You could have heard a pin drop.

After the collective exhale.

It panicked him. He didn't have time to think whether that was the point of it or she just wanted to punch him in the nuts - to what would have been the Baronial Council's collective satisfaction, he put all his effort into protecting his ability to procreate, blocking his groin and staggering unsteadily in the mud.

And leaving his face completely exposed.

'Harper' Bertand had a few dominant traits that served her well working for the Baron - one of which was the perseverance of a bulldog - and she wasn't thinking right now. It was all act-react. He staggered back and she pressed her advantage, bringing her right in for a viciously-angled uppercut for his nose while swinging laterally for a follow-up left hook.

It connected with a crunch and plenty of blood, and he tasted it in his mouth when his head hit the dirt. The knights roared and surged forward around them, half arguing and half cheering while money changed hands. Bets had been placed. Only Seamus had the presence of mind to check on the Baron's health, but when he reached for him he was roughly pushed away. "You broke it," Alain said incredulously, and wiped his forearm across his mouth, producing another broad red streak. "Or came damn close."

"I fixed it. You were ugly," she panted back at him, hands on her knees as she caught her breath and tried to collect her wits. She was going to have plenty of bruises herself.

"Bringing me down to your level." He got back to his feet, looked at the blood now on his hands with a grimace, and grinned at her again. "You owe me a beer," he decided, offering her his right hand for a shake. Bloody, muddy and scarred.

She reached out for his hand and hauled him in for a shoulder bump and a friendly clap of her hand to his arm. "Yeah, yeah. This afternoon? No reason to head straight home after work today."

He held her shoulder and nodded. "Yeah. I'll see you then." He smirked on his way past Seamus like they were co-conspirators, picking his way past them out of the yard.

"Long live the king!" The din was subsiding when the words rang out, followed by a roar of approval by many of the knights and candidates nearby. Alain looked back into the crowd like a deer in headlights before he could remember to tell his feet to move again, leaving the Lodge in silence.

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(written in collaboration with the player of Alain "Looks Better Now" DeMuer)