as written by Script
"That's why I said her husband," Val remarked with a smirk. "But hey, if she's got him whipped, maybe you can work your magic after all, Al."
Al snorted, eyebrows lifting in uncharacteristic apprehension. "Ahh... maybe, but I also kinda like my balls where they are right now. No offence Cam, but she's crazy even by our standards."
It was then that the call finally came for the first match of the semi-finals. The twins looked up, blinking, as the buzz of the crowd intensified. The show was about to begin.
"That time already, huh?" Al shot his brother a smirk, patting him on the back. "Hope you're ready to lose."
Val harrumphed, getting to his feet and folding his arms and returning the look with one that was equal parts haughty and sultry. "I just hope you're ready to dance for me, Al."
"When am I not?" A wink, and Al stepped over the bench to join him. "See you after the match, Cam. And enjoy the show."
The crowds around the fencing ring were murmuring in anticipation of the upcoming duel. Both of the infamous Castellane twins had proven themselves to be unexpectedly capable fencers in the previous round. Valère had triumphed over Celeste, one of the Monastery’s more capable proselytes, whilst Alvère had dominated one of the previous year’s semi-finalists from the Lacroix academy - and made it look easy.
Now, the bracket had placed the twins against one another. As they approached the ring, the pair were seemingly still totally relaxed despite their upcoming opposition.
“I suppose this was going to happen eventually,” Valère remarked, sighing. “But I’d hoped it would come a little later.”
Alvère grinned. “And risk you getting knocked out by someone other than me?”
Valère elbowed his brother playfully, rolling his eyes. Humility was not Alvère’s strongest suit. “As if I’d let that happen.” A smirk formed on his face and he leaned in closer. “You know I’d always save myself for you…”
His whisper was rewarded with a startled blush, and he leaned back with a burst of laughter. Alvère shot him a flustered glare, but before he could respond, the organisers called for them to take their positions. His brother might have liked to think he was the more charismatic and dominant of the two of them, but Valère rested safely in the knowledge that it was as easy as a sultry wink and a smile to throw him off.
He donned his face guard and took his position opposite Al, who had done the same - their stances mirrored as they readied their rapiers.
“En garde.... Fence!”
Alvère immediately took the offensive, as he had in his previous bout. He attacked with a series of aggressive thrusts that Valère deftly deflected or avoided, but he was offered no opportunity to respond. Al knew his preferred tactic of fending off his opponents until they let their guard slip to allow an easy retort, and sought not to give him the opportunity. Their blades clashed quickly, in an exchange that forced him back to the edge of the ring, until - unexpectedly - it was his rapier that found its mark. He successfully deflected what Alvère had intended to be a final strike, and converted the parry into a riposte to his brother’s shoulder.
A round of polite applause sounded as the referee awarded Valère the point. “Losing your touch, Al?” he teased as they were moving back into position. “Or is your mind elsewhere?”
“Psychological warfare is cheating,” Alvère grumbled, “but don’t count on it earning you any more points.”
True to his word, Alvère took the next point in what was almost a blow-for-blow repeat of the previous engagement. Alvère’s aggression was near perfectly matched by Valère’s reactive style, but there was no denying that his brother had the edge, as after another two engagements he had built himself a lead.
On the fourth engagement, however, it was Valère who launched into the offensive first, seeking to take Alvère out of his comfort zone and force him to defend. The surprise came close to earning him a point right off the bat, but Alvère was able to deflect the initial strike and, once more, the two dueled in earnest.
An inexperienced observer would have been forgiven for thinking that the pair were following a choreographed routine as opposed to engaging in a serious duel. For near every strike Alvère attempted, Valère had an answer. The truth was that they had been sparring partners for so long and so regularly throughout their fencing careers, that although it wasn’t, the match truly might as well have been rehearsed. Both he and his brother knew that, of the two of them, Alvère was the better fencer - but that didn’t stop them from making a good show of it. They’d danced this dance many a time, and so they knew intuitively where to direct one another to produce a duel that was equal parts competitive and theatrical.
After all, why were they here, if not to show off?
In the end, Alvère took the victory, at ten points to Valère’s six. As the announcement was being made, Val pulled his face guard off with a sigh of relief, thankful for the cool breeze. He watched with an amused smile as Alvère bowed to the applauding crowd, and sidled up alongside him.
“Having fun?”
“Fun doesn’t come into it,” Alvère replied with a playful grin as he straightened from his final bow. “I simply owe it to my public to acknowledge their appreciation, is all.”
Valère rolled his eyes. “Of course you do,” he replied with a dry chuckle, before leaning in closer once more. “Now, I don’t know about you,” he murmured, “but I’m sweltering in this padding. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to lend me a hand in getting out of it, would you?”
Oh, but how he enjoyed seeing that cocky smile replaced with the shocked face of a rabbit in headlights.
“You’re far too easy to tease, Al,” he said, unable to stop his seductive mask breaking into a grin. He looped an arm through his brother’s and drew him towards the edge of the ring. “But on a more serious note, we do really need a shower.”
“Ah… yeah, right.” Alvère cleared his throat, trying and failing to reconstruct his composure as they walked back towards the benches. “You’re right. We do. Are we heading home for one, or..?”
Valère refrained from chuckling at how easily he’d taken the lead, not wanting to break the spell too soon. “That’s awfully out of our way. I was thinking we could ask someone who lives a little closer if we might borrow theirs.”
Alvère raised an eyebrow, then the corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a half smile as he cottoned on. “I don’t suppose you have anyone particular in mind, hm?”
“I might…” Valère hummed innocently. “But let’s stick around for Cam’s match first, at least. It’s only polite...”