Owner	Pose
Ysabelle	Daylight streams over the island that Ysabelle calls home when she's not out having adventures. Today she wears a gown of crimson silk, with narrow skirts divided for ease of movement. Or riding, but that's not within todays intentions. She'd sent an invitation to John, thick vellum marked with a few scentences designed to stimulate a response; "Dear John, When last we met you were rude, and I was presumptious. I will await you at my island on midday for the next three, should you wish to make reparations for your lack of decorum.' which was then signed with a flourish. No one as defensive and angry as the God of War would be able to ignore the barb there, she was certain of it. And she sits on a small chair, beside a large sand bottomed ring in the centre of the island. Large steps come up from the ring, making it seem more like a pit, or open theatre. If it wasn't for the array of weapons along one wall. Each one is carefully oiled and cared for, with the simplest of spells to keep edges sharp and rust away... With dark red lips, black eyeshadow and a small ruby hanging from a gold chain, the magus looks as she always does, calm, collected, serene.
Ares	The letter had arrived, how it did was not clear, but there it was almost obstinate in its defiance of the laws of reality. It had caused a moment of trepidation, then a moment further to open it and consider the contents. The furrow that marred his brow after that was surprising, even as he tossed the letter back onto the table.     True, he may well have misused Ysabelle, and the reason for such was indeed not her fault. She reminded him of aspects of being an Olympian that he perhaps never cared for, and did not care for all the more now. But where does she get off offering challenge? The man's scowl becomes pronounced and he takes up the scroll again to read it, tossing it away a second time with a touch more animation.     But despite what negativity that manifested in his thoughts at the woman, she did not deserve to feel insulted, nor to be injured, nor death. Yet she had offered challenge.     The world warped around his out-stretched hand as he gestures to the side, causing a ripple in the fabric of reality that is short-lived as it only takes that moment and another for him to step through the fracture and to manifest in that same spot upon her island that he had arrived before. His nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed and he scanned the horizon. A moment later and he is moving towards that sand-filled ring.
Ysabelle	It's impossible not to feel his presence pressing against her arcane senses. Even if the island's wards hadn't issued a silent alarm in her psyche. A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, but is smoothed away quickly before she straightens her back and rests her hands in her lap. A small table sits beside the chair the woman sits on, with a pitcher of ice water, condensation pooling around it. Two glasses sit, unfilled, preparation for what is to follow. For now though, she continues to wait - after all, if he chose to not take the time to locate her first, then he can use his own feet. Within time, when he does finally reach the spot with the arena ring and the sitting magician, she finally stands. "You came, I thought you might." Slow, measured paces take her not towards him, but into the ring proper. The normal blessing to the match, which would of course invoke himself, is waived for this as she turns to face him. "I believe the axiom is, you never know someone, until you've fought them?" And there she stands, hands clasped together before her belly, face calm. "When you are ready..."
Ares	"Girl, what is this madness?" His words reach her well before he does, the bellow a strong severe thing as he walks down the steps and stops at the edge of the ring. Those great arms fold over his chest and despite her immaculately composed ensemble, and the perfection of the visual aesthetic of the ring... he does not fit it at all. He looks like a growling displeased tall man in blue jeans and a t-shirt, but not only that white sneakers as well.     Yet he lifts a hand and slashes it to the side, as if dismissing her words, her presence, and this very situation as he meets her eyes. "What are you playing at?" He shakes his head, "If we quarrel, girl. It would be no casual affair." He turns his head to the side to eye their surroundings, lifting his gaze upwards and then back around as if trying to espy her intentions in the very clouds.     "I have no wish to harm you," Is uttered at the last.
Ysabelle	"All through time, people have settled quarrels with sparring bouts." She explains in that matter of fact tone she normally reserves for people being foolish. "You have wronged me, Mister Aaron, and you see me as a weak doll who talks and knows nothing of action." Her smile is gone, a small frown, but nothing more as yet as she continues; "You think I have lived this long, through so many wars. Built all this, gathered all that knowledge, and never once had to fight for it?" Her tone remains matter of fact, almost conversational. Though those gemlike eyes seem harder for it, banked emotion, used rather than allowing herself to be overwhelmed by it. The snow-white woman's smile returns softly; "I have no wish to hurt you either, but you are a man of action, not one of words. Let us spar, so that you might know be better." A single syllable in that archaic langauge and a plainly styled rapier is lifted from the wall on flows of air, the hilt finding Ysabelle's hand easily. "If you'll indulge me?" And then, just to make sure, the calm woman /smirks/ at him.
Ares	"Ysabelle," The tall man steps down those last few steps and into the ring, no blade is taken, nor does he step into a defensive stance. Instead he looks to her and says quietly, "You may have held blade to flesh, taken a life, but do you consider yourself a warrior born?" His brow is furrowed as he looks to her, brown eyes meeting her gaze with such an intensity that few are able to endure it.     "Have you felt that hunger in the pity of your belly? The burning surge of desire to see blood spilt?" His jaw tenses, tendons bunching for a moment and the relaxing, "Have you slid your sword home and seen the life fade from their eyes, and _exulted_ in it?" He unfolds his arms and shakes his head, "I look to you and perhaps I see your office, or my thoughts are obscured by my own feelings for what you represent."     But then he steps towards her, but a single step. "And do you feel that rage now? Can you?"
Ysabelle	"There are many types of warrior, not all of them /want/ to kill." She objects in that same tone. "Do you belittle the farmer, that signs up and fights to defend his home? The general, who's just too good at what he does to just stand down, no matter how tired they are of fighting?" She shakes her head gently. "I am not of your kin John, nor am I just a shadow of a time long past. I am a person, and I will have you know it." The blade hangs loosely in her hand, but it looks as if it belongs there. Her subtle change in stance, the grace with which she moves normally all give hints at someone long trained in a swift fighting style. "If you do not wish to use blades, then let us spar with hands and feet." Her lips part in a grin, white teeth as bright as her skin. "I have no illusions that I will beat you, but you will know me better after." She is at least, attempting to meet him on his own grounds...
Ares	She may not know, and he would never admit it to her, but the blade in hand against her... with who she is... and what she represents to him. On some level he would not trust himself to face her so, for that roiling writhing duality to him, the panther of such vicious primal thoughts that crawls around in his mind... it would enjoy taking a blade to a priestess of his sister, bleeding her. And with what has passed lately, he is not entirely sure he'd be able to stop it.     But then the blade is turned aside and he looks to her, and he tells her levelly, in a formal tone as if these strictures must be observed. "If you wish to train and to seek to better yourself, then I will accept your challenge." He merely turns his hips to the side to face her, the hand closest to her is lifted partially and held open with the palm facing her. He lifts his eyes upwards, watching the slow crawl of the clouds so high above.     It's a moment that lasts, lingering between them. Then he looks back to her, eyes narrowing as he gives her a single nod and offers her but three words, "I await you."
Ysabelle	It doesn't take a moment for the sword to be replaced on it's hooks and for Ysabelle to turn back to Ares and takes the few steps back to the ring. An inclination of her head is all the respect that he gets before she settles into a horseriding stance, one arm extended before, another up and behind, like a Shao Lin monk. Her usual style is defensive, and it shows to start with, the two of them eyeing each other. But of course, he'd told her he's waiting for her and so... The version of Gung Fu that she's using is one of balance, a hand comes in as the other swings out, and the bout begins. Feet and hands spring forth in a flurry of blows that aim at a variety of locations. There's a feeling that at the moment she's testing him, a feeling rattified by the way her face continues to look calm, despite her breathing increasing.
Ares	This is her home, she is aware of it on a level to which he is ignorant. Yet in a moment like this, between these two beings... it is always the first few moments that etch themselves upon the senses. Everything gains such a weight of importance to it even as she slips smoothly into that horse stance, her hands coming up. He maintains that subtle turn to the side of her...     She can feel the gentle breeze upon the wind between them. Can likely feel the shift and crunch of the sand beneath her feet.     And then she is moving. Darting towards him her arms slice in towards him. She'll feel each impact against his forearms as he brings one up in a smooth circular motion to brush each strike aside. Then she twists, her leg snapping up and out in that quick slash of movement. She'll feel the impact jolt up her leg as she catches his shoulder, then a shift in stance as he moves that strike away with a single clean motion.     He shifts to the side and brings his own fist up and around, forcing her to slip out of the way even as he turns and uncoils with a low kick striking at the back of her leg to rob her of her balance even as they move together in the sand.
Ysabelle	Ysabelle turns with that kick, pushing her leg out and forcing her to one knee, retaliation comes in the form of a double strike, twin fists reaching out as her frame turns sideways to extend the reach. In actuality, it's a ploy to get him to take a step back, the gap giving the woman time to regain her footing. Retaking her resting stance as her chest rises and falls with the increased oxygen requirement. "You're going easy on me." She opines lightly, her toes curling and uncurling in the flat sandles she wears - her only concession to the throbbing pain in her leg. The magician grins as she comments; "Let's do something about that..." If her hands moved quickly before, she's obviously putting effort in now, it's plain by the look of concentration on her face, the calm falling away as she applies a not unconsiderable knowledge of hand to hand fighting. A sweep which the other man will easily shift from, before another strike to his chest - which is caught and twisted by the big man causing the woman to backflip to keep the arm in it's socket. Leaping within that constraint, she thrusts out with both legs, attempting to push away and free from the larger man, her legs her main source of strength it seems...
Ares	Those brown eyes are on hers as she lashes out with those double fists, and indeed it does cause him to step back, but two steps and she's clear to swirl back to her feet and regain her stance. He's facing her head on now directly, one hand is held forwards and open as if ready to grab or turn aside what she should choose to throw at him. The other is held low and beside his hip, perhaps set to adjust to whatever she might offer.     His own breathing is steady as he watches her, then she makes that comment about him going easy on her and he responds calmly, "We would learn nothing of each other if the match ended quickly." He steps slowly to the side, ready to counter her as he adds, "Do not hold back against me, Ysabelle. Show me the true you."     And it's then that she comes in again all the faster. They come together and for a moment he has a hold of her arm, twisting to one side, only to have her uncurl quickly and then lash out with both legs.     She'll feel her sandals strike firmly and it causes him to release her arm and stagger back a step. But he uses that momentum to turn and drop low, his leg slicing smoothly across the sand sending up a faint furry even as he strikes at her supporting leg for when she lands. But that is not the end. For he is already coming back up from the sweep, as if expecting her to go down as he twists around with an elbow seeking to catch her in transition.
Ysabelle	It's her arms that come down though, expecting to do a backflip. The sweep hits her left arm, knocking it out from under her and bringing her face right in line with that elbow. There's no stopping it, the young looking woman's head rocks back with the force of the blow, wrenching her neck along with splitting her lip. But she's not down for long, rolling to the side and away, getting feet under her and rising up to stand. A pink tongue (already reddened where it was bitten thanks to the blow) darting out to lick her split lip. Where some might spit, the magus swallows. Spitting is an awful habit after all. "Better." She offers with a grin, a light kindling behind those gemlike eyes. Is she actually /enjoying/ this? "Now let's try a style I'm more familiar with..." Her grin is one of mirth... "I think the line from that film was... I am laughing, because I'm not left handed?" The womans frame shifts, taking on a more bouncy style, the balls of her feet the only things touching the floor, her arms closer to her, fists loosely clenched. "En guarde!" She calls, launching in again though this time as his fist comes towards her, she lands a solid blow to his forearm, the force running back up her arm as it's /punched/ aside, giving her an opening to launch a kick directly up towards his throat...
Ares	"Ysabelle," The man matches her as she comes back around from that backhand that split her lip, even as she comments to him. She'll see a gleam of his smile as his brown eyes hold hers, maintaining his stance for the time being as she alters hers. "You talk too much."     But then she's moving in quickly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. He brings his arms up in front of his face to accept the whirling movement of her body. She lands that punch firmly, and his strong arm is pushed to the side.     It's the hint of an opening and she whirls around chambering her leg and bringing it up to snap straight towards his throat. She performs that kick perfectly, her lithe supple form lashing out with such a precision that she might almost feel proud of herself in that single split second.     From afar they make relatively little noise. The soft hiss of sand being displaced by their steps, the short slap of flesh striking flesh. Her amused words followed by the deep rumble of his own voice.     And she'll feel her kick connect, twisting his head to the side sharply even as he turns with the move, stepping in. It takes only a bare moment while she recovers , but it's enough for him to turn to the side, a strong hand curling around her wrist...     And then with a smooth turn he'll twist just enough to force her to go with the movement and take her over his hip and down to the ground, seeking to follow her down and kneel at her side with one hand raised up as if to chop at her throat.
Ysabelle	There is an exhultant 'whoop' as Ysabelle's control is lost in the abandon that surrendering yourself to a sparring match brings. Knowing that she cannot /really/ hurt her opponent gives her the ability to let go, that kick really had been perfect and she knew it. The recovery... Not so much. She feels rather than see's his arm come around her, twisting and causing her balance to go forward, the floor rushing towards her - but only for a moment. Thanks to the split skirts, nothing hampers the woman from spinning her legs wide and using the momentum of the swing to slide herself around and over John's head so that by the time she finishes, she's resting on his shoulders, his head between her legs. The usually prim and proper magician having no thought of propriety as the first elbow hits the top of his head, forcing the God to his knees. Two more blows follow, half fended off as his hands come up. If she'd hoped to get him to the floor quickly, well, that idea fades as she starts to use her toned thighs to crush his neck - all the while a flurry of elbows, punches and chops are arrayed at the man's face and head, doing her best to distract him as she cuts off his oxygen supply...
Ares	It's a blur of movement as she contorts form the throw he had been seeking to take her down, to scissoring her legs up and around, bringing them to either side of his head as her ankles cross and she tightens the clinch with the firm strength in her taut thighs. Each blow striking hard against his head as he brings up a hand flat to counter even as she connects with an elbow towards his temple. It's enough to daze him slightly, going to one knee as he grimaces, and then she clenches her legs trying to cut off his air supply.     It's a telling moment, she can feel the blazing heat of her opponent's flesh held between her thighs, the subtle slickness of sweat along the sides of his neck. So close to each other they can each take in the subtle scent of the other, his own being that purity of exertion, blood, and drawn steel.     He reels from the second elbow strike and he abruptly shifts to the side, to try and foul her balance even as he tries to swing her around so her back is facing the ground and so he can lift and bring her down onto the sand, both of them hitting the ground with her on her back and him trying to shift her legs.
Ysabelle	The air rushes from Ysabelle's lungs as her back hits the ground. It's those locked ankles that keeps her in place though as her thighs loosen a fraction from the impact. She's still above him, giving her the better purchase for the moment, but it's slipping quickly as sweat works with Ares' own hands to lever the woman off of him... Inch by slow inch. A noise more animal than human comes out of her lips as she brings both her hands clasped together agianst his back, a brute force strike that has nothing to do with the more intelligent fighting styles. The first hits, forcing out some of her opponent's hard won air, but the second falls short as the man levels a punch into her side - her legs coming undone reflexively so that he can push free. Surely it will take him some moments to regain his bearings, she hopes so, because right now, she's sucking in lungfulls of breath. Slowly, with a wince, but with no sign of surrender, Ysabelle gets to her feet and settles back into her bouncing stance, if a little slower than before. For a wonder, she doesn't speak, just watches him, looking for an opening...
Ares	The sand rasps off his legs as he pushes himself to his feet, and he shakes his head slightly to regain his bearings as it were, but as he climbs up to his full height he'll give her a smile, it's a grudging thing but it borders upon a thing amused. There's a moment where he tilts his head to the side, his neck crackling with the sound of aerated cartilage and then he brings his hands up again.     A faint sheen of sweat gleams upon his brow and with the sun overhead he takes a long steadying breath, focusing fully upon her. There's just a moment as he awaits her to be ready, letting her settle her stance and slip back into her rhythm.     But then he reaches a hand over his shoulder and pulls that t-shirt from his chest, using it to wipe at the sweat upon his brow and then tossing it aside almost dismissively. He then meets her gaze, his bronze and powerfully defined form held in check as he faces her, the sharp whipcord lengths of muscle tensed as he makes ready.     Then, with that same smile, he'll murmur. "Come again, girl."
Ysabelle	She's only human, whereas her opponent is not. Fighting is as much about the mind as it is the body, and Ysabelle knows she needs to either end this quickly, or be worn down. Not expecting to win, isn't the same as not /wanting/ to win. She grins, lips pulling back to display those brilliantly pure teeth. "By your command..." She murmurs, and hurries to close the distance. It's an odd move, spinning with a foot flat in the sand to raise a small cloud of dust into the air - the same spin then bringing her other foot through the cloud to make an attempt at his gut. She feels the foot pushed aside, a small growl of frustration making it through the heavy breathing. The answering punch from the God of War is narrowly avoided as she ducks low, pushing his arm up a little and switching it to a wrist grab, thumb pressing hard into the pressure point there. Sweat coats her body under the dress, staining the silk at armpit, back and chest. The dark red almost hiding it, as was probably the intention when she'd put it on. Despite this, as they grapple and spin, punch and whirl, the scent coming from the woman is one of jasmine and anise, underscored with a soft amber musk and her own scent of clean sweat and vellum.
Ares	The cool air brushes over her as she darts in, a hint of chill as she uncurls and brings that leg in whirling at his side. Yet it's accepted by the firm swell of his bicep as he turns just so, just enough to foul her kick and allow him to snap out the counter with a blurringly fast palm-heel strike aimed at the side of her jaw. But she is ready, accepting the gift given to her as she's able to reach up, her thumb digging in painfully into that pressure point. She'll see his eyes narrow faintly even as she turns.     It is then, however, that he accepts the pain and turns as well, using his arm to pull her towards him, breaking her balance and trying to draw her up and over behind his shoulders. In her travels she may have witnessed the technique, Kata Guruma, something akin to the fireman's carry. For a moment he'll bring her up, and then try to bring her down onto her side beside him. Even as he twists with the moment, seeking to pin her with one strong hand against her throat should he be able.
Ysabelle	The throw is just too quick for her to stop it, over the magus goes to land on the ground, hard. Once again the breath is forced from her, with a hand crushing her throat so as to make it difficult to raise another. For the barest moment, runes flicker in the air around her hand before she shakes it - reaching for magic having been a purely automatic response for her. With the magic gone, she uses something else at her disposal instead. Making a flicker of a look down, she waits for Ares to follow the look just for the barest fraction of a second, which is all she needs to deliver a sharp knuckled strike to his solar plexus, driving air out and weakening his grip enough for her to scurry backwards, crablike across the acrid sand. She flips up from the ground, her hair in dissaray, (somewhere in the sand, a ruby with it's gold chain lies forgotten) and her clothing not much better. Dust and sand cover her from top to toe, and still, with sweat running down her face, she refuses to give in. Ysabelle doesn't wait for him to be ready this time, her eyes bright with concentration and directed agression she launches forward with her fastest flurry of blows yet. Kicks and punches, spinning sweeps and blazing backfists, she does it all, she tries it all, forcing him to either up his game, or keep backing up to the edge of the arena...
Ares	And as she raises the intensity of the moment she will find that intensity matched. She comes to him as a blurring dervish of motion, her small lithe body a swirl of strikes that would make many of her old senseis proud. She presses him, her hands connecting his his arms, his shoulders. A low kick uncoils from her and she'll feel the impact /hard/ into the side of his thigh as he turns just enough.     "Tell me, Ysabelle." It's Ares' turn to speak now even as she tries to bring a knee up to the side of his hip. Yet still he holds, accepting her attacks, and pushing them aside. She comes in with a backfist and she pays for it with a short /crack/ against her side that'll leave a wicked bruise in the morning and serves to send jolts of pain throughout her body in that bare moment. Such an intensity between them now as he shifts his stance and turns his other hip to her while she recovers. "Tell me what you want, girl."     Then he steps forwards and brings his own punch across towards her jaw, but she's able to draw back in time, the next she is able to slip behind and push on its way. But then he moves in with a knee of his own that she's able to bend away from. But it's there that she may well see her chance, to strike for true and see what sort of concession she can /force/ from this bastard of a god.
Ysabelle	She's committed now, she'd set this all up after all. It would be rude to her opponent not to give it her all. A knee of her own comes up, hitting him in the gut as his next punch connects solidly with her cheek. Ares may well be surprised that she seemed to /know/ that next punch was coming, choosing to take the blow so that her knee hits solidly, driving deep into the soft flesh of his stomach as her head whips back with force. If she wasn't going to bruise before, she surely will now. As he's driven back, her still raised leg flicks out, each word punctated with a kick to face, shoulder or stomach, her leg never dropping a white. "I. Want. Nothing... I. /Will/. Win!" With a growl of effort, she pushes off with her unused foot, aiming a double footed drop kick to the God of War's nose!
Ares	She twists into the air, launching that mule kick into him and causing him to fall backwards onto the sand, the grains leaping into the air like a cloud of dust. He skids back a foot, and winces slightly as he turns his head to the side, one hand going to where she struck him with that kick and then shaking his head as he tries to clear it.     A low chortle slips from him as he pushes himself up to one elbow, coughing up a bit of sand and wiping a forearm over his mouth. He'll try to gain his feet, but not fast enough, for she will be able to surge back to her feet and gain position. She has a small window of an opening, but if she can seize it, she might well have won a victory of her own.
Ysabelle	The drop turns into a forward role, the woman leaping forward to land hard on his chest, legs to either side of him, pinning his arms. With a shouted "Hyai!" her hand whips out, fingers curled in a cat's paw punch directly at his throat, stopping bare milimetres from his skin. With the way her entire body is taunt, coiled power held barely in check, it would have been a killing blow, crushing his windpipe so that he'd have suffocated on his own flesh. "Do you yield?" It's said through gritted teeth, her face a rictus as the magus attempt to reign in her temper, or bloodlust, or whatever it is that makes her tuquoise eyes glow like lit embers.
Ares	There looking up at her, her hair wild, her clothes soaked through with sweat and exertion, sand clinging to each line and curve of it, those eyes of hers wild and that look of such intensity. She can see his smile clearly, his own eyes gleaming as he holds her gaze. Then slowly he lifts his head, even as he shifts slowly beneath her, perhaps baring his throat to her as that rumbling baritone voice of his offers her some few words.     "And if I said no, Ysabelle?" His leg slides along the raspy surface of the sand until his foot rests flat upon it. The sun beats down upon them both there in the blaze of that fighting pit. He could try to look past her but all he can see is her astride his bare chest, the curved fingers of her hand hovering so very close to his throat.     "And if I denied you your victory, what would you do?"
Ysabelle	"Fight on." Ysabelle says simply, and in a tone that states he should know that by now. She smirks, flicking her fingers forward so that lacquered nails nick the skin on his throat, it's only fair after he's caused her to bleed after all. It would also cause his breath to catch only for a second, the speed giving more pressure than her finger strength along. "Please don't move your feet to throw me off." She comments, though the rough edge to her voice makes the question sound more like a command, the finger strike, however swift, gaining a meaning now...
Ares	His breathing is steady beneath her, and when she strikes he'll draw it in once, sharply. His jaw tenses and a low echoing growl is heard as if daring her to do what she wants to. But it's enough, for he saw that blaze in her eyes, saw that utter feral intensity. And it was entirely enough for him.     "Then I yield." Just three words given to her, his smile pleased at the turn of this moment, at this thing he has discovered before him. For there is a vibrance in her, in this instant shared between two such beings of so many years. One hand lifts as he can to touch his fingertips to that hand she held before his throat, as if easing a blade from his neck, for she has proven herself to be deadly, to be those things he could not imagine her being.     Slowly, should she allow him he'll sit up, causing her to slide down his staggeringly warm chest to his lap as he holds her eyes. His other hand coming up to cup fingertips light under her chin as he listens to her breath, watches her eyes. His lips part as he takes another deep steadying breath.
Ysabelle	He'd yielded. Disbelief crosses her face for an instant, to be replaced with triumph shortly after. At this distance, he can smell the mix of peppermint and tea on her breath, her own clean sweat smell now more prominent than before. The woman's chest continues to rise and fall dramatically with each heaving breath, she really had gone all in at the end there. Resting for a moment, her body shivering with the adrenaline coursing through it, she grins, letting him cup her chin with one hand, allowing him that in recompense for the little half moon lines on his throat from her nails. "You're smiling..." She informs him, that grin staying in place. "So... Know me better yet John?" Even by her standards, they're well beyond surnames now.
Ares	The smile is there and accentuated by the lift of his eyebrows, "I am." But then he gives her a nod as well even as they remain so terribly close, able to feel each other's heart beat, to sense the slow trickle of a beadlet of sweat that races its way down the curve of the lines defining the powerful muscles of his chest, only to pool upon the inside of her thigh where she rests upon him.     He tilts his head to the side and then tells her, "I believe so," And then he leans forwards just enough, turning his head and closing his eyes just so, that he'll bring his lips to hers. It's a soft kiss at first, almost gentle and chaste, but then deepens as those lips part and he dares to indulge if only for that single moment.
Ysabelle	It's shock that keeps him there for a moment, she'd not been expecting that. But that adrenaline rush dumps quick when she realises what is happening. She allows the kiss, tasting mostly of mint and that unique coppery taste of blood, for a scant few seconds before she pulls back, a bright white finger pressed against his lips. She actually laughs, breathless and perhaps tinged with a hint of nervousness. "I'll give you that one..." She offers, eyes sparkling. "But never again without my permission, okay?" Not waiting for an answer, she puts distance between them, standing and looking down at her, hands checking skirt, that the gown is still attached and her hair... Well that she just gives up on without even trying to fix it. Instead, she offers him a hand to help him up, showing with actions as well as words that she's not offended. Not just from a kiss at least. After all, it's quite flattering to have a God want to kiss you...
Ares	"Of course," He says as he gains his feet, but does not accept her help up as well... he does weigh a good amount. He holds up a hand, "Forgive me," He dusts off his clothes and steps back from her. A glance is given back and he tells her levelly, "But you have proved your point. You are more than I expected. I apologize for getting caught up in the moment." He shakes his head and turns away to recover his shirt that he leans over and picks up, then shakes out against his leg before putting it back on.
Ysabelle	"No appologies. Kisses should never need an appology if they're honest." She smiles again, then adds; "And do not worry about misunderstanding me, people often mistake /proper/ for /prudish/. The two are quite separate I assure you." She grins softly, still on the high from not only winning the bout, but also being kissed by such a strapping young man, and those /shoulders/. No stop that. Her mental monologue continues as she moves over to the pitcher, pouring water from them both. Taking a glass for herself, but leaving the other on the table, she takes several long gulps from her own glass before replacing it on the table. "Well that was fun..." She grins, winces, feeling at her jaw. "And worth the cost I think. Would you like something to eat?" She gestures back to the villa some ways off in the distance, a pleasant walk for them should he choose to take it...