Owner	Pose
Ysabelle	For once it's /not/ a sunny day in the Grecian islands that Ysabelle calls home. Storm clouds hide the sun and threaten rain without actually making good on it. Heavy and over-bearing they scud across the sky, pushed ever onwards by the strong wind that whips up sea and shore alike. Down in the Arena from before, Ysabelle works her Forms with a rapier born of fire. In a pale green dress, bodice tight and secured to the throat, skirts full and flailing in the wind, she fights as she would have to in reality - without the benefit of picking a costume suited to it. Her one concession to the day's training is her hair, caught in a long cabled braid behind her, it flicks like an angry cat's tail as she turns, pivots and thrusts, the sword vanishing as her hands become fists for the next form. A grim look of determination on her face gives tell to the seriousness of her mood.
Ares	It was an intrusion, on some level he knew that to be so. Their last words shared had been inadequate. She had called him forth, told him he had misjudged her, and for truth he had. But did he handle the matter gracefully, with the calm he pretends is his true face. No, he allowed other aspects of himself to take the rein and in so doing had been untrue to himself and misused the woman who had called him to her.     But a word sent was not enough. A letter of thought drifted on the winds? It would require words given and so he took the liberty to broach the subject at a time of his own behest.     She would become aware of his presence as he set foot on the island. He took a moment to consider his surroundings, the clouds, the oncoming storm that threatened rain so soon. It gave him a small smile for he was one of the few Gods that embraced ill omens. Oncoming rain clouds, very well. It had naught to do with him.     His path lead him to that arena used not so long ago. He would pause at the lip to the highest stairway, his silhouette limned faintly by the dimming light behind the clouds. For a time he would not interfere, allowing her to move through those motions, to affect the training she had perhaps let go lax years ago. For now he would hold his tongue, let her practice, and once done he would approach.
Ysabelle	The gong of warning echo'd in her head as the Diety entered her home. And close to where she was now to boot. For a moment, the graceful lines directed force that were her limbs faltered. But for all her propriety, Ysabelle is still a woman, and a woman scorned may well take some extra time to finish kata - and he /did/ seem happy to wait after all. The last jumped snap kick causes her skirts to flare high, revealing that same snow-white skin to her knees until she lands, stands and bows to a Sensei who's no longer alive, let alone present. Only then does she turn, with a smile of greeting for Ares. "Good afternoon John." She intones loud enough to be heard over the wind, quickly closing the distance between them as a handkerchief is pulled from her belt pouch to wipe at her face lightly. "To what do I owe this nice surprise?" She asks warmly.
Ares	The tall man stood there at the top of the steps, then began his descent even as she climbed. He turned to her, moving to the side for a moment to keep his eyes on her as he lifts that low baritone voice of his to answer, "I wished to take a moment of your time, Ysabelle. No more." He is no where near as put together as she, for his own ensemble is terribly at ease in comparison. Jeans, sneakers, a black t-shirt. He looks like an extra out of place against this background and with her at his side.     A step to the side and then he descents another below her so they are at passing eye level considering their height differene, "I wished to apologize for my ill manner and to seek your forgiveness when last we spoke."
Ysabelle	Ysabelle's smile widen's, gaining a genuine look of surprise as well, or at least, her eyebrows raise a fraction. Which is as much as a gasp from most women. She nods once, darkly painted lips parting; "You are of course forgiven John, we all make mistakes. It takes a brave man to admit to one of them..." A beat; "And I perhaps was caught up in the moment too, and didn't speak as well as I should have. For that I would like to add my own appology to the mix." Wind whips at them, and far off a crack of thunder rolls across the sky. "Can I interest you in staying a little longer?" She looks down at herself, picking at the now sweat and dust stained clothing. "I'm not really in a fit state for company, but I would appreciate it all the same." Lips splitting into an unguarded grin; "I've done nothing but eat, sleep and practice for a week or so. I'd like some conversation... If it's not an imposition?" She just can't /quite/ shake that politeness.
Ares	"Ysabelle," The tall man turns to her and gets a faint smile. "You deserve more than a simple apology. You deserve at least a measure of an explanation." He turns to face her directly, his brow furrowing as he meets her gaze. His arms fold over his chest, the body language clearly perhaps a bit stand-offish, or perhaps more that which is affected by one when they must push past an uncomfortable event or moment.     "Your invitation was lovely in that it was a surprise. For beings as long-lived as us we value that which subverts our expectations, and you did so. But not only did you surprise me in that manner, but you are an individual with talent and emotional depth that I did not expect."     He holds a moment, then continues, "And then I was taken with the moment, I should not have taken such liberty." And having said that he gives a short sharp nod as if that was that.
Ysabelle	Ysabelle considers the man before her, her gem-like gaze taking in his posture, his explanation and the effort involved in getting here in the first place. She attempts to choose her next words carefully; "Thank you, I am glad that I could surprise you... But I wo-... No..." She pauses a moment, reworking her scentence. "I don't want to take an appology for the kiss. Something so nice should need no appology, it was flattering and uh... Well." She waves a hand obviously a little flustered, twin spots of light pink alighting her cheeks. "I am not angry with you. Now." Honesty, always stick to honesty... "And thank you for explaining, I understand better now." She giggles, the silvery soporano noise as incongrous as always. "And I really /was/ very flattered." And now she's repeating herself, so she stops talking rather than embarrass herself further.
Ares	The Olympian crinkles his nose a touch and looks to the side, brow furrowing as he lifts a hand to gesture to the side, as if brushing away her words. "It was impulsive and ill-advised. It was also awkward and presumptuous." But then he looks to her and offers a mild smile as if she were kind to accept the apology and to dispel any hint he should be embarrassed.     "Though," He looks to her, perhaps trying to stave off any insult his words might offer, and so he says gently. "Though you behaved as proper, and in and of itself as a thing separate from the strictures of one world or the next, it was a lovely thing." He tries to offer that as some small measure towards peace.     "But it is good to see you maintaining your training. You seem more in command of yourself than when last we spoke."
Ysabelle	The old magus nods, accepting the words in the spirit that they are meant. "We could make an olive grove if we're not careful, rather than just a branch." She quips with another light laugh, dispelling any tension that may be left. Placing her hands before her abdomen, fingers interlacing that same bright smile returns due to his praise. "Our bout made me realise how much I've slipped over the years, become complacent. And it is that sort of thing that gets you killed." A matter of fact view, but no less true for it. "So I've been working out the cobwebs, honing myself back to a sharp point so to speak."
Ares	"Wise of you," John turns his head to the side and considers the sand pit arena that she had been training in. He makes a small nod to himself and then looks back towards her as if gauging her form, her height, her reach. One eyebrow quirks as he hmms to himself and looks back to the training area and murmurs, "You seem to be doing better,"     Though as to how he knows that might not be entirely clear.     With that having been said he then rests his hands on his hips and murmurs to her, "But that was my reason for coming, I would take up no more of your time."
Ysabelle	Ysabelle nods, confident enough in her own abilities to agree with him. "I am yes. I hadn't realised quite how much my skills had degraded." She sighs softly with a shrug. "Too much time dedicated to books and magic I suppose. Still, it is good you brought it to my attention." She inclines her head then, in thanks and understanding of his need to depart. "I'm glad you came to see me, hopefully we can meet again soon when I'm not quite so messy." The pale woman's smile is somewhat mischievous, before she intones quietly; "Be well, John. Till next we meet and beyond." And then she's watching him leave, that same /forcing/ of the cosmos to his whim that allows him to step back to who knows where. For her part, the Magician starts the long walk back to the villa, for a nice hot bath. And an even hotter cup of tea.