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“So why wouldn’t you arm wrestle with Fjrod?” Beau says as her arms land on the bar counter beside where Yasha is sitting. The barbarian simply raises her brows at the sudden entry and turns her body to face Beau.
“Didn’t see the need to. No one needed convincing.”
“Yeah? You only show off those biceps when you’re trying to intimidate people?”
“It isn’t just about brute strength.”
It’s Beau’s turn to appear surprised, though her face twists more in intrigue than anything. She leans forward, face tipped up to watch Yasha. God, this girl is tall even when sitting down. Beau curls her lips into her mouth to wet them with her tongue. “What’s it about, then?”
Yasha doesn’t reply immediately, and her eyes travel up and down Beau’s figure as if evaluating her briefly. She seems to make a decision easy enough and stands, leading Beau to a smaller table at the side of the room where they can sit across from each other. “Of anyone, I’d expect you to understand best that fighting and contests like this aren’t just about who’s got the biggest muscles. Strategy, cunning and all that.”
“Oh, totally,” Beau shrugs, “I just don’t expect any of the tactics that I use to work on someone like you.”
“Is that right?” Yasha asks, slamming her elbow down on the table. The force causes the bottles on top to rattle, and Beau feels the resounding shake in the floorboards. “What might those be?”
Beau throws her arm down in place with a much less satisfying ‘thud’. “Nothing clean, I can tell you that. Slide a foot up under the table, bat your eyelashes, maybe lean a little too close?”
As Yasha claps their hands together in a firm grasp, her eyes tighten on Beau’s. She doesn’t speak for a good minute, nor does she begin the match; she stays completely still with the monk’s smaller hand held tightly in her own. At this point Beau can’t say her quickened pulse is only due to anticipation.
Then Yasha smiles, slyly. “You know,” she says, loosening her grip on Beau’s hand to lower her fingers to the human’s wrist, easily finding the side of her wrist where Beau’s pulse is thundering, “not everything must be deception and stealth. A little honesty can go a long way.”
She stands. And then she leaves.
Beau stares at her empty hand, still propped up on the table where she can clearly feel her heartbeat still hammering away at her wrist. The same place Yasha had just touched and called her out on her bullshit. Not that Beau was trying to hide anything, necessarily.
Beau’s head falls as soon as Yasha is out of eyesight, the ‘thud’ of her forehead meeting the table much stronger an impact than her elbow had made. Her own body betraying her like this, and yet… With her face in line with the grain of the wooden table, she smiles, amusement bubbling up in her stomach like childlike joy.
Beau knows she’s doomed. And god, it feels too damn good.