Kyre had tried to move out of Chrom's way - she really had. But between her short legs and his superior speed she still ended up caught, flesh quickly seized and painted with the inky black stain of defeat. A seasoned warrior, Kyre knew that one lost battle did not equal a lost war. Her skin was stained a deep black, one that stood out in violent contrast to her skin, but she was not yet covered. And, with a full pot of ink in her hands she still had the upper hand. All was not lost yet.
In a series of quick movements Kyre began squirming to escape, quickly but carelessly spilling a glob of ink on the hand not held captive, using that hand to push against the exposed skin of one of Chrom's arms. She'd always found his one armed garb to be rather strange and had never been overly fond of the fashion choice, but she was suddenly extremely fond of it. Never had she been so satisfied with her husband's fashion sense.
In the shock of her husband's realization, arm now smeared with inky black in a dripping hand print below his proud brand, Kyre managed to slip away. Seeing her oppertunity in the moment, knowing she may not get another one, Kyre decided to act quickly. If she didn't she was certain she would lose this battle, taking a walk of shame to one of the palace bathrooms to wash up and try to rid herself of ink stains. A proud queen, she'd not be having any of that. So, she took action, launching across the table to try to unleash her next attack.
That was when everything went wrong. Her haste serving as her downfall Kyre felt a sudden tug at her foot - her heel had gotten snagged by one of the books on the table. She had only a moment to regret her action before she slipped, flopping with the grace of a newborn pegasus into Chrom's chest, effectively knocking him over and sending them both spiraling into the floor.
Groaning, Kyre felt her face turn red with the shame of her failure. Even the pain of her bruised backside couldn't compare to the sting of her wounded ego. It was a struggle for the swordmaster to crack her eyes open, knowing that as soon as she did she'd be met with her husband's smirk. When she managed the will though, Kyre was very glad she put in the effort. She managed to open her eyes just in time to see the pot she had been holding, the pot that had gone flying during her fall, tip upside down and fall back to the floor. As fortune would have it much of the pots inky contents managed to spill on Chrom.
A few seconds of thick silence passed before Kyre's lips slowly began to pull upwards. It started as a smirk, then a smile, and finally evolved into a full out laugh. Head tilting back, eyes squeezing shut, Kyre couldn't help the boisterous laughter that escaped her lips. Something about the situation just struck her as hilarious.
"I believe that victory goes to me, my King." As her laugh subsided into lighter giggles Kyre smirked, hand raising to smear some of the ink that had begun to drip down the side of Chrom's face with an affectionate thumb.
"I don't need your help woman." Lon'qu's voice was gruff and irritable but with his face so red, tomato-coloured from the tip of his nose to the ends of his ears, it was hard to take the swordsman seriously. And, with his muscled frightened into a stiffness that made it hard for him to walk let alone fight, something Katherine could no doubt feel latched to his arm the way she was, Lon'qu seemed even less threatening. The fact that he couldn't even look at her didn't help him either. But, even if he had wanted to, he simply couldn't bring himself to look down at the girl that held to him. He just
couldn't. She was so close to him, so unbearably close. Close enough for him to make out the minute details of her face - the smoothness of her pale face, the infuriatingly amused curl of amusement on her lips, the delicate arch of her eyebrows... All women looked so delicate, something that reminded Lon'qu of his painful past with a jarring lurch of his stomach and a twist of his heart. Somehow though his symptoms always seemed worse around Katherine. She made the lurch of his stomach ache, the twist of his heart intertwine with savage beating and it was a most uncomfortable sensation. The brunette could not for the life of him place it but he thought it best to stay away from Katherine, lest he drop dead on the spot. Now though he was trapped, read-faced and suffering in his ailment with no sympathy from the cause. He'd not be getting away any time soon.
Of course, despite his protests and obvious discomfort, hand nearly shaking in hers, Katherine didn't obey his demand. He twitched when she swore, in a voice so sweet Lon'qu was sure he was being entrapped somehow, that it was only for a little while. That didn't make him feel much better. He was still uncomfortable, afraid and shifty. He didn't want it to last
at all, a little while or otherwise. Still, a little while was better than a long while. And, knowing Katherine the bit that he did, Lon'qu feared that his complaints would spur her to hold on even longer. So he settled for a grumble and let his eyes stare at the ground with an intensity that anyone would have sworn made the bricks crack a little, trying desperately to ignore the heat coming from their interlocked hands.
Quite some time and distance later Lon'qu was still rather pink and it was a marvel that he hadn't passed out yet. When they finally stopped Lon'qu was set to jump in joy and recoil but managed to hold himself back as he looked around. The longer his eyes roved the more his brow creased, frown deepening enough to wrinkle. He saw no weapon shops, heard no tell-tale dings of hammers on newly forged weapons or armor. In fact, al her saw were families and couples wandering gleefully in and out of a large, ornately fenced garden park. This didn't make any sense and Lon'qu was suddenly as confused as he was irritated.
"Where are we? And where are the weapons?"