Engagement

Engagement: Contact between the fencers' blades – often as the prelude to an attack.

Cécilia was fuming as she hustled out of her uniform. The sweat that once covered her entire body crystalized as her skin became exposed out of her jacket. Sensations of the monstrosity of a humiliation (otherwise known as another loss for her and yet another triumph for Adrien) remained chissled into her memory. Bashing her locker panel into place at the recollection, Cécilia violently turned the dial of the corresponding lock.

Excess adrenaline from the bout was still singing in her veins, the burning retrospection of every misstep, and miscomputation she made. Fueling the rising temper that was bubbling to the surface of her thoughts as she stormed out of the locker room. Cécilia was the embodiment of a shortly tempered fuse and Adrien utilized this personality flaw to his full advantage.

Amusingly enough though, the majority of the members of the fencing team found themselves scrutinizing over the bizzare and eccentric relationship among their pugnacious Captain and Co-Captain. If the two fencers weren't dueling on the Piste with their Sabres, they were debating on which techniques to instruct, or quarrelling on about who got the superior grade in math class that day. Truthfully, numerous teammates had already been taking bets on when the two would crack under their own sexual tension.

Hovering by the entryway of the locker rooms, Adrien pounced on Cécilia as she begrudgingly withdrew herself from the protection of the vestiaire.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the numéro deux," Adrien smirked haughtily, mirth glimmering across his handsome facial features. He had anticipated this since Monsieur Noël had declared a bout between himself and Cécilia as a demonstration for the new recruits of the team. Though, the annunciation of novitiate fencers enlisting onto the team repulsed Adrien all the same. Even if he got to outdo Cécilia in a broadcasted bout.

"When my fist is in your face, would you still be laughing?" Cécilia seethed, restraining the anguish that bottled within herself. Teeth clenched as she simmered in place, embers of regret flickering across her eyes. Cécilia was by no means a graceful loser and Adrien's amusement had yet to be satisfied.

"Telling from your sluggish movements of our bout just now, you'd be fortunate enough to make physical contact with my face," Adrien instigated, trailing Cécilia past the entrance of the gymnasium. The velocity of her steps only accumulating quicker. The farther Adrien was from within her earshot, the better. Though, it was a futile attempt of a getaway as Adrien sped up with ease, falling right into step with the sullen brunette.

"You know, if you're so bitter about losing today, you could always demand a rematch," Adrien persisted, simpering as Cécilia's face darkened at the implication of his words.

"If you are insinuating that you are by any means superior than me, then you are stupider than I thought," she riposted, her knuckles turning white with the ferocity of their grip on her bag.

"Hey, don't go biting my head off now just because you're a sore loser, second place," Adrien quipped as the exit of the academy came into view.

"I'm not a sore loser, you're a bâtard arrogant" Cécilia scowled as she shoved herself aggressively against the metalic exit, pushing the door's hinges until it snapped open to reveal the warmer skies of Paris. Cécilia didn't bother keeping the door open for Adrien as it nearly slammed into his face.

French terminology

Vestiaire: Place where some clothes or objects are deposited at the entrance of a theater, a museum or an establishment.

Numéro deux: Number two

Monsieur: Mr., abbreviations M., MM. (writen with dots)

Bâtard arrogant: Arrogant bastard