Gideon's flashing back, a little, to after the fight for the first key. How Harrow had looked at her, eyes red with broken capillaries and black with admiration. For the love of the Emperor, Griddle, you are something else with that sword.

The whiskey had felt like such a good idea until right now. She runs her hands over her face. How'd they get here? Fuck. "So—yeah. Mainly duels, and the point is to be, like flashy and light and effortless or whatever in front of an audience. So no armor."