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Peyton hadn't needed ten minutes, she was down on the field in less than five. For a change, she was actually wearing her jacket, the pristine white and teal standing out in high contrast against tanned skin. Ombre hair was back in a high ponytail, curls bouncing against her back as she warmed up against one of the training dummies. Small fists denting into the wooden target with sharp little jabs.

She didn't look at all what one might expect from her reputation. A tiny thing, she was two inches shy of five feet, petite as can be, and looked more like a pixie than the living weapon she'd trained to be. But there was no doubt, with the creak of the wood under bony little knuckles, that she was strong. She hammered against the dummy, relentless, until the wood cracked, splinting under a heavy blow. Then danced back, grinning.

At her name she turned completely, one small hand reaching out to lay against the splintered torso of the dummy she'd been beating on as she flashed the much taller trainee a smile. "Yep, that's me." Once upon a time it would have bothered her, just a bit, that nickname, but she'd gotten over the fact that she was destined to remain vertically challenged. It didn't slow her down any, so it didn't matter. "Nokoni island, nice to finally meet you face to face."

As he neared she stepped away from the dummies, offering out a delicate hand though would most certainly be dwarfed by his own much larger one. Again, at one point in time, it would have been a source of great bitterness.

<His size accounts for nothing.>

She grinned, barely suppressing a chuckle.

I know.

Horace knew as well, and despite that had asked her for a spar anyways. That took a certain amount of guts that was commendable. "So what sort of weapon you packing?" It was impossible to guess. She'd seen all manner of weapons at this point, and the size of the hunter wielding them didn't seem to have much impact on the weapon itself.

She gave dismissive snort that petered into a chuckle and a subtle roll of thin shoulders. "Reps an a*****e abs a bully, so it's my pleasure." Once upon a time shed viewed the big man with something akin to respect, but that impression had long since shriveled up and died. She'd heard too much, seen too much, experienced too much to ever view the red head any sort of positive light. The only redeemable quality he possessed was Harrison, and even then, the Moon had some very serious blinders on.

Small though her hand was, there was strength in those delicate fingers. Peyton gave him a proper handshake, firm and confident, before taking her hand back so he could show her his weapon.

Weapons.

<Well then.>

Glossed lips split into a wide grin. Oh, this'll be fun.

They weren't quite the same, but damn close. Peyton extended an arm towards him, and with a soft flare of red the ring on her thumb vanished and sleeve er fingers were closing around the thieve's blade that appeared in her hand. The second followed a second after. "Believe it or not, but a year ago my weapon looked very much like your's." the second blade was given a twirl before it was grabbed tightly. "He has since evolved, obviously, but Warrick started as a pair of spiked knuckledusters."

Bright-eyed enthusiasm met him as she sank back into a ready stance, grinning with excitement. "Com on Horace, show me what you've got."

The initial strike seemed to be aimed towards someone taller, and Peyton couldn't help the soft chuckle the rolled out as she rolled with it, shoulder falling back along with one delicate fist. It was fluid, speaking of endless hours of practice and training, and she she came forward again to bring the curved edge of one ring in against his stomach he'd certainly feel the strength in that dainty frame.

It was a swift strike, her motions quick, even for a hunter. Speed gained from an exceptional bond to her weapon. Just one more perk Horace could possibly look forward too, though it wasn't always agility or speed the wielder was given.

She'd hopped back and out of range before the sting of the blow had a chance to really hit him, and a grin split freckle kissed features as she brought her blades up again, ready and waiting for him to attack her again.

HP: 56
DMG: 6
CHG: 1/3

"That's not sneaky, Sweetheart. That's speed." She held an arm out straight, blade edge angled towards him, and it was true, her reach was dwarfed by his, but that sort of advantage was only useful if you were fast enough to match her speed, and Horace, unfortunately, was not. But he knew that, and he'd challenged her anyways, at full strength, knowing he held the narrowest of chances of walking away from the spar as the victor. Commendable indeed.

She, at least, would not throw her advantage in his face. Her voice was bright and open, friendly, even with that subtle edge of excitement that always leaked into it when she got a chance to stretch her legs a little. So to speak.

At his comment she'd grin, and there wasn't a shred of modesty to it. In fact she gave a little dip of head and shoulders, bowing, before looking up again. Just in time for him to snap in, tagging her shoulder in a swift little jab that sent it rolling back, and Peyton did little to stop the motion. Instead she moved with it, and a thin little blade came up between body and metal knuckles, pushing him away as she eased back a step.

HP: 52
DMG: -
CHG: 1/3

"Well, darlin'," he drawled. "-maybe someday I'll get as fast as you." He had watched the way her shoulder rolled back, moving with his attack, instead of against. It was smart. Horace watched everything on the island closely, blue eyes taking notes - although if it wasn't written word, the likelihood he'd remember everything exactly was very, very low. Of course, he couldn't pull out his little notebook in the middle of a spar.

He moved around, balanced on the balls of his feet. Then his hand shot out, aiming for her left arm, but he feinted, pulling the blow at the last minute to instead try and sweep her with one of his legs. If he could get her on the ground, she wouldn't be so damn fast. And, if he could pin her, he was bigger, so it might work for a bit.

HP: 34/40
DMG: 7
CHG: 3/3

He bit back a sly remark about her being on her back, but a wolfish grim still spread over his face even as she rolled and was up. Ah, but she was quicker than she had any right to be. The kick took him by surprise, sending him down on one knee with a curse. This time he didn't hold back his thoughts, though.

"Ah, I liked you better on your back," Horace said in an overly exaggerated mournful voice. He still grinned through; Horace loved the physical exertion of sparring, despite not having been a big jock in school. From his position on one knee, he lunged forward, the small blades on the side of his tekkos aiming to tear the flesh at her hip.

HP: 30/40
DMG: 6
CHG: 3/3

As her blade sliced down him, Horace sucked in his breath. He saw stars or small flashes of light. She could use her momentum, but what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? Not that he was immovable... or that she was unstoppable, but it sounded like quite a romantic notion. Horace grabbed Peyton's wrist as she moved it away from his hiip, his other hand snaking around her waist. He wasn't entirely sure what his arm was, other than brief immobilization.

That ponytail bounced enticingly close and he released her arm to grab it, wrapping the length of her pale hair around his fist. With a sharp tug. he yanked her head back. For one brief moment, the line of her throat was exposed to him. It was oddly satisfying. "Got ya," Horace's blue eyes glittered down at her. Halfpint. If this were any other person, he might have taken time to decide exactly what to do or how to be mean, but this was Peyton. She'd already proven she was quicker than most and likely more slippery than an eel. Horace had seconds, if that.

Abruptly, he pushed her from him, feeling the strands of her hair thread through his fingers. As Horace's hand left her waist, he punched it forward and up, under her rib cage.

HP: 21/40
DMG: 8
CHG: 3/3