Sizhui opens his mouth to retort, readying a clipped biteback about how ‘not all humans,’ but his attention is drawn down toward Itto's hands where they circle his waist, those long, clawed fingers practically engulfing his midsection. The oni truly could crush him, there's no denying this, and yet that hold doesn't seem wholly threatening.
“It is not the word I would use.” ‘Afraid’ means succumbing to said fear and, while he's nervous, he has steeled himself in the face of fear in preparation for whatever happens during their confrontation. (Idly, his mind wanders, noting Itto's body pressed against his own, the strength in his frame and how he could very well destroy him if he'd made even the smallest misstep—) And still, he isn't backing down, regardless of the bizarre shiver that zippers up his spine. “Anything I do is never for fame, it's to protect those who feel like they are being harmed.”
Once he's released, Sizhui breathes an audible sigh of relief, his posture slackening again as he spares a fleeting glance around them, lingering on the candles initially, but letting his gaze flicker to Itto after he's given the go-ahead. What he sees isn't a monster at all; Itto looks almost more human-like, aside from his horns, fangs, his height and the multitude of markings littering his body. He tilts his head, considering, eyes momentarily half-lidded when he gives another full once-over, then he's wide-eyed and alert only seconds later.
He lifts both arms, circles them in front of himself and politely bows, both hands clasped around his weapon. “Lan Sizhui, of the Gusu Lan Sect.” Then he's straightening upright, sword arm back at his side, the other hand curled into a fist resting across his middle, long sleeve curtained pristinely over his frontside. “Though I am curious why you would like to know my name when it seems you've already decided the outcome of this situation.”
nyehehe
“It is not the word I would use.” ‘Afraid’ means succumbing to said fear and, while he's nervous, he has steeled himself in the face of fear in preparation for whatever happens during their confrontation. (Idly, his mind wanders, noting Itto's body pressed against his own, the strength in his frame and how he could very well destroy him if he'd made even the smallest misstep—) And still, he isn't backing down, regardless of the bizarre shiver that zippers up his spine. “Anything I do is never for fame, it's to protect those who feel like they are being harmed.”
Once he's released, Sizhui breathes an audible sigh of relief, his posture slackening again as he spares a fleeting glance around them, lingering on the candles initially, but letting his gaze flicker to Itto after he's given the go-ahead. What he sees isn't a monster at all; Itto looks almost more human-like, aside from his horns, fangs, his height and the multitude of markings littering his body. He tilts his head, considering, eyes momentarily half-lidded when he gives another full once-over, then he's wide-eyed and alert only seconds later.
He lifts both arms, circles them in front of himself and politely bows, both hands clasped around his weapon. “Lan Sizhui, of the Gusu Lan Sect.” Then he's straightening upright, sword arm back at his side, the other hand curled into a fist resting across his middle, long sleeve curtained pristinely over his frontside. “Though I am curious why you would like to know my name when it seems you've already decided the outcome of this situation.”