ooc:
Dancing on the razor's edge, but only one would remain on standing on the blade, and the one that fell would be ready for the other's taking. Too many times had she found herself in this situation among the Exultare, awaiting the first strike that inevitable led to a spar. Provoking the other into making the first move than attempting the upper hand herself. She was raised to defend, to be the suppressor... but it could not be denied the certain allure that came from playing the part of the aggressor. She smiled shamefully at the thought, feeling herself teeter off the razor line...
And with that final taunt, the recount of her defeat to him what felt like long ago, she slipped and embraced her aggressive role with a satisfied smile and lunged for his grinning face.